The Electrician

Category B: Highly Commended (2024) Monash Short Story Writing Competition
Author: Jagan Vinod

Salvador Blane strode down the garden path that led him into Cartelin Industries, knowing that this would be his last ever operation. 

He was dressed in working clothes - durable pants and a long sleeve shirt. The man wore abnormally thick, grey gloves on his hands.  The colours were mismatched so badly that the choices seemed almost intentionally horrible. He also carried a small toolbox. Overall, he almost passed as an electrician - all except for his eyes. His eyes were the kind of soulless black that could stare into your soul and drill holes through your heart. There were rumours in criminal circles that he did just that to his victims.

He made his way to the front desk and was greeted by the receptionist, a young man in his 20s.

‘Hello! What can I do for you today?’

‘I’m an electrician. I need to go upstairs to fix a short-circuiting lightbulb.’’

‘I wasn’t aware of any lightbulb.’ 

Mr. Blane stood there, staring straight at the receptionist. Slowly the man behind the desk felt his cheeks turn red as he realised how inept his reply had sounded. 

‘...B-but you may go ahead.’ He stammered out, trying to cover for his lapse in judgement. In any normal scenario, he would have checked the man’s credentials. But here, he had been embarrassed, and he did not have the willpower to hold the man any longer. So he took the easy way out and let him upstairs.

This was, of course, exactly what Salvador had been relying on. He had read the receptionists file from front to back the night before and knew exactly how he would react in this situation. 

He quickly powered up the staircase and turned right to see a door, marked as ‘Mr. Anil Chandra- Chief Executive Officer.’ He opened it, and came face to face with a balding man in his 40s. 

Mr. Chandra looked pale, as if he already knew what was going to happen. Maybe he did. He had bankrupted many people in his rise to the position at the head of Cartelin Industries. He had made many enemies. Blane approached him quickly and thrust his palm outwards, making full contact with the other man’s chest. Chandra began protesting, but stopped mid-sentence. This was because he was blown off his feet. He hit the glass window behind him with a thud and slid down to the floor, slowly convulsing. In 5 minutes, he would be dead. 

The gloves that Blane wore contained special technology that made the front part of it essentially a jackhammer - he had completely destroyed a part of Mr. Chandra’s coronary arteries and caused a blood clot. Eventually, the man behind him would have a heart attack. This meant that on first inspection of the body, it would look like a completely innocent death. A little abnormal for one at 40, but Chandra was an obese man. By the time the doctors realised this was no mere accident, Salvador Blane would be long gone. He would have a new name and be on the other side of the globe. Nobody would be able to find this electrician in two weeks. 

Sitting in the room while the man writhed on the floor next to him, Salvador made a call. 

‘The job is done. I want my money.’

‘Of course. I congratulate you on your retirement. You know what they say about this lifestyle. It's very hard to leave. I’m so glad you have found a way out.’

Salvador got up and strolled out of the room and down the stairs. Something about what the man had said felt unnerving.

As Salvador Blane exited the building, he said ‘Thank you.’ and ended the call. Those were the last two words he ever said.

His clothes began to glow and he felt heat rushing through his body. He fell to his knees and scrabbled at his clothes, trying to tear them off. But it was too late. The assassin blew up quite suddenly, parts of his body flying high into the air. He was dead before he could properly understand what had happened to him.

One never leaves a life of crime.