***
Admir was working in the building, and he sat in his office four doors down from Damir's. He sat in his chair, nursing his wounds in his office, cursing his boss under his breath.
Admir heard one gunshot follow another and another. The gunshots echoed loudly throughout the whole building. He became frightened. Perhaps the boss and Admir needed another man-to-man conversation again, or a shot into his leg would motivate Admir to be more careful, becoming a better employee.
Admir scanned the room, searching for an exit, but this room had no windows and only one door. Since Admir worked as the computer administrator, he secured his room full of computer servers with no exits. He sat on one side of the office while the computers and routers hummed and buzzed on racks on the other side.
Admir turned the office light off and slowly opened his door, leaving the door slightly ajar. He watched Damir's door open.
A few seconds later, a professor emerged. The professor scanned the corridor and then walked quickly to the exit.
Remaining glued to the spot, Admir shivered in fright. He kept staring at Damir's office door, waiting for that door to open and an insane Damir with a pistol in his hand, running out and start shooting.
After fifteen minutes, Admir walked slowly on his tiptoes to Damir's office door, placing his ear against the door. He couldn’t hear anything. Not a peep came from the room.
Then Admir slowly opened the door and peeked inside. His head came in first tilting at an angle and then the rest of his body followed.
Damir lay on the center of the floor.
Admir profusely apologized, “I’m sorry, boss. I didn’t mean to awaken you. Please don’t beat me again. I’ll return when you are in a better mood.”
Damir remained still, motionless.
Then Admir noticed the leaking bullet hole in his abdomen and the growing pool of blood around his body.
Admir’s smile deepened. He felt much better as his throbbing pain from his bruises and cuts faded away, and he muttered, “Thank you for the Cockta, you asshole!”
Admir shut the office door, wiping his fingerprints off the door handle, using his sleeve. Then he returned to his office and gathered his things. He left early from work in a jovial mood and hummed an old Bosnian hymn, 'Death to the Devil' as he walked out the doors. As far as he was concerned, he didn’t hear a peep. He was still on vacation and was nowhere near the university that day; the day someone slew the devil and threw him into his fiery eternal dungeon.
Searching for Stolen Love Page 17
