Bad for Business
by Sally K LehmanPublished in The Scruffy Dog Review
Manash Melwani was going to die today. He didn't know that as he went about closing up his insurance office in Downtown Gresham, but it was a fact all the same.
He careful locked away the cash payments he had received for the day - many of his poorer clients had to pay in cash as their checks had the unappealing tendency to bounce. He locked the safe up and closed the false front of the safe which made it look like a file cabinet, locked the false front and then went to his desk to tidy up.
Manash was an organized businessman by nature, so tidying up mostly meant that he had to file the one or two files he was currently working with and then place a list of tasks to be done the next day on his Assistant's desk. She would be in to open the office at 7:00 am sharp - she always was. Manash usually came in around 9:00 - allowing for time to attend local Lions meetings or Chamber of Commerce functions. He was a civic minded business owner, after all.
Looking up from his Assistant's desk, he was startled to see a young man standing just outside of the office door. There never tended to be much foot traffic on Main Street at this time of day, but the young man looked well groomed so Manash smiled in greeting and walked to the door. As he unlocked the deadbolt on the door and swung it open in welcome, the young man's smile vanished as he pulled out a small pistol from his jacket pocket.
Manash's eyes were completely focused on the glint of the gun metal as it came off the office lights; he couldn't stop staring at the thing. Finally, the young man gestured upwards with the gun. Looking up, he saw the kid rub his fingers together. He wanted money. Then the kid raised his eyebrows in question. Manash knew than that he was being robbed - not killed he hoped - but definitely robbed.
Moving into the office, the man relocked the door and gestured Manash toward the back of the office. Without a word, Manash walked to the safe followed closely by the young man and his gun.
Manash knew better than to argue with or stall a thief. He went to work unlocking the file cabinet façade, a trickle of sweat sliding down his face and into his left eye. He reached up to loosen his tie and felt the pistol against his right temple. Shuddering a bit he wracked his brain to try to remember the safe combination. 34 right - no 24! Then 18 left - or 8? And 15 right. After three tries, and with each successive one having the pistol metal push harder against his temple, Manash was at last able to open the safe.
The man pushed him aside and opened the metal box which held nearly four thousand dollars worth of insurance payments. The money went directly from the cash box and into the man's pockets. He looked once more at Manash, put an index finger to his lips, said "shhh", then walked swiftly and calmly out the office door.
Manash sat on the chair which he always kept in place for clients and stared straight ahead of himself. He stared at the opened cabinet door, the empty metal box. Looked up to the clock above the safe and realized that the entire drama had taken less than five minutes. He lifted his hand to where the gun pushed into his skin and felt the round mark it left there.
He stood up and shook so hard that he sat again. Wiping the sweat from his face with his coat sleeve, Manash stood again. This time, he managed to stay on his feet. Tripped twice on his way to the front door. Fumbled with the deadbolt and finally heard it slip into place. His back to the door, he slid silently to the floor, breathing hard with sweat running copiously down his face, wetting his shirt collar.
Ten minutes passed quickly as he slowed his breathing and regained whatever composure he could regain. He stood then, his legs shaking but holding him up, and made his way to the phone on his assistant's desk. Landing suddenly onto the chair, he picked the phone handset up but his shaking fingers immediately dropped it to the floor. He bent to pick it up, nearly fell off the chair, and grabbed the handset again, only to have it slide from his fingers again.
Manash shook his head in silent reprimand, then counted to ten in his head. He leaned down again and picked up the now buzzing phone handset. Put the phone back on it's cradle, lift it, listen for a dial tone. He carefully dialed 911 and waited for the proper authorities to answer their phone and begin to help.
"911 Emergency. Police, Fire or Medical?"
It was as though an angel had come through the phone line and rescued him. Manash gave the operator the details, then sat and waited for officers to arrive.
The knock on the office door startled Manash to the point where he nearly fell from his chair. He looked to the glass door and saw two police officers gently tapping on the glass once more. He looked at his watch, but couldn't seem to remember when he had called them so had no idea how long it had taken the officers to arrive.
He stood quickly and felt the panicked adrenaline leave his body. Manash shook it off and went to unlock the deadbolt, allowing the officers into his business. With the Police as audience, Manash walked through the event in detail. He pointed to the place where the gun had pushed into his head. He held out a hand in his very own Vanna-White-moment for the benefit of the officers. They took down all of the information Manash could supply - the time of the incident, the description of the man, the amount of money stolen. Manash carefully read through the statement, signed it, and waited for the police to say they were going out to look for the man who had robbed him. But they didn't.
"Well, keep things locked up, Mr. Melwani," one said.
"You might want to invest in a security system," the other added.
"We'll take a look around the neighborhood later this evening," they continued for good measure, hoping that it would appease the shaken businessman.
"Oh, yeah," one of the officers added jokingly, "don't forget to file your insurance claim."
They both laughed uncomfortably at the joke. Manash simply looked at them as though they had gone insane. The three men then left the building together and the officers saw him to his car.
"We live in a safe area, Mr. Melwani," the first officer said. "Just head on home and I'm sure everything will be fine."
Manash got into his Oldsmobile - a car for a wealthy man his father had always told him - and immediately locked the car doors. He sat there for a few minutes, watching the police officers get into their patrol car, talking and laughing about something, and drive off. Looking around his car - spotless as every businessman's car should be his father would have said - he breathed deeply, feeling safe within the steel and glass of the vehicle.
Sliding the key into the ignition, he realized that he hadn't called his wife to tell her why he was so late. He also had forgotten to call the insurance company headquarters to tell them of the robbery. He sat there, his hand on the key, the key in the ignition, and thought about these things. He could easily go back in and make those calls. He could easily wait until he got home or for tomorrow before the office opened.
Good God, he thought, he hadn't called his Assistant, Rose, to tell her to come in later, when he would be there. He thought hard about it, slammed a hand against his forehead. Did he have her number at home? His wife might, but he couldn't be sure. Poor Rose would be walking into chaos in the morning and he would be to blame.
Slowly, Manash pulled the keys from the ignition. He was damning himself for not having a cellular telephone like everyone else in the Western World. He had always scoffed at the things, saying that there were simply times when he didn't want to be available by phone. Manash closed his eyes and focused on the office layout. How far would he need to go into the office to get the numbers? How many steps between his car and the office door. Unlocking the car doors, Manash exited his car.
He strode to the office door, unlocked it. He entered the office, swiftly closing the door again and locking it as fast as his fingers could manage. He went to his desk and pulled over his rolodex to find Rose's home number.
Dialing the number took four tries as Manash's hands were still shaking as much from the robbery as from the walk back into the office. When it finally rang through, the answering machine picked up rather than Rose. He left a message telling her to not come in until 10:00 the next morning, not telling her the why's of it - not wanting to scare her.
He dialed home and left a simple message for his wife saying he'd been detained but would be home soon. He even took the time to call the company headquarters and leave a somewhat detailed message for the Security Manager. He then wrote himself a quick note for tomorrow to have a security system installed as soon as possible.
Feeling as though he had done his duty for all those counting on him, Manash Melwani was ready to leave for home again. If only he could convince himself to stand up, look around the small wall separating his desk from the front door, and find out if the young man with the pistol was there or not. In his mind, the man would be there. In his mind, that young man would always be on the other side of that door. It took nearly three minutes of arguing with himself - some arguments in his mind, others murmured out loud - to give Manash the courage to look around that damned wall and over to the door.
No one outside of his office. The air in his lungs blew out suddenly, he hadn't realized he'd been holding it. Laughing softly at himself for his silly fears, he left his office once more and locked the deadbolt for the night. Manash was shaking his head at himself for being so paranoid.
Back in his car, Manash breathed deeply, felt himself relax some, turned the ignition on to start his car. His favorite classical music channel came on the radio playing a piece by Handel - although which one he couldn't seem to remember the name. Oh well, he thought, they'll say the name at the end.
He closed his eyes for a second to enjoy the feeling of having survived a terrible ordeal and of not having soiled himself in the process. He was just ready to open his eyes again and head off for home, when a hand reached over his shoulder and changed the radio station to rock and roll.
The voice behind him told Manash, "I told you to stay quiet."
copyright 2007 sally k lehman