When the Mongoose Hunts

Mongooses are small carnivorans who live in southern Asia, southern Europe and Africa. They are between 0.3 and 1.2 metres long and there are 33 species; some lead predominantly solitary lives, seeking out food for themselves, while others travel in groups, sharing food among group members.

You will probably ask: "Why is she talking about mongooses when mongooses cannot even be found in Bristol?" And you are right, mongooses do not live in Bristol. We cannot find mongooses in the city. Nonetheless, there is a story written in Bristol and that's how I first heard of this animal.

When the Mongoose Hunts is a short story written by Simak QaQa, a friend of mine from Bristol. The story was written some years ago and has recently been published by Amazon for Kindle. 
A mysterious man goes about the dangerous business of a professional assassin. The attention to detail, the meticulous planning and the ability to take decisive action make this particular assassin a credible employee. However, not everything goes to plan, and the successful assassin needs to also learn to adapt when things go wrong.

I encourage you to read the sample of the story available in Amazon. Even if you don't own a proper Kindle, you can download the app for your Android for free.
Read the beginning of the story, I'm sure you will be intrigued to read the rest! 

"The taxi was an old vehicle, a lot of the interior had already wasted away, and the damp and rank smell of unwashed cloth lingered heavily. The driver didn't have much English, if he did, he might have asked what a blatantly non-Asian face was doing in the heart of the slums of India. It was dangerous for any man to be here, let alone a foreigner that wore decent clothes and was well fed. The driver slowed down the car, he was turning roung in his seat for his fee. The fare, to the delight of the driver, handed over was about 8 times as much as the normal citizen would pay. Fool, he thought.

The foreigner now walking towards an Indian bed and breakfast knelt down and tied an imaginary shoe lace, putting his suitcase on the floor next to him. As he got up, he left the suitcase on the floor and carried on. If anyone was following him, they would jump at the chance to get his suitcase, leaning on the fact that the foreigner would either think it was stolen or that he left it on the taxi. But he had made sure there was no one in close proximity when he got out of the taxi, anyone who would take his bag now would be a tail.

He carried on in his direction towards the bed and breakfast. Walking in through the open door, a damp, rancid smell descended on him. He looked around. There was a man sitting on a desk in one corner, with the rest of the hallway bare, apart from a door that probably led to the rooms. The walls were yellowing at the top, and they all had a dead creamy colour. He had picked this particular place because he had been informed that the landlord could speak some English. He spoke to the man on the desk. After a few short minutes, a room was arranged, and the foreigner paid for seven days in advance.

The foreigner was led up to his room, then, as he was being shown his quarters, he dramatically noticed his briefcase outside. This was good, there was no tail, walking down to retrieve his briefcase, he reflected on his decision to pay the taxi driver excessivelly. Although the driver was suspicious he was content, this would be better than having him suspicious and ready to jump at the opportunity to earn some points with the law.

No time could be wasted, although seven days rent had been paid for, three days would be the maximum time allocated for this task, two days would be ideal. He walked out of the bed and breakfast. He had learned the map of these streets by heart, and headed towards a preplanned destination. The time now was approximately 12pm. The streets were similar to all countries that were called the third world, dusty and broken up with garbage littering the streets. With the clothes he had borrowed from the landlord, and the heavy turban on his head, his white face would hopefully be unnoticed. Maneuvering throught the streets, he reached a row of small shacks. He approached the back door of one such shack and knocked in pre-arranged code. The door opened slightly, and a muzzle protruded from the crack. 'Even the rich get sick these days,' said a heavily accented Indian voice. 'Then I'll hide the medicine' said the foreigner. The door opened and the man was admitted. 'So, you are the wolf.' He could tell the man was looking him over. Analyzing the stiff facial features, the athletic build. It almost seemed like he was sizing him up. This worried him. 'What shall I address you as, my friend?' the indian asked. 'Call me by the code you have been given', came the reply. 'Then you shall be called Mongoose"

Fragment of When the Mongoose Hunts by Simak QaQa

LINKS

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Buy When the Mongoose Hunts HERE