The Brown Leather Messenger Bag

"The sound of the footsteps, which he was enjoying a moment ago, suddenly grows louder and the reflex of his instincts makes him reach his right hand towards his brown leather messenger bag. He takes a pause... and resumes walking. Though he is walking at the same pace, he is not enjoying the sound of his footsteps now. Rather, he is trying to fathom the number of people following him from this sound."

It has been more than five hours since the sunset, and the moon seems to be on a holiday. The streets are empty, except for a few stray dogs roaming, searching for food.

The long shadow of this tall man is getting shorter and shorter with every step he is taking towards the junction of Noba Street Lane. The streetlights are doing their job, but the dingy lane connected with the Noba Street is dark. Finally, the shadow comes to the same level as this man just before he steps into this dark lane, and soon the shadow disappears.

He is walking very casually as if trying to listen to the sound of his footsteps. Though it is around midnight, he is not looking in any hurry to reach his home.

Normally, he drives to his work in his MG Hector, but today he had car-pooled to the office. And now, he is returning from a dinner party. Since the restaurant was nearby to his place, he decided to walk.

The sound of the footsteps, which he was enjoying a moment ago, suddenly grows louder and the reflex of his instincts makes him reach his right hand towards his brown leather messenger bag. He takes a pause... and resumes walking. Though he is walking at the same pace, he is not enjoying the sound of his footsteps now. Rather, he is trying to fathom the number of people following him from this sound.

With every step he takes, the sound of extra footsteps grows louder and louder, as if they are closing on him. The light on the other end of this street is now visible but before he can increase his pace, he gets cornered.

A lean, masculine physique and a stubble beard look like a compliment on his killer looks.

Oh... By the way... he is Elham, fourth Dan Black Belt, three times MMA gold medalist, twice marathon winner and a promising young journalist. After a tiring day at work, all Elham must be looking forward would have been the comfort of his house... being cornered by few hooligans mustn’t even be the last thing to expect.

Anyways, being an investigative journalist has its own perks. You get to hone your MMA skills for free.

Elham, who is now surrounded by seven hooligans, takes his stance... glares straight into the eyes of the one standing in front of him.

“I’m not in the mood of fighting! And to warn you guys, you are messing with the wrong man... I’m...”

Before Elham can complete his sentence, a big, rough hand comes on his right shoulder from behind.

Elham almost coughed and turns back to see this rough-looking man. He’s Babbi, maybe in his fifties, but a chiseled body and around six inches taller than Elham.

“Cut the crap... hand over your stuff and keep going.”

Elham thinks for a while, then clears his throat.

“... as a precautionary measure, I’m warning you guys... Don’t mess with me... I’m fourth Dan black-belt, and...”

THUD!

Babbi pounces upon Elham and he gets almost knocked out!

“I don’t like to repeat...”

Babbi points his fingers towards the brown leather messenger bag of Elham.

Elham adjusts himself, holds his bag firmly in his hand and nods his head in negation.

“... I'm three times gold-medalist in MMA... I’m sure you guys know the full form of MMA... It means Mixed...”

THUD! PAW! BHAM!

All the hooligans start thrashing Elham, but soon Babbi gestures them to stop.

Babbi then holds the bag and tries to pull its belt from Elham’s neck.

Elham is in no mood to give them his bag. He holds the belt of the bag very tight and before Babbi can say anything, or his men could attack him again, he springs into action, pushes Babbi behind, and starts running as fast as he can...

“I’m two times Marathon winner too... you fink... catch me if you can...”

Elham somehow manages to save his day... or night - technically speaking; and takes a sigh of relief after reaching his home. However, as soon as he enters his place, he realizes that his bag is missing. All he is holding is the belt, which might have got detached from the bag when he had pushed Babbi.

Though there was nothing much in the bag, except for an empty lunchbox, a notepad, few pens, some papers and some cash, he was feeling dejected.

It was not the things but the bag, which was dearer to Elham. This brown leather messenger bag was his prized possession as it originally belonged to his father, and it had lots of memories attached.

Elham vents out his fury on the punching bag hanging in the corner of his living room. Once exhausted, Elham heads towards the bathroom, takes a shower, and tries to relax himself.

While having the shower, Elham recalls the whole incident and curses himself for not fighting those goons despite being a mixed-martial arts champion. Soon, something clicks him and wrapping a towel around his waist, Elham heads straight to his computer desk. He writes a story about this incident and publishes the same online.

COMMON MAN INSECURE WHILE CITY PLANS TO HOST THE GLOBAL PEACE SUMMIT!

Elham is confident that reading the headline itself will get this news article many views.

Feeling a bit relieved, Elham dozes off on his recliner. Soon, his mobile screen starts blinking, but since it is on silent mode, it doesn’t grab Elham’s attention, who is now fast asleep.

The next morning, Elham wakes up at his routine time, gets dressed for work, and while sipping freshly brewed coffee, he checks his mobile phone to see how much views his story has garnered so far. But the moment he looks at the mobile screen, he is shocked to see thirteen missed calls from his boss, in addition to some thirty odd messages on WhatsApp.

Elham leaves his coffee unfinished and rushes to office. The moment he steps into his office, he hears a stern commanding voice...

“In my cabin, NOW!”

Next Chapter...

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