JACK & JILL

Jack was a scoundrel of the worst kind, his mother started to say after she found him pilfering the contents of her hand bag, at age eight. Twenty-five years later, Jack had moved on from hand bags. He used to frequent the sleazy premises of Rosie's Bar and Restaurant, located on the second floor of Acram building, just of Jewel Street. It was the kind of bar where you would encounter a trio of Russian mafia men, dressed in fur-lined leather jackets despite the blistering Indian heat, haggling with a bald chinese man over an aeroplane. You could find anything in Rosie's bar, the locals used to claim. The bartender, a one-eyed, former Mossad Agent called Zohar, knew the city inside out - with one telephone call he could arrange a police raid, a kidnapping, a packing crate full of cocaine or a meeting (for the right price, of course) with the city's top business men. No one knew exactly how Zohar pulled it off, but he did.

Jack was of a different order. The dealings that resulted in a stolen aeroplane, a drug heist or a mafia don killing were still above him, but Jack was a respectable pimp - he had a number of talented girls, to meet a variety of different needs. But the jewel in his crown, so to speak, was Jill.

Rumours abounded that the afore-mentioned Jill was none other than Jack's own sister - but this was speculation, not (as yet) confirmed by fact. Jill wasn't a beauty - in fact if you were to venture one night into Rosie's bar, and saw Jill lounging across a table-top, propositioning a scarred, burly gangster - you wouldn't have thought much of her. She didn't look like a moll - she was far too plump, had greasy lank hair, and acne-scarred cheeks. But the regular clientele of Rosie's Bar could testify to the fact that if you forgot the excess pounds, the bad hair cut and complexion, Jill could work wonders. She had been known to tease out the passwords for swiss bank accounts from the lips of infatuated, stern businessmen. Compromising photographs of her and a certain politician (whose was once touted as the next PM), ruined the politician's marriage and destroyed any prime-ministerial hopes. Once, the gossips claimed, a French actor, an academy award nominee, who had encountered Jill on a trip to India, had sent a private jet to ferry her to his private Carribean Island for a special party.

Jill was very good at what she did.

But it wasn't enough. Jill dreamt of love - of finding someone who would take her home and look after her - of a family, children and a suburban house.

Jack dreamt of being something more than a pimp.

It was their dreams that got them into trouble.

Jack had begun a small export business on the side - a way of getting bigger game. He had started a trade sending exotic, endangered animals out of the country. He had recently laid his hands upon a male Tdijre, a animal that was considered extinct. The Tdijre had been originally obtained for a British gangster. A local IT tycoon, catching wind of this news, outbid the British Gangster, and obtained the last Tdjire.

The British Gangster vowed revenge on Jack, and contracted a local outfit to obtain the Tdijre.

A plan was hatched.

While Jack was busy with the Rdijre deal, Jill obtained a regular. He was a handsome young man - not quite like Jill's other clients. In post-coital moments, he would whisper to Jill of love, and would steal up, during the day, to serenade her with old movie songs. He even began to write her poetry.

Jill was touched.

Soon, the regular brought her gifts. First it was a teddy bear, then a dress, then a golden locket. Her regular told her he was an orphan, a self-made man, and he was lonely.

Jill began to dream.

Jack returned and found Jill in a lackadaisical state, her eyes dreamy, her thoughts far away. Her talents, her clients complained to Jack, had begun to wane. She wasn't bringing her renowned enthusiasm to bed with her anymore.

Meanwhile, Jill's latest regular had asked her to marry him. He mentioned their dreams - of being together, of children, of a suburban house.

It looked like dreams could come true.

When Jack confronted her, Jill attacked him. He guffawed when she mentioned the regular's wish to marry her. "He? Marry you?" Jack had laughed cruelly. Hurt, Jill had picked her things, and sashayed out the door.

A couple of hours later, Jack got a call. He thought it would be his contact in the police, but it was different voice.

"We've got Jill," the voice said. "She's your sister. We know. We're going to kill her unless you bring the Tdjire to the top of the Hill in three hours."

The Hill was the city's largest building, in the center of the financial district.

Jack hungup. He didn't know what to do. He thought of his long-forgotten mother, of his childhood with Jill, of the fights and the good times they had together.

He sighed, picked up the phone and made a few calls.

A couple of hours later, thanks to a favor a security guard owed him, he found himself inside the IT Tycoon's house, next to a tank which housed the repitilian Tdjire. He filled a green plastic bucket with water, and fished the Tdjire out with a tea-strainer. He placed the Tdjire in the bucket, and quickly made his way out, as the obese Tycoon snored upstairs, in his four-poster bed, lying next to his slim, model wife.

An hour later, thanks to another favor, he obtained access to the Hill building, even though it was past midnight. He took the elevator to the top floor, and climbed the fire-escape to the terrace. There, in the moonlight, he saw Jill, she was bound and gagged, and her former parmour, the handsome regular, held a knife to her throat.

"Hand the Tdijre over, and she's yours," another voice spoke. Jack turned, and saw the British gangster, who he had double crossed, step out of the shadows behind the door to the fire-escape.

Jack began to sweat. Things weren't turning out the way he imagined.

He handed the pail over.

The gangster lifted the Tdjire out. The Tdijre lay limply, and curious, the gangster flipped it over.

The Trdjire was dead.

The gangster was incensced. He screamed at Jack, and began raining blows on him. Jack ducked and began to strike back. As they tussled on the rooftop, the gangster's bouncer intervened, and hurled Jack away. Jack stumbled, close to the parapet, and tried to regain his balance. The water from the pail ran over the rooftop, making the ground slippery. Jack slipped, in the mess, and fell over the ledge.

He fell down thirty stories, to his death.

Jill pulled away from her paramour, to watch her brother hurtle to his death. SHe screamed, but her scream was stuck in her throat.

The paramour and the Gangster exchanged glances. The Gangster nodded, just once, and the paramour stepped behind Jill, and pushed her over the edge.

And screaming, Jill fell, to her death.

Jack and Jill
Went up the Hill
To fetch a pail of water
Jack fell down
And broke his crown
And Jill came tumbling After