prose, short story

Boris K. and The Serial Killers, “The Adventures Of Boris K”, Leila Samarrai

Boris K. and The Serial Killers

Boris K. was a good driver. He never had trouble finding a job as a taxi driver for the Republic because in his younger days he drove in Formula One races, though only in amateur competitions sponsored by the Socialists. On one occasion, while lighting a Lucky Strike® cigarette and waiting for riders, he sees two black silhouettes apparating from the dark. They were a man and woman, moving in rhythm and snapping their fingers at exactly the same time, so in sync, their heads appeared conjoined. They ask him for a ride, giving him an unfamiliar address, and Boris K. grudgingly stubs out his cigarette and gets into his cab with the mysterious couple. He puts his hands on the wheel and then looks ahead, focusing on the dashboard where the mobile command center tells him where to go.  He peels out into the street, while glancing in the rearview mirror.  Puzzled, he watches while the man takes off his cap and the woman opens her Louis Vuitton purse so she can check her lipstick.  She opens the tube, revealing a deep violet color, freezes her face, puckers her lips, and begins making circular designs around her nose and face. When she’s done, she turns, revealing her horrific appearance to her man with the spiky hair, à la Hans Holbein, and says:

“Put that cap back on, DAMN you! ”

A second later, she screams:


Startled, Boris K. hits a pot hole and bounces off the seat.

Through the mirror, her gaze momentarily meets with Boris K, who quickly but unsuccessfully averts his eyes to avoid her demonic stare.

“But, honey…”

“Don’t you dare try to talk sweet nothings to me! I should have known that for our fifth year together, you would secretly buy a Louis Vuitton purse for another woman…a Venetian no less!”

“There’s no way in hell I would buy her a Louis Vuitton purse!”

He pauses, “think Aschenbach from Death In Venice!”

“Do you swear it was just a knock off?” she stares him down.

“I swear.” He answers.

The woman cries out violently and slaps him, leaving a red stain on his face.

“I’ll give YOU Death in Venice… Suddenly This Summer!” she yells.

Distracted, Boris K. almost collides with a car coming towards him.

“But you screwed it up. You got it all wrong!” the woman said smugly.

“When I found that purse you had gift wrapped for your lover, I sprinkled anthrax inside the middle pocket so you could watch her die when she opened it!”

The woman laughs demonically as Boris K. feels the seat trembling beneath him.


“I’m used to your murders,” says the man nonchalantly, as he places his cap back on his head and sinks comfortably into the back seat. The woman looks up and subtly lifts her skirt, giving Boris K. a view of her lacy thong from the mirror.  He starts to sweat and averts his gaze once again. The man continues:

“I got over it when you poisoned my dog. I even forgave you for killing my mother. Nothing surprises me anymore. Not even if you slaughtered this taxi driver!”

She smiles at her lover.

“Ah, my dear, you know how it goes…an eye for an eye …

And YOU killed my mother that summer…! ”

“In your house on the Coast of the Cantabrian Sea …” the man finishes her sentence and sighs.

“How romantic that was! We were so happy back then, and now look at us.  We’re two murderers in retirement.”

They turn toward each other wistfully.

“We should just live in the grace of the victims we meet on the road coincidentally. No more careful planning… ”

They smile and embrace each other.

Boris K. feels a quick tightening in his chest. He goes pale from the awareness, feeling fearful and dark. He pulls over to the side of the road, worried he might crash. Suddenly everything goes black. When he wakes up, he feels as if he has left his body and is watching everything unfold from above the seats.  He sees himself lying on his back, eyes closed, while these two killers bring him back to life.

“I think he had a heart attack!” he hears their excited voices overlapping, as if the sound is emerging from the depths of the sea. They appear disfigured, slowed down and distant.

Slowly, like soul threads being wound back onto a spool, he feels himself returning to his lifeless body. As he comes to, he wipes his hand over his sweat-drenched forehead and murmurs:

“The murder … the murder”

As soon as his blurred vision clears, he looks into the worried faces bending over him.

Their long noses seem to be waving back and forth at him. His eyes widen, and a cry breaks from his throat. Suddenly, he feels the water they’re splashing on his face. Boris K, now completely lucid, jumps up quickly to defend himself, while the man and woman reassure him:

“Don’t be afraid. We were just rewriting our dialogue, “says the man.  The woman adds:

“We are writing a series.  It’s called THE WINDSHIELD. These are just our scenes, buddy. If all our scenes are as brilliant as these, we’re sure to be a hit!” With that, they all get back in the car and continue to their destination.  However, Boris K. is too shaken up to drive and he crashes, thus ending his illustrious career as a taxi driver.