Free Compass Box Killer by Piyush Jha

‘How does it matter? You’ve already decided not to give me the job, without even testing my skills and seeing if I’m good enough.’
    Barkat Ali narrowed his eyes. He was a busy man and was used to taking spot decisions, but this young upstart had dared to challenge his experience. He was not going to let it pass without humiliating this langoor. ‘Come, let’s find out how good you are,’ Barkat Ali barked. Without another word, he turned and walked into the deep, dark portals of his shack-like shop. The killer followed him silently. Barkat Ali led him through a narrow corridor lined with wooden shelves laden with electrical spare parts of every type and size. What the killer had initially thought to be a small shop turned out to be just the front of a large godown into which Barkat Ali now ushered him. Inside the cavernous space, workmen slaved over tables lined all the way to the tin walls on all four sides. The killer swept his eyes across the godown, taking in the all the toasters, microwaves, washing machines, electrical irons and other household appliances strewn about in various stages of repair. Barkat Ali’s smug voice turned the killer’s attention back towards him. ‘Toh, mere shock-proof bhidu, ready for your entrance test?’
    The killer nodded, not knowing what was in store but suspecting that it was something that would pose a big challenge to him. Barkat Ali pointed at an old black-and-white television set lying on a dusty table next to him. As he reached out and patted it fondly, fine grains of dust rose from the cheap laminate top. ‘My first TV, ’ said Barkat Ali, pride oozing from his voice. The killer looked at the ancient television set; a dull grey convex screen stared blankly back at him. The brand name, EC TV, was emblazoned on one side of the television set just above a bunch of chunky chrome knobs. Barkat Ali’s voice cut through the dank air of the godown. ‘Black and white. Valve technology. Specially made by the Government of India as the “People’s TV”. This particular set has not worked for more years than I can count.’
    The killer continued to stare at the television set that had obviously seen better days, wondering if the circuit board was still inside it.
    ‘Toh, mere Bijli kay PhD, what are you waiting for? Make it work…go on!’ Barkat Ali chuckled. The killer lifted a screwdriver lying on the table, walked around the television and began to unscrew the wooden back cover of the TV set. Barkat Ali stood watching him for a few moments, inviting the other workmen to join him by chuckling loudly. By the time the killer had unscrewed the back off, Barkat Ali had lost interest and walked back to the shop front. ‘Shaana kauwa!’ he had guffawed, throwing the boy a pitiful look.
    The killer rolled up his jeans and sat down on the dusty floor to work. He turned his attention to the insides of the ancient TV. This would require his complete concentration. He realized that he would need a soldering iron as he applied pressure and extricated the detachable circuit board. The killer smiled to himself as his sharp eyes surveyed the jumble of the small resistors welded across the board. He had fixed many such circuits a long time ago, and unlike what he had thought earlier, this was not going to pose too much of a challenge to him. Suppressing his laughter, the killer glanced up at the figure of Barkat Ali disappearing down the corridor. ‘Thirty years of practical experience is no match for five years of quality education,’ he muttered under his breath. He was going to get this dinosaur of a TV to work, and he was going to get the job at Barkat Alitronics, even if he had to put up with Barkat Ali’s stupid, insulting habit of name-calling. The next phase of his plan depended entirely on the success of this challenge and there was no way that he would turn back now.
     

 
14
    T he police party passed an open garbage dump. The previous night’s drizzle had wet the