3

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/ God can't reach everywhere at once, that is why he creates few people for his job /

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A black van stops in front of a large villa. The van has a siren on top, but it remains silent. Three men step out, all wearing crisp white shirts, black pants, and sturdy black boots, with ID badges hanging around their necks. Leading them is a tall man holding a file. Behind him is a young man, and at the rear, a heavyset man in his forties, who looks a bit uneasy, as if he's new to the job.

They walk up to the front door. The tall man steps aside, nodding at the young man to knock.

Knock, knock. No response.

Knock, knock. The door creaks open, revealing an old lady with a puzzled look.

"Yes, sir? Who are you?" she asks, eyeing their uniforms.

The older man steps forward. "We're from the Crime Investigation Department (CID). We're looking for Kantilal Hagare. Is he home?"

The old lady's face tightens with concern. "What do you want with him?"

"He's suspected of blackmailing nine people and stealing around thirty lakh rupees. Now, can we see him?" the older man says firmly.

Her voice rises, filled with anger. "You're wrong! My son hasn't done anything like that."

The tall man's face remains cold. "Will you let us in, or should we enter by ourselves?"

"He's not here, and I won't let you in," she says defiantly.

The tall man's eyes narrow. "Slap her," he orders.

The woman freezes, disbelief on her face. "Sir?"

"Slap her!" he repeats, his voice sharp.

The older man hesitates, then slaps her hard across the face. She gasps in pain, stumbling back, her hand clutching her cheek. "KANTI! KANTI!" she cries, moving aside as tears well up in her eyes.

The three men push past her, stepping into the house. Moments later, Kanti appears in the hallway, wearing a lungi and vest, confusion and fear in his eyes. He sees his mother cradling her cheek. "What's going on? Who are these people?"

The tall man steps forward, flashing his ID. "We're from the CID. We need to have a serious talk."

"What do you want?" Kanti asks, trying to keep his voice steady.

"You've been suspected of twelve blackmails," the tall man says.

The old lady, still holding her cheek, cuts in, "But you said nine before!"

The tall man shrugs with a slight grin. "I remembered another three."

"It's a lie," Kanti protests.

The tall man leans closer, his tone almost casual. "Look, we didn't come here to cause trouble without a reason. We can make a deal."

Kanti shakes his head, his voice firm. "I haven't done anything wrong."

The tall man smirks, an unsettling smile spreading across his otherwise expressionless face as he steps closer to Kanti. "Yesterday, you called your friend, pretending to be someone else. You threatened him, said you'd harm his wife if he didn't pay up. A woman you know quite well. Your friend, not recognizing your voice, agreed to give you whatever amount you wanted. His wife, the one you—"

"Stop! Stop! What nonsense are you talking about?" Kanti interrupts, his voice tense, trying to keep control, but there's a flicker of fear in his eyes.

The tall man's smile widens, turning almost mocking. "Ask your mother to leave."

Kanti's jaw tightens. "No. I won't."

The tall man shrugs with a casual air, but his eyes are cold. "Okay. So, about the woman you—"

"Stop! Stop!" Kanti cuts him off again, his voice louder now, desperate. He turns quickly to his mother. "Mom, can you go inside for a moment?"

She frowns, holding her ground. "No. I want to hear this," she insists, suspicion and concern in her voice.

"I'll explain everything later, Mom," Kanti pleads, his tone softer, trying to calm her as he gently guides her toward another room. She hesitates but finally relents, giving him a worried look before disappearing behind the door.

As the door closes, Kanti turns back to the tall man, his face defensive but betraying a hint of fear. "Alright, what do you want?" he asks, trying to sound firm.

The tall man's smile turns sinister again. "A deal?"

Kanti's eyes narrow. "What kind of deal?"

The tall man's expression turns blank again. "Let's have tea," he says, almost casually.

Kanti frowns, confused. "Here?"

The tall man shakes his head. "No, outside."

The group leaves the house and walks toward the van. The doors slam shut, and the van speeds off.

Minutes later, the van stops, and they lead Kanti into a large, plain room with white walls and bright lights—the same room where they had taken Ramprasad earlier.

"Where are we?" Kantilal asks, glancing around the unfamiliar room.

The tall man replies, "It's our place to discuss."

Kantilal forces a grin. "Cool spot!"

"Yep," the tall man responds flatly.

Four wooden chairs are arranged around a plain wooden table in the center of the room. The rest of the room is empty, except for a few bamboos leaning in the corner—details that go unnoticed by Kantilal.

The young man enters with a tray holding four cups of tea. He hands them out—first to Kantilal, then to the tall man, the older man, and finally takes a cup for himself. He sits down, leaning back casually in his chair.

"So..." the tall man starts, watching Kantilal closely.

Kantilal interrupts, "How much do you need?" He takes a careful sip of his tea, trying to gauge their intentions.

The tall man adjusts the pen in his shirt pocket with deliberate slowness. "No. First, we want to ask you—did you really commit any crimes?"

Kantilal freezes, his cup hovering mid-air. His eyes dart between the three men, unsure how much they know. "Except for the last blackmail," the tall man adds with a sly smile.

"I mean…" Kantilal stammers, still unsure, trying to read their expressions. Are they testing him? Do they know everything?

The tall man shrugs, his face returning to its neutral, almost friendly expression. "Relax. I was just asking casually."

Kantilal breathes out, visibly relaxing, but only slightly. "Alright..."

The tall man leans forward. "Okay, so for one crime, we take one lakh. For ten, that makes thirty."

"What? No! I only blackmailed nine people. That's too much…" Kantilal protests, sounding defensive.

"Fine, twenty-five?" the tall man cuts in smoothly, his tone almost playful.

Kantilal hesitates but quickly nods. "Okay. Deal."

"Deal!" the tall man says as he stands up from his chair. He walks to the corner of the room, where a bundle of bamboo sticks leans against the wall. He carefully searches through them, finally selecting one. As he walks back toward Kantilal, he rubs oil onto the bamboo with a cloth, his face expressionless.

Kantilal's confusion turns to fear. "What... what are you doing?" he stammers.

Without a word, the tall man stops in front of Kantilal and brings the bamboo stick down hard on his buttocks. Kantilal screams in agony, trying to dart away, but the young man and the older man grab his arms and hold him tightly.

The tall man strikes again, the bamboo landing with a sickening thwack. Kantilal is jumping in place, tears streaming down his face. "Please, leave me! Let me go! What's the problem? Do you want more money?" he begs, his voice breaking.

The tall man remains silent, his face as cold as ever. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a small diary, tears out a page, and hands it along with a pen to Kantilal. "Take this," he orders.

Kantilal can't reach for it-his hands are still being held by the other two men. "I said, take this!" the tall man repeats sharply.

"My hands..." Kantilal mutters, looking at the two men holding him.

The young man and the older man chuckle lightly and release his arms. Kantilal, trembling, takes the page and pen, his eyes darting between the three men.

"Write down all of your crimes. Real quick," the tall man commands, his voice low and menacing.

Kantilal hesitates, his hands shaking. "Will you, or should I ask in another way?" the tall man threatens, glancing at the bamboo stick.

Kantilal swallows hard and begins writing, listing out nine crimes with shaky handwriting. When he's done, he hands the page and pen back to the tall man, who calmly folds the paper and tucks it into his pocket.

The tall man nods at the young man, who leaves the room briefly and returns with an iron stamp, its edges sharp and gleaming under the light. The tall man sets the bamboo aside and, with an eerie calmness, pulls out a gun. Without a moment's hesitation, he pulls the trigger, shooting Kantilal right in the middle of his forehead.

Kantilal's body slumps to the floor, his eyes still wide with shock. Blood trickles down his face.

The tall man bends down, places the handwritten confession in Kantilal's shirt pocket, and then stamps onto his forehead. Blood ozes out through it. A Word appears. "MOGAMBO"

---

END OF PART THREE!