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Winner of Summer Fun contest in 2000 at www.sulekha.com "I want my advisor polished off," Anand Gopalakrishnan told Tony in a desperate tone. "Boy! That's serious business," replied Tony, the Marco's pizza guy. Anand revealed his intentions to Tony because he knew he would get some help. No desi graduate student had resorted to such desperate measures, but Anand had made up his mind. Even after nine revisions to the thesis, Prof. Natarajan (Nutty) was not willing to let him graduate with a Ph.D. It wasn't that his research was not up to the mark, but it was just that Nutty constantly needed some hapless guy on whom he could vent all his frustrations. "Yeah I am serious. I need your help," Anand said. Tony offered his help. "I have a buddy of mine, Joey, in New York who can help you. He has contacts with the Big Boys, if you know what I mean." Anand knew exactly what Tony meant. He had often boasted of his contacts with the Italian Mafia. The Mafia would do a clean job and nobody would suspect anything. Anand liked the idea. That Saturday he rented a car and drove to New Jersey and stayed at a cheap motel. The next morning he took the Subway to Queens, where Joey was waiting for him. Joey took him to Eddie, The Bull. And The Bull took him to the Boss. When Anand entered the run-down building -- the Headquarters -- in Queens, he was shaking like a leaf. Inside the room The Bull did the talking while the Boss observed. "Will you have something to drink?" "Yes, Pepsi with no ice, please." The Bull looked at the Boss, and the Boss shrugged his shoulders. "What do you think this is, some kinda Pizza Hut? Don't you drink any heavy stuff?" "Do you have Mountain Dew?" The Bull gave Anand a blank look. "It has more caffeine in it," explained Anand. The Bull offered him the drink and continued to talk. "So who's this guy you want to finish off?" "Prof. Natarajan." "Prof. Who?" "Natarajan." "Who?" "Natarajan, we call him Nutty." "So why do you want this nutty professor out?" "He won't let me defend." "What's that? Defend?" "Well, he won't let me defend my Ph.D. thesis in front of the committee." The Bull looked at the Boss, and the Boss shrugged his shoulders. "Look here, you fruit! You gotta tell us why we've to kill this professor so that we can understand." "Well, I have been working for this professor for seven years now. He is the worst guy you can work for. I do all the work for him and he goes and presents it in all these conferences and makes himself look good. I don't get anything for it. To graduate I have to write a report -- a thesis -- on my research work and defend it in front of a committee. He is in the committee, too. But he won't let me defend my thesis, so I am not able to graduate." "So how will it help if we kill this guy?" "If Nutty is packed off then Dr. Stevens will become my chief advisor -- my supervisor -- and it will be a piece of cake after that." "So you are telling us that if we stick a couple of BBs through his skull, the way will be cleared for you." "That's correct." "You seriously want to do this?" Something snapped inside Anand. Blood rushed to his head and all the pent up anger burst out like water from a broken dam. "Have you ever worked for a desi professor? Do you know what it is to be abused day after day? Have you any idea what it feels to work continuously for four years without a chance to go home and see your family? No other graduate student has had to go through what I am going through here. You think I will come all this way to talk to you if I am not serious?" "Hey! I was just asking," said The Bull defensively. "Yeah, I am serious as hell." "So what's in it for us?" Anand opened his bag and pulled out three of his latest bank statements. "You can have all of this, save a thousand bucks," he declared, with the confidence of a CEO closing a deal on a billion-dollar business. The Bull looked at the statements and turned towards the Boss with an incredulous look on his face; the Boss shrugged his shoulders. "Are you out of your mind," yelled The Bull. "Do you think we would be willing to kill a guy for less than five grand?" The Bull grabbed Anand by his shirt and started to drag him out of the room when the Boss stopped him. "Cool it Eddie. I think this will be a good one for Frankie." He was referring to Frank Maldini, a new member in the gang. Eddie sent word for him and Frankie entered the room. "Give the details about the professor to him," commanded the Boss. Anand pulled out the Materials Science and Engineering department's brochure and quickly turned to the page and that had Prof. Natarajan's picture with his research interests. "This is the person you need to put to sleep." "I can hardly see the guy in here, do you have another picture?" "No. We will not need that. I know this guy very well, and I have got it all up here," said Anand, gently tapping his temple with his right index finger. "Nutty is going to a conference next week in Dayton, Ohio. That will be the best time to dust him off." Anand knew exactly what Nutty did on those trips to Dayton. He had been there with Nutty a few times and watched him make the presentations. Nutty followed the same routine everytime. Anand laid it all out in great detail for Frankie to go after the kill and they discussed the plan at length. That night Anand drove back to his college and the following Sunday Frankie took a flight to Dayton. The next day, as advised by Anand, Frankie drove to the Indian restaurant near the Dayton Mall around 11:30 a.m.; he wanted to get there early and wait for the prey. The restaurant had barely opened, so he went to the bar to have a couple of drinks. Frankie looked around the restaurant. He liked his seat. From his secluded position he could see both the entrance and the buffet table. Frankie felt confident about spotting his party. He pulled out the New York Times and pretended to read, but he was actually closely watching the entrance. People came in groups and Anand had told Frankie that Nutty never came to the restaurant with anyone else. So he continued to wait. A few minutes later a middle-aged man walked in through the doors all by himself. Frankie felt his muscles tighten a bit. He pulled out the brochure to take a second look at the picture. He discerned a similarity between the picture and the person standing at the door: dark, penetrating eyes behind thick glasses, a nervous look and unkempt hair. No wonder Anand dreads this guy, Frankie thought to himself. "Please come in this way, professor," the waitress greeted him. Frankie now observed him like a hawk. The professor didn't even have the patience to sit down and order a drink; he walked to the buffet table even before the waitress could offer him some water. He walked past the salad bar as though it did not even exist and picked a plate and filled it up with rice. Then he called the waitress to make sure that everything he wanted to eat had no meat in it. And, once having confirmed that the dish was a "pure vegetarian" item, he dug into it generously. Frankie saw the professor eat ravenously, as though he had never seen Indian food before. With each trip to the table he became more sluggish, walking a bit more slowly and taking longer to decide on the item that he wanted to eat next. Frankie counted four such trips to the bar, and what he saw on the fourth trip confirmed it for him. He watched the professor fill up his plate with rice, then walk to salad bar and pour raita (the salad dressing!) all over it. Frankie had not believed it when Anand had told him about this, but now he saw it with his own eyes. He paid his bill and quickly went back to his car, started the engine and waited for the professor. About fifteen minutes later the professor walked out unsteadily. Frankie aimed the gun at the professor's head and kept a finger on the trigger. The professor got into his car and before starting the engine lowered the windows to cool the car. Frankie pulled the trigger and the professor fell on the wheel with a dull thud. He used a silenced gun and nobody could hear a thing. Before boarding the plane back to New York, Frankie called Anand's apartment to inform him of the good news. When the phone rang, Rajesh, Anand's roommate, answered it. "Hello, this is Frankie, is Anand in there?" "No he is in the lab, can I take a message?" "Yeah, can you tell him that Frankie called. Tell him that eleven Bengal tigers died at the Orissa zoo." As agreed, he gave the coded message. "Actually it is twelve," replied Rajesh. "What?" "Actually one died a day later, making it twelve. It's so tragic, isn't it?" "No, just tell him that eleven Bengal tigers died at the Orissa zoo," Frankie insisted. "I checked it up with the Indian Express and the Hindu, I'm pretty sure it is twelve." "Listen you imbecile. If you don't want me to come there and blow your head to pieces, just tell Anand that eleven Bengal tigers died at the Orissa zoo," said Frankie in a threatening tone. "OK. OK. I will leave a note for Anand with your message," said Rajesh, and hung up. That evening Anand read the note and smiled to himself. He retired to bed a happy man. The next morning he checked the rediff.com web site to confirm the news. "An Indian Professor shot dead near the Dayton Mall" read the headlines. Anand clicked on the item to read the entire news. His jaw dropped when he read the article. Frankie had bungled it. He had bumped off the wrong guy -- a professor from the local Wright State University by the name of Sundaresan. There was no mention of Natarajan in the article. Anand panicked. He called Frankie at the Headquarters. "Frankie, what the hell did you do?" "What do you mean?" "Did you read the news?" "No, why?" "You have got the wrong guy! You shot a professor from a local college in Dayton. It was not Nutty." "But I observed the guy closely. I could swear he looked like the guy in the picture that you gave me. He ate at the restaurant exactly like the way you described it to me. He gorged like there was no tomorrow and he poured raita all over the rice and ate it, too." "But did you confirm his identity by listening to his talk at the conference?" "Hey, I didn't take this job to listen to some professor talk on his research. I'm paid to seal people's lips, not to hear them talk." Anand hung up the phone. He went back home and collapsed into his bed. He stared blankly at the ceiling and into an uncertain future. In Dayton, after hearing about his advisor's murder, Ajit rejoiced silently. The program chairman requested Prof. Russell to become Ajit's chief advisor. After seven years of hardship, and nine revisions to his thesis, Ajit finally saw some light at the end of the tunnel. That fall he graduated and held a party at the Indian restaurant next to the Mall. When all his buddies gathered at the bar that evening, Ajit raised his glass of champagne and said, "Friends, this one is for that blessed soul who cleared the way for the successful completion of my Ph.D." Everyone in the bar knew want he meant, but none of them had ever heard of Frank Maldini. BACK to the Main Page