The Diplomatic Transporter

The sound of a turbocharged car caught his ear, and Dominique turned and watched as the black four-door Sedan in pristine condition with chrome rims, roared past them. It instantly brought back memories for Dominique. He smiled. “Hey, what are you smiling about?” Marsha asked. “I have never told you this before but when I was 16 years old, my friends and I used to steal cars and sell them for scrap.The first car I stole was a grey 1998 Sedan, just like the one you just heard and saw. I killed the alarm by drilling through the battery and shorting out the electrical system. I planned the job for weeks and had a spare steering wheel and a battery as a backup. The sound of a turbo-charged engine brought back memories of the night I saw a beautiful Indian girl peeping through her bathroom window as I hid under a mask stole her parents’ car. That night changed my life and I decided that I wanted that girl. At nights, I would look upon the lights on the side of the hills surrounding the capital and dream of owning a house overlooking the city. I bet that you didn’t know I was teenage Al Capone? The thing about it was that I was good at it too. I attributed my criminal success to keeping a cool level head while following the principle of demand and supply of the market with diversification and therefore; the sale of small bags of w**d for $50 in school was a lucrative business. It took maturity and nerves of steel for a teenager to earn the trust of the local Don and to negotiate deals in the underworld. Organising a g**g while being the head boy at school was not an easy feat. Marsha, life was not easy; however, with an exemplary academic performance, strong leadership skills and entrepreneurial spirit allowed me to provide money to sustain me and the household without a father. Growing up in my neighbourhood, I earned the reputation of being tough, smart. Once, Scotty Barnes stole my w**d and I confronted him, taped the conversation on my brother’s Walkman and played it back for the Don to hear the entire conversation. Scotty Barnes was found the next day in a barrel near the waterfront with his throat slashed. Especially based on the fact that I gave the Don his share, nobody messed with me, and after that I knew the life of crime was not for me.” “Wow! What a confession! s**t, Dominique that was you that night?” Marsha responded. “Hey, who says crime does not pay, especially since I got the girl.”