From the Eyes of a Juror

by Frank Terranova

  Chapter 54 – Saeed Kahn’s Errand (A License to Kill)

  Friday morning June 13, 2008 – 8:45 AM

  At around the same time that Frank Newlan was frightfully pondering the capricious nature of his circumstances within the well-protected confines of the sixth floor juror deliberation room of the Middlesex Superior Courthouse, his neighbor and concierge, Saeed Kahn, was putting into motion a plan that would make a throat-slash gesture seem harmless by comparison.

  Kahn claimed illness and arranged for the night/weekend concierge, whom he referred to as “Mr. Charlie”, to take his shift, while he slipped out for an appointment with his longtime personal doctor. And although Kahn was as deceitful as a man can be, right down to his rotten core, in a demented way you could also make a case that there was a sliver of truth buried somewhere deep within his lies.

  Kahn was in fact ill, but his was a sickness of the mind. His was a delusional malady which had pervaded his inner-being and left him a mere shell of a man…a sullen, soulless, broken, shell of a man.

  However, in his defense, who can know for sure what precipitated Kahn to abandon reason and decency for a world of hate? Who can know for sure of the tortures he had endured in his native land; the violence he had been forced to participate in; the death he had been forced to witness? But in the end, sadly, regardless of just cause, his affliction, like a contagious deadly disease, was destined to be diagnosed as a terminal condition, not only to himself, but to all who crossed his path.

  Yes dear reader, in some ways we cannot blame Saeed Kahn for his growing disregard for human life; for one does not come to a decision as monumental as Saeed Kahn was about to make, overnight. No, it takes years of brainwashing; years of manipulation; years of being treated like dirt; and finally one snaps; finally one succumbs; finally one takes the law into his own hands, regardless of the consequences.

  In some ways, the crime that Saeed Kahn was hatching up in his spurious mind was not so much different than the crime that Mr. John Breslin was being accused of. But in Mr. Breslin’s case, his was an alleged crime against one man, whereas in Saeed Kahn’s case, it was an all out war-crime against the metropolis known as the United States of America that he was dead set on perpetrating.

  And to clarify the matter further, we feel obliged to report that, in an effort to cleanse his soiled mind, Saeed Kahn was in fact going to see a doctor. But in his case, he would not be visiting the same class of MD which one would consult with here in the western world. No, Mr. Kahn was seeking the curative assistance of his spiritual healer. Mr. Kahn was seeking the guidance of his impenetrable master. Mr. Kahn was seeking the council of his cerebral governor.

  After enduring a tempestuously lustful, dream-filled night, dominated by the presence of snakes and serpents, a nightmarish vision which would have rivaled Frank Newlan’s fantasy world any day of the week, Saeed Kahn gingerly entered the secret chamber of his grand leader’s underground sanctuary, and he remorsefully bared his soul as he tearfully acknowledged his filthy impiety before the pious guru, much like a Catholic would declaim his sins in the confessional booth. And for his troubles, Kahn received his penance from the celestial leader, much like a Catholic would be assigned to recite countless “Our Father’s” and “Hail Mary’s” in atonement of his imperfections.

  Much like a disciple of any organized religion, Saeed Kahn sank down to his knees and mournfully chanted his plea for forgiveness until his aseptic tongue was cleansed. But alas, Kahn received a lot more than just guidance from his mysterious master; in fact, he received much more…much, much, more.

  A profound sense of joy filled Saeed Kahn’s heart as he departed the dwelling of his enigmatic paramount and ventured directly over to the Acme Truck Rental office which was located in the commercial district of Medford Massachusetts.

  Kahn had already done his fair share of research on the internet and he had been window-shopping for days, so he knew exactly what it was he was looking for, and thus he found a truck that was to his liking in no time flat. The dimensions of the trailer measured up perfectly for the task that he had in mind, and the transaction was completed in a matter of minutes.

  And so with another requisite task on his rapidly growing checklist completed, Kahn whipped out his cell phone and dispatched a call to his lone trustworthy ally east of Karachi; a loyal blood-brother of impeccably high standards.

  Kahn’s was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, convinced that his valiant associate would prove to be an unwavering man; a man who would be categorically willing to nobly assist him in his “long in the making” endeavor by, amongst other things, transporting the mammoth truck back to a secret, hidden location for safe keeping. All Kahn needed to do was to inform his staunch confederate that their reticent leader had unequivocally approved of his righteous doings and his comrade would follow him, unconditionally, to the ends of the Earth and back, no questions asked, no explanations necessary.

  Yes, on that ignoble date of Friday the 13th day of June in the year of our Lord 2008, Saeed Kahn received a holy blessing from his erudite master; a holy blessing which included the merciful absolution of all his sins; a holy blessing which included the exoneration of all crimes, past, present and yet to come; a holy blessing which included amnesty from all punishment; a holy blessing which included the vindication of which he had been fervently praying for…and just like that, the supersensible administrator had washed his hands of his disciple.

  Just like that, the recondite master had granted Saeed Kahn…a license…to kill.