Short Story: Email Threat - I

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Resemblance to any person living or dead, to any organisation, place or thing is purely coincidental.  

The door bell rang. It was seven in the morning of a late November. It was still cold and there was mist in the air. Yet I managed to wake up early and do with my morning ablutions.
“Could you get that?” Darshana yelled from the kitchen. She was making us some coffee.
“Who could this be - so early on a November winter?” I ambled toward the door grumbling. (Oh God! I want no guests). I opened the door.
“Good Morning, dude! Er…or is it a bad one?” greeted Raj with his trademark derision.
“What a pleasant surprise, man! Come on in!” I smiled in good earnest.
“Cut the crap, Suresh. I know you are cursing me underneath for ruining your morning with Darshana,” said he dropping on to the couch, “am sure you fancied a romantic morning coffee with her in the balcony exchanging sweet nothings, if not for my intrusion.”
“You speak my mind.” I said forthrightly.
“Yeah! I knew it. You would have found yourself feeling the chill of the mist, enjoying the brilliant hues on the horizon while listening to morning songs of those chirpy birds, cozying up in the arms of your girl, if I hadn’t barged in. Ain’t it?”
“You bet. But what’s wrong with that?” I was mildly provoked.
“It never is wrong, not right either”, he answered and added – “What beats me is that the sun’s been painting hues on the sky for aeons and birds been chirping for ages, and yet we realise its beauty only when the girl is by the side.” Sardonicism at its best. He had a point though.
“Morning, Raj!” Darshana greeted from the kitchen.
“Hey, Morning! Make it three. The coffee smells so good.” His olfactory lobes always operated at levels that would rival the bloodhounds. Moments later Darshana walked into the room, sat herself on the couch setting the coffee tray on the table.
“So, what brings Mr. Sherlock Holmes here so early on a cold morning?” she asked.
“Some nice coffee you make”, he quipped, “and by the way, don’t call me that name again.”
Raj, Darshana and I were classmates in college. We graduated in the summer of that year. Darshana and I got placed into TCS on campus. Raj never attended the campus interviews and wasn’t into anything yet. When asked, he would say with such bloated conceit that he’s in no hurry and the companies could wait to hire him. When at college, he was the unofficial IT security adviser. The management sought his counsel on numerous occasions. He helped them in many issues including the busting of the group from MCA that hacked into marks database and fudged the scores. But it was the cases of “Missing Journals” and “Stolen Question Papers” that gained him popularity and as well earned him the sobriquet – Sherlock Holmes, a title he still refuses to accept. To quote him – “It is unfair to call me Sherlock Holmes. Holmes is a fictional character. A figment of imagination of the genius of a man called Sir Arthur Doyle, and nothing more.” He was seen as an all-minds-no-hearts guy in college. The fair sex always found his manners unfair. I remember him saying that he is comparable with the fictional sleuth on one aspect – similarity in both their opinions about women. But he stressed on the point that he is not chivalrous - unlike Doyle’s detective. Raj maintains that chivalry is another form of sexism. It is just an alternate expression of male chauvinism – a subtler way to preempt the woman from doing what she is capable of  - he would argue.
"How's the coffee?" asked Darshana.
"Splendid!" he exclaimed, "I am sure you bought the coffee powder from that corner shop on 3rd street two days ago."
"Man, I do know you have your ways with the reasoning. But this is too much!" wondered Darshana. "It's pretty simple," said he sipping another mouthful.
"Doesn't seem to us though. Would your Lordship condescend to explain the seemingly simple conundrum?" I tried to gibe.
"I saw you at the stores two days ago," he said looking at Darshana with a smug smile. It was a rare moment, because the only time he smiles is when he beats others with his cerebral gymnastics. He was full of conceit on having defeated us. It is always a love-hate relationship with him. You like him one moment and hate the other.
"Hey! I thought you would entertain us with a bizarre chain of reasoning." said Darshana, mildly disappointed.
"I don't reason out things which I see with my eyes," he quipped, "Reasoning fills in with scenes the eyes didn't see."
"Hmm. Smart as ever!" appreciated Darshana.
Although, we are good friends, I couldn't stand the sight of Darshana paying him encomiums. I changed topic - "When are you gonna get yourself a job, Raj?" He stared at me while that harrying smug smile played on his lips once more. The silence that followed was broken by the telephone. Darshana picked the phone - "Ohmygod!" Her eyes saucered out in shock.

...to be continued.

 msr
PS: Like millions of wannabe deductive fiction writers, I was also inspired by Doyle.