Inferno

seven | the mishap

Action thrillers and supernaturals were strictly banned in our house.

All I'd seen until thirteen was Disney, Nancy Meyers, occasional Charlie Chaplin, and pup movies minus the horrid endings. So naturally the day when I was introduced to Die Hard by one of my friends, it was as if I'd seen a star come land in my palm. Some 25 such movies later, I was confident I wanted to become a CIA agent, and had my whole career path planned, which at some point involved me going rogue and coming back years later as the only hope of my invaded country.

The phase lasted long, for more than I'm proud of, but eventually I shed that skin and got rid of the Bond movies I'd pirated on my laptop. Reality hit and I learnt all such things only looked pretty in a hundred million dollar production, not in real life. And I can confirm to it now as I sit with my knees bunched together, my eyes on the many kilograms of heroin in front of me, that it's not pretty. At all.

"He's not trying to drug and kidnap us, right?" Chase lists the twenty third possible intention of the guy, once again of such nature that ultimately leads the story to end with a bunch of people finding us dead in a ditch.

"I don't think he'd leave us with the drugs and our phones alone, if that was the plan along. We could've easily dialled 911 right now if my phone wasn't dead and yours wasn't locked up in your beloved's glove compartment."

"That's what you're more concerned about at the moment? My attachment to Fergie?" Scoffing, he refuses to look at me, and for a very brief moment I consider exploiting the abundant goods in front of me. "Alright, so what'd you suggest we do now?"

Side eyeing me, I can once again feel his brain churning, while I just take to pray with all the faith within me that the results shouldn't disappoint. "Let's do nothing."

So church on Sundays was clearly a bad investment. "Nothing? You're actually suggesting we wait and witness whatever this guy's got planned with a truck full of drugs?"

"We don't have to, because we're getting down in another thirty minutes. I've been panicking, but I'm also following the road ever since we got on in the vehicle, and he's not flunked away from the path once. Now the city's only a few kilometres away and he obviously wouldn't try anything in a place full of people."

His words are assuring for a change, and it makes sense that we wouldn't be in grave danger as such in a city when it's barely eight in the night. "Fine. But keep looking out in case he does drift from the directions."

"Don't worry, I'm on it," he looks past the dusty glass window, his expressions switching faster than Max Verstappen's last lap in the Florida race, as he appears to be shaken to the core. "Oh no, oh god no."

"What—what's happened? Chase, you're scaring me," I would try looking for myself, but the truck's unsteady and I'm afraid I'd tumble if I try crawling over to his side.

"We don't need to call the police anymore. They're already here," he shakes his head, mumbling something to himself while pulling at the collars of his shirt.

"Wait, the last time I checked, that's good. Now, we don't have to worry about getting kidnapped and some of us not being able to afford the ransom."

I don't miss on his eye roll. "You don't get it, Leia. To the cops, we're not innocent hitchhikers, but two people who're in the presence of a buttload of heroin, and possibly partners in smuggling these boxes across the country." He points to the horde cartons with eight colour rainbows painted on them. Although, seems about right.

Pessimism is usually my suit, but when Chase turns pale, I can't help thinking over his line of logic and what that means for us. "You're exaggerating, there's no solid proof here to make them think we're dealers, and I, for one, would like to think there's a certain civility to my face."