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Murderer
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2020-09-23 15:49:52Shortly after Pamela's 19th birthday, there was a decisive turning point in her life. Pamela had received golf equipment from the family as a present. Uncle Ernesto wanted to introduce her personally to his club and introduce her to the new golf teacher.
Pamela was running pretty late because she couldn't get away from the photo shoot. She was surprised to find that her uncle was not home yet because they wanted to go to the golf course together.
It was very unusual for him to be late without giving notice. Aunt Emilia didn't know where Uncle Ernesto was either. But that was nothing new. It had long since bothered her where her husband was hanging around.
Pamela felt a vague premonition in hers in her stomach. Instinctively she got back into her car and drove down to the harbor where her uncle ran a fish trading office.
The plant consisted of a huge, two-story building complex that housed the most modern warehouses and cold stores. It was Saturday evening and more than a dozen white delivery vans with the blue label “Canetti & Son” were parked in a row in the extensive vehicle fleet. It was not until late in the morning on Monday that the cars would swarm with a wide variety of fish and seafood in all directions of the city and supply restaurants and supermarkets with fresh Canetti fish.
The offices were located on the upper floor of the hall. Pamela had guessed correctly. The lights were still on in her uncle's office. After she parked her black Smart next to her uncle's silver jaguar, she went to the front door, which was already locked at that time.
Pamela had a key because, in addition to her job as a model, she also worked in accounting for her uncle. She was amazed to see that the door was ajar. If the caretaker was drunk again and forgot to lock the door on his last round, he would definitely get a big shit on Monday. Pamela ran up the stairs to the upper floor and made up her mind not to whistle to the caretaker.
But then she was torn out of her thoughts by a damn aggressive exchange of words. It was an argument between her uncle and a man whose voice was completely unknown to her. She crept cautiously down the hallway at the end of which was the executive office.
Pamela cast a cautious look into the office and held her breath in dismay. A medium-sized, bald man threatened her uncle with a gun in his hand. The stranger couldn't see her because the door wasn't within his sight.
Uncle Ernesto stood behind his desk, trying to look calm and confident. But his unsteady eye-game told Pamela that her uncle was extremely nervous.
Pamela couldn't follow the conversation. But when the word syndicate was mentioned, she pricked up her ears. She pressed herself against the wall fearfully and closed her eyes for a moment. Pamela just couldn't believe it.
Her uncle was threatened by a Mafia henchman. If she didn't do something now, the man would kill her uncle in cold blood.
She tiptoed back into the small kitchen at the end of the hall. In the cutlery drawer she looked for a suitable weapon. Without thinking twice, Pamela picked up a knife with a short shaft and a long, pointed blade. Then she crept back as quietly as possible.
Uncle Ernesto tried to delay the argument. He saw Pamela in the corner of his eye and was hoping for her help. Pamela did not take the bald man out of her eyes.
He wouldn't let himself be held off for much longer, because the aggressiveness in his voice increased with every second. Panic fear sent Pamela's heart beating. If she didn't act soon, the killer would shoot her uncle, and then she would surely also.
Clutching the knife's wooden shaft tightly, Pamela crept into the room. She wanted to thrust the long blade through his shoulder right into his heart. But suddenly the stranger became aware of her presence and turned around.
With this half turn he took Pamela the chosen attack surface. Confused, she looked into the man's cold eyes. Pamela knew that if she hesitated just a second, the killer would shoot her. In a flash she dived forward and thrust the shining blade into the man's throat with all her might.
The now seriously injured man looked at her in disbelief. Bright red blood gurgled loudly through his slit throat, leaving dark stains on the collar of his white suit shirt. In his agony, the pistol had fallen from the dying man's hand, and it landed with a loud rumble on the hard tiled floor.
"O God! I killed the man. I'm going to jail, ”Pamela yelled hysterically and desperately clapped her hands over her face.
"Be quiet. You won't be anything ”, she snapped at Uncle Ernesto soberly, while he began to search through the dying man's suit pockets. After Canetti couldn't find anything really useful, he got up and took a large towel from the adjoining bathroom, which he wrapped around the still bleeding neck of the man who had died in the meantime.
"You did well. I'm damn proud of you, "Uncle Ernesto said soothingly to his distraught niece while he tried to stop the bleeding.
Pamela slowly regained her composure. Did he really say he was proud of her? For the first time Pamela saw something like gratitude flash in his eyes. Suddenly the fact that she had just killed a person no longer mattered. In a matter of seconds, Pamela had made a quantum leap in Uncle Ernesto's appreciation. And that was all that mattered.
Canetti fetched a large, black plastic bag from the warehouse, in which fish waste was normally collected and then made into fish meal. Pamela helped him put the body in the sack and then put it in one of the delivery trucks in front of the house. Then he sent Pamela home. He wanted to do the rest by himself.
As if by remote control, Pamela drove back to the Canettis' estate. Under the monotonous patter of the shower, Pamela now realized with all clarity that she was a murderer.
Pamela lay awake in her bed waiting for her uncle. It was well after midnight when she finally heard his car pull up. Pamela expected him to knock on her door and speak to her. But, as usual, he walked past her door without a moment's hesitation and straight into his bedroom.
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