My sincere thanks to:
Garrett Rodowick – The Dutchman we call him. A great guy by all means. Thanks for all your help and support in many of our crucial engagements. He was a vibrant hauler and transporter. Throughout his life, he was never caught or none of his tasks were failed. Eventually, he died in a car accident while transporting some illegal drugs through Budapest border to Berlin.
Mary Ann Doane – She was elegant; a true interpreter with fair grip in five languages. A big gun was never a hurdle for her, but a word that sounds odd might turn her to be a ferocious witch. After a decade of underground interceptions, she earned huge money and decided to withdraw herself from the world full of deals and no deals and with all her money, she fled to an island city in the Caribbean. Later, we were informed that she disappeared into the Atlantic Ocean after a shipwreck.
David Stewart – An Englishman with very less words in his mouth. His hotel in the city was our usual place to sit and talk. Though he talks less, his radar like eyes and brain always protected us from unexpected company. He was shot by a Chinese man who gave us a surprise appearance and his hotel was ramshackled by the Chinese drug agents in the city.
Vivek Mukhopadyay – An agent from Kolkata who looked like a philosopher. He was always a disturbed and confused soul. Our negotiations were not so easy but whenever agreed, he did his best of his life. Unfortunately, he committed suicide for a reason, which is still a mystery for us.
Prasanna Jayavardhane – A notorious gangster from Kandy, Sri Lanka. He always liked to undertake dangerous missions and enjoyed killing. He was very well used by drug dealers in Africa for safe transportation of stuffs. He was a great kidnapper and had his own style of doing things. He was an ardent fan of James Bond. Everything was going smooth and all of a sudden we came to know that he stuck in the battlefields of Jaffna and gun fired by the Srilankan Army.
Yuri Tivian – An agent from Taiwan who was in love with the mafia in Taiwan and Hong Kong. I met him only once and that was an amazing experience. He had sophisticated ideas that could turn the table. He was an expert in weapons and worked as a dealer too. However, his connections with double agents in Pakistan and Bangladesh ruined his trust and one of the gangsters in the city killed him for a breach of contract.
James Jameson – A professor from Iowa University. He was more like professor Moriarty, an intellectual and academician in daytime and a blood sucking gang leader at night. We worked for his gang a few times and it was the most dangerous attempts we have ever made. He was arrested by FBI and sent to prison for life sentence. Later he was shifted to a mental asylum where he spent his last days of his life.
Muchio Tamoko – He was nobody to us, but he was everywhere we went. His secret affairs were so deep that it pierced into the very depth of our day-to-day activities. He knew everything; he captured every movement that has been planned by gangsters in the city. He was killed in a motor accident.
Ntkowa Nknotoka – He was a tall and strong agent from Nigeria. He was the bottleneck to the vast world of diamond mafia in Congo. His neck was cut by a diamond dealer in Congo for breach of trust.
Pierre Gunning – Though I never met him, I knew everything about this Frenchman who was an expert in planting explosives. To his own mistake, he was scattered in to pieces in French Guiana.
We missed all of these great personalities in different gang fights, robbery attempts and a few of them had a hazardous aftermath life and succumbed to death. I thank each and everyone for their contributions and renaissance that gave me courage and guts to pen down my memories and visions.
There are a few more friends left to thank. As the circumstances do not allow and they all are still alive and active in their areas of work, I cannot mention their names and locations. Thanks to all for showing me the brilliancy of life.
Chapter 1 – Here we go…
Seriously, I am doubtful of calling myself a serial killer or a gangster or whatever in that kind. I was never one of them at all and never wanted to be someone always dreams about the next possible murder attempt. I said ‘attempt’ – stress on that word – because I never had a chance to meet a serial killer with a decent track record in the history of murder ‘attempts’. Attempts are counted than success because of the risk involved in it. Sometimes, it is harder than killing to get into the place where the victim is targeted. I will explain it in some other occasion. We have our own methods. I have obvious reasons to say that they are just pulling the cart like mules. Sometimes they do get a cognitive satisfaction, I agree, but considering the effort and labor they spend, it is not worth talking to someone. By the by, who knows the secrets behind their encouragement or temptation to clutch a beautiful woman’s neck? Oh, it was just an example; it is a natural way of talking about murders among serial killers or a lunatic fringe.
I was called ‘Noun’ because I was the one who named everything and anything… We were four, five, six, seven…no no no it should be reverse…we were seven, six, five and now four. The other three left us after a disastrous attempt to rob a millionaire. They were shot by the security officers and we the remaining four managed to run away from their Kalashnikovs (I think so) and for a few months we were hiding in the four corners of the city hoping that our gang should not be abolished forever.
Ali was the strongest in the gang. An Egyptian by birth and was brought up in some other country in Africa. He was practicing some attempts in robbery in Nigeria and caught red handed. Luckily, he had some money left in his valet to bribe the police officers. He then travelled all around the continent and finally got dumped in this city. He was always cool and a ready to go guy. He was our spiritual adviser as well. Don’t laugh, we also keep some spiritual or moral kinda things; professional ethics to be precise.
Ruskin was born to an Australian father and an American mother. His father was an evangelist. His mother was a social worker in India; with Mother Theresa. They met in a city called Calcutta during their services after some natural calamities and eventually fell in love. When Ruskin was a fetus, his parents moved to a city named Mumbai and Ruskin was born there. In his own words, Mumbai is an ideal place to practice serial killing and robbery. To justify his own words he became an expert in murders and gained a good reputation among the underworld in the city. Somehow, as it always happens with gangsters, he had to face reactions from opposite gangs and left Mumbai forever. After wandering here and there, he ended up in this city.
Miya, known as mia culpa among us, said to have born in multiple places as her tales were depended upon situation and the drink she sips in the evening. Anyways, she looked like a Chinese and talked like Chinese. She spent a few years in Europe with her boyfriend who was a science student. Their life was a disaster by all means and they separated when that guy found science as his wife and Miya as only a sex toy. By that time Miya placed herself attached to some drug dealers in the Europe and in a very natural way she became one the best carrier of banned drugs in the Europe. She was caught and jailed a few times and after a hectic experience with law and lawmakers, she left the gang and travelled to this city in search of new opportunities.
So simple, isn’t it? How simple it is to tell the stories of my fellow gangsters. In fact, I made it simple because I don’t want to create a worse picture of them like those ‘good fellas’ do. They call us criminals. They call us social nuisance. They never talk to us and don’t like to see us around, good for them. But, my conviction is that these so-called social animals are more found of our activities than the law books taught them. They do the same things what we do; in the shadow of goodwill. Am not against their morality or social responsibility. I never complain that they are looking at things in an odd way. I even don’t curse them for making their children grow exactly like them and turning their faces from the real picture of the society they live and claim to be clean, humane and gift of God.
I know that this is not a humble way to start a story. It should be like a holy book and they expect us to tell the story as if we are confessing or admitting our way beyond lives. I would like to call them ‘the flying saucer watchers’. That’s why they call me ‘Noun’.