Predator Read Online Free PDF Page A

and flavours of the Shiraz grapes.
    If only his nitwit son had a nose for the aromatic flavour of candied apples instead of trouble. Joe quaffed a mouthful of the Shiraz. He could taste the relatively simple flavour of red apple skin, and then made a face. Something was missing.
    The wine was smooth in the beginning and would have been pleasant enough had his team not worked into it a bitter acetone aftertaste. ‘Just like my marriage’, Joe thought, ‘smooth at the start and highly unpleasant at the end, and the soul was always missing,’ Something deep inside him snapped.
    For Joe, wine was all about the soul, never the taste. Livid with fury, he smashed the wineglass on the floor and yelled, ‘Ram Singh! You bastard. What have you done to my beautiful Shiraz? Get your ugly, fat ass over here right now, you son-of-a-bitch!’
    The next moment, the door to the porch swung open and Ram Singh rushed out looking distinctly alarmed. ‘My apologies, Master. I was in the kitchen, and couldn’t hear you. Is something the matter, Sir?’ said Ram Singh in a trembling voice. He was scared to see his Master angry; he knew what was to follow.
    ‘I’m talking about the wine, you imbecile’, thundered Joe. ‘Have you not been keeping an eye on the workers? The Shiraz lacks soul. You know what’s wrong, don’t you? Do you want me to skin you alive, you fool? Send for the supervisor right away and get the damn car out. Now!’
    Ram Singh ran towards the winery.
    Joe’s chef, driver, plumber and man Friday, Ram Singh was a sturdy man in his late-thirties. His balding head and potbelly had allowed the years to take their toll and embrace his soul. He had been an orphan when his Master had taken him under his wing. He trembled in fear every time his Master lost his temper. The whiplash scars on his back were proof of the man’s towering rages. Before the first set of lash wounds healed fully, his Master’s wrath would bestow a new crop to fester. He was loyal to his Master; he was his faithful dog who wouldn’t even whine when kicked. He would do what he was born to do. He was born to serve his God, his Master.
    Ram Singh hurried back and poured wine into a new glass and handed it to his Master. Joe toyed with the glass while he scanned through his memory bank for any lapses or indiscretions, but there were none that he could call to mind. His underground kingdom was his best-kept secret. The buttery was a well-kept secret that he had managed to hide from his dead wife, although his nit-witted son and obnoxious daughter did know of its existence.
    He placed his wineglass carefully on the exquisitely carved sandalwood footstool beside his dark green leather-upholstered rocking chair. He clenched his fists, infuriated as he remembered what his daughter had said before walking out of the door the night of her Mom’s funeral. ‘Screw you, asshole. I’m glad she is dead. I hope it won’t be so easy for you,’ she’d yelled, flicking her middle finger at him, tears streaming down her face. Perhaps she had found out something horribly insensitive that he had done. Ah well, just as long as she didn’t know anything about this secret.
    Joe had always derived a perverse pleasure from watching a woman cry without feeling any remorse. He was unaware that his son was also treading the very same path.
    Probably some years down the line, or who knows it could be sooner, Chris would become a proud father. Joe blamed his mother and wife for the way he was. His daughter had joined their milieu. It made him feel like God, for he had the power to bestow forgiveness upon her.
    Joe had remained silent and watched Salmonella walk out of the house, violently slamming the door shut behind her. His wimpy son, Chris, had just stood there glaring at him. Anyway, that dimwit was too angry to think straight. Joe’s silence had enraged Chris no end that night.
    Things between them had soured since then. Joe would have been quite okay with Chris