Seven Deaths for Five Thousand Crore / Chapter 5: The Truck Trick
Seven Deaths for Five Thousand Crore

Seven Deaths for Five Thousand Crore

Author: Kabir Singh

Chapter 5: The Truck Trick

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Crowds were gathering on Laxmi Avenue. Not far away, the kirana store owner was peering around. When he heard the billionaire announce on the livestream that I’d get the inheritance, his honest face twisted, his eyes burning with jealousy. I pretended not to notice, focusing on waiting for Kunal.

Three minutes later, with over a dozen people clustered nearby, I suddenly took off, bursting through the crowd. With everyone watching, I jumped into a delivery truck parked on the corner. It was a battered mini produce truck, painted in bright colours, with a Big Bazaar logo. The cargo door slammed shut. Kunal floored it, driving off Laxmi Avenue.

……

Everything happened as I’d planned. Witnesses snapped photos of the truck and posted them online. Countless pursuers—like hyenas—sprang into action, along with tipsters along the way. Within minutes, my phone buzzed with a WhatsApp ping—another forwarded photo of my face. Before we left the city, Kunal was caught up to.

This time, he was busy driving, no time for reels. He just noticed, oddly, that luxury cars ahead kept swerving to block him. I guessed—they wanted to negotiate. Before things got violent, they’d try softer tactics to get the coin.

But Kunal, clueless, got annoyed, gripped the wheel, and rammed straight into them. The luxury car spun out, sliding several metres. He always boasted about his driving skills. The truck was heavy, so the luxury car had to give way. He smugly rolled down the window and showed them the finger: "So what if you’re rich? I’m not giving way."

But the next second, his truck shook. On the other side, a heavy SUV pulled up, its driver coldly bumping into him, squeezing him from the lane. One of the SUVs had a Ganpati idol on the dashboard, bobbing with every swerve.

"Oh, you’re all together now, is it." He slammed the wheel, cursing, "Think you can bully me because you’re rich? If you’ve got guts, race me for real!"

He floored it again, leaving the SUV behind. He spat out the window in anger. But then he saw four or five cars converging, blocking his way. Kunal was startled: "Arrey yaar, so many of them…" But soon, he relaxed. These cars just followed quietly. No ramming, no cutting him off. He scoffed, lighting a cigarette with one hand: "All bark, no bite. Bunch of cowards."

I stayed silent, counting down the time. They hadn’t acted yet because we were still on monitored roads. A little farther, and we’d hit the mountain road—where I died last time. More importantly, these people were all rivals. Like leopards circling the same prey, they were cautious.

I thought, up to now… If Kunal just stopped, calmly explained he was only the driver and knew nothing about the coin, he might get out of this alive. But he didn’t stop.

I sighed. I knew him—at least in this way. We’d been college classmates, then apprenticed to the same magician. I graduated half a year earlier, so I was half a senior. When I first started performing alone, he always came to support me. Back then, mobile payments weren’t common. Once, a rich kid watched my show, tossed a wad of notes into a puddle, and made me pick them up at his feet. I did it. But Kunal charged up and punched the rich kid in the nose, demanding he apologise to me. Of course, I never got an apology, and I lost two thousand rupees. But from that day on, I considered him my best brother.

The truck hit the dangerous mountain road. The other cars closed in, following too close for comfort. Sensing trouble, Kunal rolled down the window and yelled: "Move it, you idiots!" But they showed no sign of letting him through.

I closed my eyes, unable to hold back a sudden sadness. Just like when he stood up for me, now he roared like a knight charging into battle. The old engine shook like a stubborn horse, carrying him into the siege, trying to teach these bullies a lesson.

Bang—

A loud crash. Silence. He was pinned in the driver’s seat, hanging upside down, blood covering his face, his fate uncertain. The mountain air was still, only the faraway echo of temple bells floating up from the valley below. My brother, my partner in so many small-town mischiefs, now lay trapped between metal and memory. In India, loyalty is everything—but sometimes, it can cost you everything too.

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