This story is written in response to 
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Prompt #1: Our protagonist finds him/herself in the body the president of the United States. How did he/she get in there? Who is behind it? and how can he/she survive the attempts to kill him/her long enough to make sense of it all and do something useful with the hand fate has dealt him/her
#2 the story must include the sentence “ Somehow she reminded him of a blowfish
#3 mudwrestling
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“Yo, Paulo, ready for the game?” Marcus was never bored of asking the redundant question. He cared less for the answer and more for the greenback that the game generated.
The basement of a soon-to-be-demolished building was host to the illegal mudwrestling contest. The smell of sweat was in a contest of its own to overpower the smell of the wet and possibly putrid mud. The shouts of “Paulo” from the nose-blocked, care-a-damn attitude audience was raising the temperature of the already sweltering hot setting.
“Paulo is always ready,” the baritone voice responded in much the usual way. Paulo and Marcus were at the alley, which was dark and as sinister looking as the basement.
“Then let’s go homie. Mudwrestling is gonna mayyk us rich,” Marcus was in high spirit, as always; easy for someone who was not going to wrestle.
Paulo walked towards the entrance to the chants of his name. He looked at the “Steel Hell” where his opponent was already waiting. Paulo hated the place. “Yeahhh,” Paulo yelled and flexed his muscles. The already boisterous crowd went berserk. He sized up his rather short opponent and thought that this would be over pretty quickly.
“And we have our champion, Paulo,” Marcus’ voice on the mike was easily pinned down by the crowds’ cacophony. Paulo entered the steel hell which was a wrestling arena covered on all sides by a steel mesh with a big board which read - Two can enter, but only one can leave. It was not fighting till death, but till one went unconscious.
Paulo started his mind-game, “Welcome to hell”. He tied a piece of cloth around his palm. “All my opponents end up three blocks from here. That’s a hospital. I try not to send them to the fourth block. That’s a cemetery.”
“We’ll see,” the opponent said. And that was the bravest response that Paulo had ever heard.
Paulo rushed on his opponent and landed a heavy punch. It sent the opponent tumbling down. Though it was called mudwrestling, it was freestyle. The only thing disallowed was a weapon.
“Don’t seem so tough,” Paulo continued with the mind-game.
The opponent got up and was on his knee with his back to Paulo. Paulo thought that this would be over with his next punch. The thought of getting out was overwhelming, and in a moment of slack, Paulo missed the opponent’s move. He felt a cold steel metal slicing his throat.
“You don’t seem so tough now.”
Paulo fell on his back and sensed the crowd going silent. He could hear Marcus scream on the mike, “get that as****e.”
“Martha…” Paulo was barely audible and then his eyes were dead weight.
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“I am getting a cold-feet,” for the brave individual that President Alfred was, he was totally different when it came to surgery.
“It’s all going to be fine, honey,” Martha was reassuring. The first lady was acting brave. The president was suffering from an ailment, which was one in fifty million.
A part of the president’s brain was misfiring, which caused seizures and at times unconsciousness. The only solution was a transplanting a small part of the brain, which was the size of a blueberry. The trouble was that only two patient had ever been through such a transplant. The outcome with 50% fatality was not reassuring either.
“You know the odds,” the president said.
“I know that the odds are stacked up in your favour,” Martha said. Nobody could say if she had her fingers crossed.
There was a knock on the door, and then the CIA personnel and a lady entered the room.
“Sir, we are ready,” the lady said. She was heavy set with immensely chubby cheeks. So much so that her eyes were barely visible.
The president laughed. Somehow she reminded him of a blowfish. “I am too.” He put up a brave front in front of his men…. and the lady. He knew his secret was safe with Martha. “Let’s go.”
Nobody cared to find out why the president laughed. That secret was safe with him.
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The surgery required that the president be kept in an induced coma. On the fifth day, the doctors revived him back. One of the doctors told Martha that he should be up within a couple of hours. For Martha though, each second felt like an hour.
“Hmm…. Oww…,” the president was groggy from all the administered drugs.
“Honey, are you okay,” Martha was close-by.
“Martha. Oh, I thought I would never see you again.”
“As I said, the odds were stacked up in your favour.”
“What? I am going to get that son of a b***h,” the president said still sounding groggy.
“Honey, language. People don’t want their president swearing,” Martha smiled.
“What President?” He then turned around and saw two CIA personnel stationed inside.
“S**t, the cops are here?”
“Honey??” Martha was baffled at her better half’s choice of words. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Those guys there. What are they doing here?”
“They are your private security, the CIA,” Martha said.
“CIA? My security?” the president pushed to sit up, “what are you talking about?”
“Doctor, what’s wrong with him? Something with his memory?”
“He is still under heavy medication. He will need some slack,” the doctor said.
“I don’t need slack. Paulo needs no slack,” the president said. Martha was startled. But the president had strained himself too much, and before he could say another word, he lost consciousness.
The doctor was confused. “Who’s Paulo?” the doctor asked as he set the ECG machine back in place.
“Like you said, doc, let’s give him some slack,” Martha was visibly shaken. Her past life had somehow found itself here.
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Martha and Alfred got to talk multiple times over the next two days after his initial groggy talk.
“Martha, I don’t know who Alfred is. It’s me, Paulo,” the President insisted. “I am no President. How did this happen?”
“I don’t know, but I got them to check,” Martha said.
“And…”
“I don’t understand. You were killed in that shady place. Someone slashed your neck and escaped…”
Paulo was overwhelmed for a moment with a faint memory of that day.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“I then let the hospital take your organs. Your brain was given to a college for research work. Eyes, lungs, kidney and liver found recipients within a few weeks.”
“Few weeks? How long has it been? And… And… I don’t remember any President Alfred. Wasn’t it, President Trump?”
“That was the year you died. President Alfred was the next year. This year. and I married him just a few months back.”
Paulo took a moment to let it all sink in. His life was a mystery since that fateful day. “Then, why am I here?” Paulo got up and walked to the mirror. “No, not why. How am I here?”
“Nobody knows. I have not told anybody. But I was informed that the brain belonged to a deceased Paulo. It was your brain which was frozen but never used for the research. Ironically, it was the closest to Alfred’s in terms of a match. But how it brought you back…”
“Not only brought me back but there is no Alfred here. It’s me. And only me,” Paulo said. “I don’t have any memory of any Alfred. I only remember about me till that fight.”
“Should we tell the world, then?”
“Yes, but not before I find that son of a b***h.”
“Who is this son of a b***h you keep referring to?”
“Language, honey. People don’t want their first lady, swearing,” Paulo laughed.
Martha’s looks could have burned down Paulo’s soul.
“Okay, now, don’t kill me. I am Paulo but not as strong as I was. This is some frail body I have to get used to,” Paulo looked at himself.
“Not only that. The CIA intercepted some group which wanted to kill you while you were here in the hospital. I don’t think it is safe to go out there.”
“I don’t have anything to lose. I was dead, and here I am again. I don’t really care about safe,” Paulo said.
Martha allowed Paulo to rest. But she was finding it difficult to come to terms with this twist in her life. Her husband was dead and became alive again. She was emotionally at shock but could not reveal it since her husband was in no better condition than her. She let it all be.
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“The White House had its own benefits. Tracking someone was as easy as driving a hot knife through butter. Marcus was found in prison in New York. Obviously, he was jailed for running the steel hell and getting a person killed. Marcus could not believe a word that Paulo said. After hours of making him believe that President Alfred was indeed Paulo, they got down to business.
“You look like sh*yyt, man,” Marcus was back to his elements. The business-like tone that Paulo had to witness since Marcus’ arrival was giving way to his normal tone and language. “Is this better than the steel hell?”
“No, not really,” Paulo said. “But I get through.”
“Yeah, with that sh*yyt body you will not get through the steel hell,” Marcus leaned back in his chair. “Tell me, homie, you are alive, so that makes me a prisoner no more. Why don’t you get me released?”
“I can’t. The world does not know who I am. And I want it to stay that way.”
“And I rot in prison.”
“I didn’t say that. Behave well till the next month. I will work out something to get you out.”
“Yeah, now that’s what I call homieship.”
“I need some help.”
“What is that?”
“I want to know about the guy who killed me. Where is he?”
“Hmm. I figured.” Marcus told Paulo everything about the person. “Before I could get him at his place, the cops picked me up. I am in New York ever since. That sly dog is Rakesh. Not picked up by the cops yet.”
“Thanks. I want to get him for playing this wrong,” Paulo’s bulging veins on the forehead revealed his exact feelings.
“That dog is not your biggest problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“Word is out that some Asian a** is out here to get you. He gave your security the slip. Not you as in you but homie Alfred’s security.”
“What does he want?”
“Nothing. They want to teach America that their top man is not safe. So the rest can live in eternal fear.”
“You knew? Why didn’t you tell the cops?”
“I don’t care for no president. No president’s death is going to put me in fear. But you are my homie.”
“Marcus, this is what pissed me about you back in steel hell. You were b****y selfish. You cared for nothing but the money.”
Marcus’ smile evaporated. “I don’t call no one homie if I don’t care. Marcus went behind the man who got my homie. I stand here and tell you about this Asian f**k because I care for my homie. You don’t get that, then you are selfish, Mr President.”
Paulo was as stunned as he was when the short guy slashed him in the steel hell.
“I am ready to leave, Mr President. And don’t do no favour getting me out. I can stay in prison.”
Paulo sighed. “Alright, your homie can get it wrong at times. I am sorry.”
Marcus had his back to Paulo.
“Yo, Marcus, ready for the game?”
“Every single time for my homie. But don’t ever tell me that Marcus don’t care for no one.”
“I won’t,” Paulo hugged Marcus. Marcus was then taken back to New York while Paulo couldn’t stop thinking about the sly opponent and this new angle of the Asian assassin.
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Marcus’ leads were good enough to track back the guy who killed Paulo. Paulo thought of killing him the minute he met him. The CIA picked him up and got him to a hotel in New York, where the President was put up.
“Let me go,” the guy, Rakesh’s, protests were lost on the CIA as they threw him in front of President Alfred.
“Leave the two of us alone,” Paulo said.
“Sir, this fellow is a tough cookie. It would not be…”
“I know what kind of crooked cookie he is. I will handle it.”
“Sir.” The men walked out and closed the door behind them.
“You shit, you thought you could kill somebody and remain hidden forever?” Paulo was holding himself back. He wanted to pick up the vase on the table and break it on Rakesh’s head.
“Why do you care about some useless human? Nobody was there to cry for him.”
Paulo was keeping himself down from killing Rakesh. He could not figure out why he was talking instead of beating the hell out of him. “And how do you know that there was nobody to cry? I heard you ran away that night.”
“Monsters like those don’t have anyone. They just ruin others’ lives.”
Paulo was stunned. He knew he fought to make a living, but he never killed or even went close to killing anybody. Paulo just hated the place. All that he wanted was to save some money and find something better to do. So, this came as a surprise, especially that he never met the guy before.
“How old are you?”
“I will be seventeen this year.”
“What? You were sixteen when you went to fight in the steel hell?” In his mind, Paulo was swearing at Marcus for getting a kid in the arena.
“I didn’t go there for the fight. I went there to kill Paulo.”
“That we know. He is dead. But why?”
“Because he killed my father, drove my mother to the flesh trade, ruined my elder brother’s college and made me a criminal,” Rakesh was finding it hard to speak as tears swelled.
“I don’t understand. I knew Paulo. He did nothing of that sort.”
“He did. My father lost his job and was finding it hard to make ends meet. He got to hear about the steel hell and the money that he could make. My father went for it and was put up against Paulo. He beat him up so bad that he ended up in the hospital. With no money to pay for the hospital, my mother had to sell herself night after night. When dad came to know about it, he could not bear it. He killed himself. Brother had to leave college to help mum. We were a disgraced family in the neighbourhood and had to leave everything and move so that we could live anonymous lives.”
Paulo's mouth was dry. Words were finding it hard to form for him to speak out. He never thought that his life could have impacted someone else’s so bad.
“That’s why I went to kill that b*****d,” Rakesh said, wiping his tears. “I know I have to live my life in jail, but I have no regrets. I am only sorry that I will not be there for mom.”
“You will be there for your mom,” Paulo said. He did not know how he managed to say that. He was feeling heavy with guilt.
“What? Did I not confess just now?”
“Yes, you did. You confessed someone else’s sins. You are free.”
Rakesh was moved. This time he could not hold back his tears. He fell on the feet of the President.
“What are you doing? Get up now,” Paulo was fighting tears himself. “And I hope you do not have a knife somewhere in your pocket,” Paulo laughed.
Rakesh laughed too. He wiped his tears. “No, Mr President. I have nothing against anybody anymore.”
“Good, then. Go home now.”
“Mr President, just one more thing. Yesterday around my place, there was this guy in a hood who was talking about getting you in the hotel. I have never seen the guy before nor could I see him well, but I know the guy who was talking to him. He is from our place.”
“Why did you not tell the cops?”
“Because I was a killer myself. They would arrest me. I was afraid.”
Paulo could understand though he could not believe his luck. While the assassin was at the back of his mind, a direct lead was the last thing he thought possible. “Alright, listen carefully. The CIA will come to drop you. You show them the guy from your place. We’ll take care of the rest.”
“Yes, sir,” Rakesh said.
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Paulo had achieved a new sense of calm. Meeting Rakesh set his life on a new course. He did believe in the Almighty, although he wondered if that is why he got a second life - to meet Rakesh and make his wrongs right. And what about Alfred? Was he so good that God called him to his abode just like that? Paulo thought he better focused on the task at hand than to figure out the Almighty’s plans.
He got on the phone with Martha.
“Yeah, it was kind of good. I am happy that Rakesh is fine.” Paulo didn’t tell Martha about the assassin. To get Martha unsettled was the last thing on his mind. If losing one husband was not bad enough, losing two in one go would be too much.
“So, what are you planning for Rakesh and his family?”
“I don’t know, Martha. I will have to think about it,” Paulo gave out an audible sigh. “I’ve got to go now. I will call you later.”
The CIA got the desired information from the person that Rakesh had pointed out. The guy was a killer hired probably by a group in the Middle East. Their sole purpose was to carry out strike after strike on the Presidents starting with President Alfred. Also, the strike was to be carried out in the hotel before the President checked out.
The CIA’s work was cut out. To allow the assassin to come in and reach the President’s room. From there, the assassin will either be nabbed or killed. President Alfred would be in the neighbouring room. That was the plan.
“Sir, we are all set,” the agent said. “The feed from the camera would be visible on your room’s television.”
Just then they both heard the other room’s bell ring. They could see an agent going to open the door. A housekeeping lady stepped in and started cleaning. She went to each room for cleaning. One CIA agent stayed in the room while the cleaning was in progress.
Paulo was bored watching the cleaning. He momentarily looked out of the window from the same place he was seated. The agent excused himself and went out. Paulo heard a conversation between the CIA agent and the housekeeping lady.
“Is there anything to be laundered?”
“We will let you know, if we need,” the agent was curt in his reply.
“Oh well, I thought since there was just a day left, it had to be collected soon. Anyway. Thank you.”
Something about the conversation got Paulo’s attention. He could see that the lady was walking out. He had to tell the agents that that was the assassin. He had no direct communication with them. So, he took matters into his own hands.
Paulo ran to the door, “that’s the assassin,” and pointed at the lady.
The reaction was immediate from the assassin and the CIA personnel. A Smith and Wesson appeared from nowhere but was easily shot down by one of the agents. The assassin with a bleeding hand got a knife and ran towards the President. The agents couldn’t shoot. A small movement and they could end up shooting the President instead of the assassin. So, they ran to stop him. Too late.
The assassin lunged at Paulo much to the shock of all the agents.
Paulo got the assassin’s hand holding the knife and with the other hand, grabbed the assassin’s neck and took the momentum of the lunging assassin and pinned him on the floor on the other side. He then let go of the neck and used the hand to land a hefty blow on his face. It was enough to send the assassin to his dreamland. The knife fell off.
“I am not going to be slit again,” Paulo whispered in the assassin’s ears, “and Paulo is always ready.”
Paulo stepped back. When he turned around, he saw startled faces. He was not sure if it was his combat or the assassin’s disguise which shook his agents. Paulo smiled and went back into his room.
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“So, that’s what happened. All the agents had a special respect for me since then,” Paulo was all smiles recounting the story to Martha.
Martha was still frowning, “but how did you know that he was the assassin?”
“Oh, he blurted out about the laundry, and that there was only a day left to leave.”
“So?”
“Honey, no one knows the president’s schedule. All hotels are booked beyond the actual dates. So the hotels didn’t know for sure, and the hotel staff were the least expected to know.”
“Sherlock Paulo,” Martha laughed. “In some many years of living with you, I did not know that I was living with an intelligent man. All I could see was you going to that hell in the night and coming tired every morning.”
“Yeah, I was doing it for us. I wanted to get out of that life and was hoping that day would come soon. But never expected life to take such a turn.”
“You did well, Paulo,” Martha tapped Paulo’s hand on the table. “And we have happy citizens. All the policy introduced to help people like Rakesh and the undesired lives they live has worked. More and more youth are joining the mainstream. No more hell anywhere.”
“Thank God for that, Martha. I hope our countrymen can live a good life.”
“They will, Paulo. But what now? Are you going to tell the world?”
“I guess not. Let’s leave it at that. I stay President Alfred and continue the good work.”
Martha smiled and leaned to give her man the kiss that he deserved.
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Image Courtesy: Kalhh @Pixabay
