Chapter Fourteen
‘Are you awake?’
‘No.’
‘Yes, you are.’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘If you’re not awake, how come you’re answering me?’
‘I’m having a nightmare.’
‘Oh, yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What kinda nightmare?’
‘It’s horrible. There’s this persistent voice, destroying the first good sleep I’ve had in weeks.’
‘That’s your nightmare?’ Lisa mocked from behind my back. ‘You should try a year in the art business, baby.’
‘It’s getting scarier. I can’t make the voice stop.’
She was silent. I knew from her breathing, as you do when you like a woman enough, that her eyes were open. The overhead fan turned slowly, stirring liquid monsoon air. Street light slivers penetrated the wooden shutters on the windows, dissecting the paintings on the wall beside the bed.
Morning was still half an hour away, but the false dawn flattened all the shadows in the room. Surreal grey settled on every surface, even on the skin of my hand, beside my face on the pillow.
The Peyote Effect, Karla called it once. And she was right, of course. The drug’s tendency to paint the universe in the same shade was like a false dawn of the imagination. Karla, always so clever, always so funny . . .
My eyes closed. I was almost gone; holding a peyote button in the palm of my dreaming hand, and almost gone.
‘How often do you think about Karla?’ Lisa asked.
Damn, I thought, waking up, how do women do that?
‘A lot, lately. That’s the third time I’ve heard her name in as many days.’
‘Who else talked about her?’
‘Naveen, the young private detective, and Ranjit.’
‘What did Ranjit say?’
‘Lisa, why don’t we not talk about Karla and Ranjit, okay?’
‘Are you jealous of Ranjit?’
‘What?’
‘Well, you know, I’ve been spending a lot of time with him lately, late at night.’
‘I haven’t been here lately, Lisa, so I didn’t know. How much time have you been spending with Ranjit?’
‘He’s been damn helpful with the publicity for the shows. We’ve had lots more people coming through the doors since he got on board. But there’s absolutely nothing going on between us.’
‘O . . . kay. What?’
‘So, how often do you really think about Karla?’
‘Are we doing this now?’ I asked, turning over to face her.
She raised herself on an elbow, her head tilted to her shoulder.
‘I saw her yesterday,’ she said, watching me closely, her blue eyes innocent as flowers.
I frowned silence at her.
‘I ran into her at my dress shop. The one on Brady’s Lane. I thought it was a secret, my secret, and then I turned around and saw Karla, standing right beside me.’
‘What did she say?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, what did she say to you?’
‘That’s . . . kinda bizarre,’ she said, frowning at me.
‘Whaddaya mean, bizarre?’
‘You didn’t ask how she looks, or how she’s feeling – you asked what she said.’
‘And?’
‘So . . . you haven’t seen her for almost two years, and the first thing you ask me about is what she said. I don’t know what’s more freaky, that you said that, or that I kinda understand it, because it’s about Karla.’
‘So . . . you do understand.’
‘Of course I do.’
‘So . . . it’s not bizarre.’
‘The bizarre part is what it tells me about you and her.’
‘What are we talking about, again?’
‘Karla. Do you want to know what she said, or not?’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘No.’
‘Of course you do. First, let me say she looked great. Really great. And she seems fine. We had a coffee at Madras Café, and I laughed myself silly. She’s on a thing about religion at the moment. She said – no, wait, let me get it right – oh yeah, she said Religion is just a long competition to see who can design the silliest hat. She’s so funny. It must be damn hard.’
‘Being funny?’
‘No, always being the smartest person in the room.’
‘You’re smart,’ I said, turning onto my back, and putting my hands behind my head. ‘You’re one of the smartest people I know.’
‘Me?’ she laughed.
‘Damn right.’
She kissed my chest, and then nestled in beside me.
‘I’ve offered Karla a place with me in the art studio,’ she declared, her feet wriggling in time to the words.
‘That’s not the best idea I’ve heard this week.’
‘You just said I was smart.’
‘I said you were smart,’ I teased her. ‘I didn’t say you were wise.’
She punched me in the side.
‘I’m serious,’ I laughed. ‘I . . . I don’t . . . I mean, I’m not sure I want Karla walking back into the apartment of my life. The rooms where she used to live are boarded up now. I’d kinda like to keep it that way, for a while longer.’
‘She’s a ghost in my mansion, too,’ she said wistfully.
‘Oh, I see. I’ve got an imaginary apartment, and you’ve got an imaginary mansion?’
‘Of course. Everybody’s got a mansion inside. Everyone except people with self-esteem issues, like you.’
‘I don’t have self-esteem issues. I’m a realist.’
She laughed. She laughed for quite a while: long enough to make me wonder what it was that I’d said.
‘Be serious,’ she said when she settled down. ‘That was the first time I’ve seen Karla in almost ten months, and I . . . I looked at her . . . and . . . I realised how much I love her. It’s a funny thing, don’t you think, to remember how much you love somebody?’
‘I’m just saying –’
‘I know,’ she murmured, leaning across to kiss me. ‘I know.’
‘What do you know?’
‘I know it’s not forever,’ she whispered, her face close, her lips still touching mine, and those blue eyes challenging the morning sky.
‘Every time you answer a question, Lisa, I get more confused.’
‘I don’t even believe in forever,’ she said, tossing eternity away with a flash of blonde curls. ‘I never did.’
‘Am I going to like what we’re talking about, Leese, when I know what it is?’
‘I’m kind of a now fanatic, if you know what I mean. Kind of a now fundamentalist, you could say.’
She began to kiss me, but she began speaking again, her lips bubbling the words into my mouth.
‘You’re never gonna tell me about that fight you had, are you?’
‘It wasn’t much of a fight. It wasn’t really a fight at all, if you wanna get technical.’
‘I do wanna get technical. What happened?’
‘Happened?’ I said, still kissing her.
She pulled herself away from me, and sat up on the bed, her legs crossed.
‘You’ve gotta stop doing this,’ she said.
‘Okay,’ I sighed, sitting up and resting my back against a stack of pillows. ‘Let’s have it.’
‘The Company,’ she said flatly. ‘The passport factory. The Sanjay Company.’
‘Come on, Lisa. We’ve been through this before.’
‘Not for a while.’
‘Seems like yesterday to me. Lisa –’
‘You don’t have to do it. You don’t have to be that.’
‘Yes, I do, for a little while longer.’
‘No, you don’t.’
‘Sure. And I’ll make money, as a fugitive, with a price on my head, working in a bank.’
‘We don’t live big. We’ll be okay on what I’ll make. The art market is starting to take off here.’
‘I was doing this before we got together –’
‘I know, I know –’
‘And you accepted it. You –’
‘I’ve got a bad feeling,’ she said bluntly.
I smiled, and put the palm of my hand against her face.
‘I can’t shake it off,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve . . . I’ve got this really bad feeling.’
I took her hands in mine. Our feet were touching, and her toes closed around mine, grasping with surprising force. Dawn began to burn gaps in the wooden shutters.
‘We’ve been through this before,’ I repeated slowly. ‘The government of my country put a price on my head. And if they don’t kill me, trying to catch me, they’ll take me back to the same prison I escaped from, and they’ll chain me to the same wall, and go to work on me. I’m not going back, Lisa. I’m safe here, for now. That’s something. For me, if not for you.’
‘I’m not saying give yourself up. I’m saying don’t give up on yourself.’
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘You could write.’
‘I do write, every day.’
‘I know, but we could really focus on it, you know?’
‘We?’ I laughed.
I wasn’t mocking her: it was simply the first time she’d mentioned my writing, and we’d lived together for almost two years.
‘Forget it,’ she said.
She was silent again. Her eyes drifted slowly downwards, and her toes released their fierce grip on mine. I brushed a stray curl from her eye, and ran my hand through the sea-foam of her blonde hair.
‘I owe them a promise,’ I said flatly.
‘You don’t,’ she said, but there was no force in her protest, as she lifted her eyes to meet mine. ‘You don’t owe them anything.’
‘Yes, I owe them. Everyone who knows them, owes them. That’s how it works. That’s why I don’t let you meet any of them.’
‘You’re free, Lin. You climbed the wall, and you don’t even know you’re free.’
I stared back into her eyes, a sky-reflected lake. The phone rang.
‘I’m free enough to let that phone ring,’ I said. ‘Are you?’
‘You never answer the phone,’ she snapped. ‘That doesn’t count.’
She got out of bed. Staring at me, she listened to the voice on the other end of the line. I watched sadness settle like a shawl across her shoulders as she handed me the phone.
It was one of Sanjay’s lieutenants, passing on a message.
‘I’ll get on it,’ I said. ‘Yeah. What? I told you. I’ll get on it. Twenty minutes.’
I hung up the phone, went back to the bed, and knelt beside her.
‘One of my men has been arrested. He’s at the Colaba lock-up. I gotta bribe him out.’
‘He’s not one of your men,’ she said, pushing me away. ‘And you’re not their man.’
‘I’m sorry, Lisa.’
‘It doesn’t matter what you did, or what you were. It doesn’t even matter what you are. It’s what you try to be that counts.’
I smiled.
‘It’s not that easy. We’re all what we were.’
‘No we’re not. We’re what we want ourselves to be. Don’t you get that yet?’
‘I’m not free, Lisa.’
She kissed me, but the summer wind had passed, and clouds fell across a grey field of flowers in her eyes.
‘I’ll start the shower for you,’ she said, jumping from the bed and running toward the bathroom.
‘Look, this is no big deal, getting this guy outta the lock-up,’ I said, passing her on my way into the bathroom.
‘I know,’ she said flatly.
‘You still want to meet up? Later today?’
‘Of course.’
I stepped into the bathroom and stood under the cold shower.
‘Are you gonna tell me what it’s all about?’ I called out to her. ‘Or is it still a big secret?’
‘It’s not a secret, it’s a surprise,’ she said softly, standing in the doorway.
‘Fair enough,’ I laughed. ‘Where do you want me for this surprise, and when?’
‘Be outside the Mahesh, on Nariman Point, at five thirty. You’re always late, so make four thirty the time in your head, and you’ll be on time at five thirty.’
‘Got it.’
‘You’ll be there, right?’
‘Don’t worry. It’s all under control.’
‘No,’ she said, her smile falling like rain from leaves. ‘It’s not. Nothing is under control.’
She was right, of course. I didn’t understand it then, as I walked beneath the high arch of the Colaba police station, but I could still see her sorrowful smile, falling like snow into a river.
I climbed the few steps leading to the wooden veranda that covered the side and rear of the administration building. The cop on duty outside the sergeant’s office knew me. He wagged his head, smiling, as he allowed me to pass. He was glad to see me. I was a good payer.
I gave a mock salute to Lightning Dilip, the daytime duty sergeant. His bloated drinker’s face was swollen with smothered outrage: he was on a double shift of bad temper. Not a good start.
Lightning Dilip was a sadist. I knew that, because I’d been his prisoner, a few years before. He’d beaten me then, feeding his sad hunger with my helplessness. And he wanted to do it again as he stared at the bruises on my face, his lips tremors of anticipation.
But things had changed in my world, if not in his. I worked for the Sanjay Company, and the group poured a lot of liquid assets into the police station. It was too much money to risk on his defective desires.
Allowing himself the semblance of a smile, he tilted his head in a little upward nod: What’s up?
‘Is the boss in?’ I asked.
The smile showed teeth. Dilip knew that if I dealt with his boss, the sub-inspector, the trickle-down of any bribe I’d pay would barely dry his sweaty palm.
‘The sub-inspector is a very busy man. Is there something that I can do for you?’
‘Well . . . ’ I replied, glancing around at the cops in the office.
They were doing an unconvincing job of pretending not to listen. To be fair to them, pretending not to listen isn’t something we get a lot of practice at in India.
‘Santosh! Get us some chai!’ Dilip grunted in Marathi. ‘Make fresh, yaar! You lot! Go and check the under barrack!’
The under barrack was a ground-floor facility at the rear of the police compound. It was used to house violent prisoners, and prisoners who violently resisted being tortured. The young cops looked at one another, and then one of them spoke.
‘But, sir, under barrack is empty, sir.’
‘Did I ask you if there was anyone in the under barrack?’ Dilip demanded.
‘N-no, sir.’
‘Then do as I say, all of you, and check it out thoroughly! Now!’
‘Yes, sir!’ the constables shouted, grabbing their soft caps and stumbling from the room.
‘You guys should have a code or something,’ I suggested, when they’d gone. ‘Must get tedious, having to shout them out of here, every hour or so.’
‘Very funny,’ Dilip replied. ‘Get to the point, or get the fuck out. I’ve got a headache, and I want to give it to someone.’
Straight cops are all alike; every crooked cop is corrupt in his own way. They all take the money, but some accept it reluctantly, others hungrily; some angrily, others genially; some joke and some sweat as if they’re running uphill; some make it a contest, while others want to be your new best friend.
Dilip was the kind who took the money resentfully, and tried to make you bleed for giving it to him. Fortunately, like all bullies, he was susceptible to flattery.
‘I’m glad you can deal with this personally,’ I said. ‘Dealing with Patil can take all day. He doesn’t have your finesse for getting things done decisively and quickly, fatafat, like lightning. They don’t call you Lightning Dilip for nothing.’
They called him Lightning Dilip, in fact, because his shiny boots, lashing out from the darkness of his rage, always struck a chained man when he least expected it, and never twice in exactly the same place.
‘That is very true,’ Dilip preened, relaxing in his chair. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘There’s a guy in your lock-up, Farzad Daruwalla by name, I’d like to pay his fine.’
‘Fines are imposed by the court, not by the police,’ Dilip observed, a sly grin wet on his lips.
‘Of course, you’re completely right,’ I smiled, ‘but a man of your vision can see how dealing with this matter in a forceful fashion, right here and now, will save the valuable time of the court, and the public purse.’
‘Why do you want this fellow?’
‘Oh, I can think of five thousand reasons why,’ I replied, pulling a prepared wad of rupee notes from my pocket, and beginning to count them.
‘A man of vision could think of many more reasons than that,’ Dilip frowned.
It was too late. He was already looking at the money.
‘Lightning-ji,’ I said softly, folding the notes over double and sliding them across the desk beneath the cover of my hand. ‘We’ve been doing this dance for almost two years now, and we both know that five thousand reasons is all I’d have to give the sub-inspector to make a full . . . explanation . . . of my interest. I’d be grateful if you’d save me that trouble, and accept the explanation personally.’
Santosh approached with the tea, his footsteps thumping on the floorboards of the wooden veranda. Lightning Dilip flashed his hand out to cover mine. I let my hand slide back across the desk. Dilip’s hand slithered the notes to his side of the desk, and into his pocket.
‘The college man,’ Dilip said to Santosh, as the young constable placed the tea in front of us. ‘The one we brought in from the nightclub, late last night. Bring him here.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Santosh replied, hurrying from the room.
The young cops returned to the office, but Dilip stopped them with an upturned hand.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘We . . . we checked the under barrack, sir, just as you said. All is in order. And we saw that you ordered chai, so we thought we might . . . ’
‘Check it again!’ Lightning Dilip snapped, turning his attention back to me.
The young cops stared at me, then shrugged and slouched out of the office again.
‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’ Dilip asked sarcastically.
‘Matter of fact, there is. Have you heard anything about a man with snow-white hair, and wearing a dark blue suit, asking questions on the street here in Colaba during the last two weeks?’
I was thinking of the Zodiac Georges and their mysterious stalker. If Dilip had any information on the man who was asking about them, it’d be worth buying.
‘A blue suit, and white hair?’ he mused. ‘And if I did see such a man?’
‘I can think of a thousand reasons why I’d like to know about him.’
He smiled. I took the money from my pocket and slid it halfway across the desk, as before, under the cover of my hand.
‘And I think those reasons,’ he smiled, ‘should lead you to see Mr Wilson, at the Mahesh hotel.’
He reached out to cover my hand with his. I hesitated.
‘Who is he? What did he want?’
‘He’s looking for someone. More than that, he would not tell me.’
I let my hand slide backwards. He took the money.
‘Did you help him find someone?’
‘He wouldn’t provide me with a sufficient explanation, so I threw him out of here.’
‘If he –’ I began, but just then Santosh entered the office with Farzad.
The young Parsi forger was unbloodied but significantly bowed. His eyes were wide with fear, and his chest was rising and falling quickly in shuddering little breaths. I’ve seen the look many times: the look of a man who thinks he’s about to get a beating. Then he saw me, his face brightened, and he rushed toward me.
‘Hey, man, am I glad to see you! I –’
I stood, cutting him off, my hand on his chest.
‘Take it easy,’ I said quickly, worried that he might say something I didn’t want Lightning Dilip to hear. ‘Give your respect to the sergeant, and let’s get outta here.’
‘Sergeant-ji,’ Farzad said, his palms pressed together, ‘thank you so very, very much for your kindness and generosity.’
Dilip leaned back in his chair.
‘Fuck off!’ he said. ‘And don’t come back!’
I pulled Farzad by the sleeve, dragging him with me out of the office and through the wide gate to the street.
On the footpath, a few steps from the entrance arch, I lit two cigarettes, and gave one to the young forger.
‘What happened?’
‘I was a little, well, actually, I was a lot drunk last night. There was this great party at the Drum Beat. It was deadly, man. You should’ve seen me. I danced like a motherfucker. Count on it.’
‘I’m counting on an explanation for why I had to get out of a comfortable bed, at six o’clock in the morning, to hear about you dancing like a motherfucker.’
‘Yeah, of course. Sorry. Well, see, the cops came to close the place down, at about one, as usual. Somebody objected, and made a fuss. I guess I got caught up in all the tamasha, and started giving the cops some cheeky remarks.’
‘Cheeky?’
‘Oh, yeah. I’m known for my cheeky remarks.’
‘That’s not something a grown man boasts about, Farzad.’
‘No, really! I’m known for my –’
‘How cheeky are we talking?’
‘There was this very fat cop. I called him Constable Three-Pigs-Fucking. And another one, I said he was stupider than a monkey’s pet coconut. And I said –’
‘I got it. Get on with it.’
‘Well, the next thing I knew I was on the ground. I tripped, or somebody pushed me. And while I was down, bam, somebody kicks me in the back of the head. One shot, but it was enough to put me out.’
‘Lightning Dilip, working double duty.’
‘Yes, it was. That sergeant motherfucker. Anyway, I woke up in the back of the police jeep with Lightning Dilip’s foot on my chest, and then they threw me in the cells. They wouldn’t let me make a phone call, because of all those –’
‘Cheeky remarks.’
‘Yeah. Can you believe that? I thought I was gonna be in there the whole day, and with a couple of rough-and-ready pastings to go along. How did you find out I was there?’
‘The Company pays all the guys who clean the cells. That’s how we keep our guys supplied when they’re locked up here. One of them got a look at you, and called his contact. They called me.’
‘I’m so fucking glad you came, man. That was my first time in the slammer. Another night in there would’ve been the end of me. Count on it.’
‘Sanjay’s not gonna be happy about this. He spends a lot of money keeping a lid on this ward. You’re gonna have to buy him a new hat.’
‘I . . . I . . . but, do you know . . . what size is his head?’ he asked, desperately worried. ‘I’ve only seen him the one time, and, by my recollection, his head looked, no disrespect, a little on the big side.’
‘He doesn’t wear a hat.’
‘But . . . you said –’
‘I was kidding. But only about the hat.’
‘I . . . I’m so sorry. I really fucked up badly. It . . . it won’t happen again. Can you, maybe, put in a good word for me with Sanjay?’
I was still laughing when a taxi pulled up beside us. Naveen Adair got out of the taxi and reached back through the window to pay the driver. Opening the back door, he helped a beautiful young woman out of the cab. He turned and saw me.
‘Lin! Damn good to see you, man. What brings you here?’
‘Six thousand reasons,’ I replied, staring at the girl.
Her face was familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
‘Oh,’ Naveen said, ‘this is Divya. Divya Devnani.’
Divya Devnani, daughter of one of Bombay’s richest men. Photographs of her short, athletically fit body, draped in expensive designer dresses, claimed eye-line positions in the coverage of every A-list event in the city.
And that’s what had thrown me: the unglamorous clothes she wore on that morning. The simple blue T-shirt, lapis bead necklace and jeans weren’t from that other world, in which she was born to rule. It was the girl in the woman standing in front of me, not the woman on the page.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ I said.
‘Got any hash?’ she demanded.
I flicked a glance at Naveen.
‘It’s a long story,’ he sighed.
‘No, it’s not,’ she contradicted him. ‘My dad, Mukesh Devnani – you’ve heard of Mukesh Devnani, I take it?’
‘He’s that guy with the crazy daughter who solicits drugs outside police stations, isn’t he?’
‘Funny,’ she said. ‘Careful now, I’m going to pee in my pants.’
‘You were gonna tell me why it’s not a long story,’ I prompted.
‘I don’t want to tell you, now,’ she sulked.
‘Her father hired a lawyer I know –’ Naveen began.
‘Who then hired this guy,’ she quickly cut in, ‘to be my bodyguard, for a couple of weeks.’
‘I’d say you’re in very good hands.’
‘Thank you,’ Naveen said.
‘Fuck you,’ she said.
‘Nice meeting you,’ I said. ‘So long, Naveen.’
‘And all because I get mixed up with this Bollywood wannabe movie star,’ Divya continued, ignoring me, ‘I mean, not even a real movie star, just a wannabe, for fuck’s sake. And he’s such a fucking jerk, he starts to threaten me when I refuse to go out with him. Can you believe that?’
‘It’s a jungle out there,’ I smiled.
‘You’re telling me,’ she said. ‘Have you got any hash, or not?’
‘I have!’ Farzad said quickly. ‘Count on it!’
We turned to stare at him.
He reached down into the front of his pants, fiddled there for a while, and pulled his hand out to reveal a ten-gram block of Kashmiri hashish, wrapped in clear plastic.
‘There,’ he said, offering it to Divya. ‘It’s all yours. Please accept it as . . . as a gift, like.’
Divya’s lips peeled a lemon of horror.
‘Did you just pull that thing . . . out of your underpants?’ she asked, gagging a little.
‘Er . . . yes . . . but . . . I changed my underpants only yesterday night. Count on it!’
‘Who the fuck is this guy?’ Divya demanded of Naveen.
‘He’s with me,’ I said.
‘I’m sorry!’ Farzad said, beginning to put the hash in his pocket. ‘I didn’t mean to –’
‘Stop! What are you doing?’
‘But . . . I thought you –’
‘Peel the plastic off it,’ she commanded. ‘And then don’t touch it. Just leave it in your hand, on the open plastic. Don’t touch it with your fingers. And don’t touch me. Don’t even think about touching me. Believe me, I’ll know it, if you do. A mind like yours, it’s a toy to me. It’s a toy to any woman. So, don’t think about me. And gimme the fuckin’ hash already, you chudh.’
Farzad began to unwrap the block of hashish, his fingers trembling. He glanced at the petite socialite.
‘You’re thinking!’ Divya warned.
‘No!’ Farzad protested. ‘I’m not!’
‘You’re disgusting.’
Farzad finally succeeded in unwrapping the parcel, leaving the hashish exposed on his palm. Divya picked it up between forefinger and thumb, broke off a little piece, and dropped the rest of it into the silver fish-mouth of her purse.
She took out a cigarette, squeezed some tobacco out of the end of it, and placed the little piece of hash into the blank end. She put the cigarette between her lips, and turned to Naveen for a light. He hesitated.
‘You think this is a good idea?’
‘I’m not going in there to talk to the cops unless I have a smoke,’ she said. ‘I don’t even talk to the downstairs maid until the upstairs maid has given me a smoke.’
Naveen lit the cigarette. She puffed at it, held the smoke in her lungs for a few moments, and then let out a solid stream of smoke. Naveen turned to me.
‘Her father filed a complaint against the wannabe actor, before I came along,’ Naveen said. ‘The actor acted heavy. I paid the actor a visit. We talked. He agreed to back off, and to stay backed off. Now we need to lift the complaint, but she has to do it in person. I want to get it done early, before any reporters get onto it, and –’
‘Let’s fucking go, already!’ Divya snapped, grinding out the cigarette under the sole of her shoe.
Naveen shook my hand. I held it firmly for a moment.
‘The guy following the Zodiac Georges,’ I said. ‘His name’s Wilson, registered at –’
‘The Mahesh,’ Naveen finished for me. ‘I know. In all this, I forgot to tell you. I tracked him down last night. How did you find out?’
‘He came here, looking for information.’
‘Did he get any?’
‘Dilip, the duty sergeant – do you know him?’
‘Yeah. Lightning Dilip. We’ve got a little history.’
‘He says Mr Wilson wouldn’t pay, so he threw him out.’
‘You believe him?’
‘Not usually.’
‘You want me to go see this Wilson?’
‘Not yet. Not without me. Check him out. Find out what you can about him. Get back to me, okay?’
‘Thik,’ Naveen smiled. ‘I’ll get on it, and –’
‘This is the fucking longest I’ve ever stood up,’ Divya interrupted angrily, ‘on my legs, for God’s sake, in the same fucking place, for God’s sake, in my whole fucking life! Do you think we can get on with it now?’
Naveen smiled a goodbye, and escorted the poor little rich girl through the arched gate.
‘It’s Farzad!’ Farzad called after her. ‘My name’s Farzad!’
When he lost sight of her, the young Parsi turned to me, grinning widely.
‘Damn it all to hell, yaar! What a beautiful girl! And such a nice nature! Some of those super-mega-rich girls, they can be very stuck-up and all, so I’ve heard. But she’s so natural, and she’s –’
‘Will you cut it out!’
He opened his mouth to protest, but the words withered when he saw my expression.
‘Sorry,’ he said bashfully. ‘But . . . did you see the colour of her eyes! Oh, my God! Like bits of shining stuff, you know, dipped in something . . . really, really full of . . . really lovely stuff, like a bucket of . . . loveliness . . . honey.’
‘Please, Farzad. I haven’t had my breakfast.’
‘Sorry, Lin. Hey, that’s it! Have breakfast! Can you come to my place? Can you come home with me, now? You promised to come this week!’
‘That’s gonna be a no, Farzad.’
‘Please come! I have to see my Mom and Pop, take my bath and change my clothes before I go to work. Come with me. They’ll still be having breakfast at home, some of them, and they’d love to meet you. Especially after you saved my life, and all.’
‘I didn’t save your –’
‘Please, baba! Trust me, believe me, they’re waiting to meet you, and it’s very important that you come, and you’ll find it damn interesting at my house!’
‘Look, I –’
‘Please! Please, Lin!’
Four motorcycles pulled up hard beside us. They were Sanjay Company men. The leader of the group was Ravi, a young soldier in Abdullah’s enforcement group.
‘Hey, Lin,’ Ravi said, his eyes behind mercury lens mirrors. ‘We heard some Scorpions are having breakfast at one of our places in the Fort. We’re all heading there to kick the shit out of them. Wanna come along?’
I glanced at Farzad.
‘I’ve already got a breakfast date,’ I said.
‘Really?’ Farzad said.
‘Okay, Lin,’ Ravi said, putting his bike in gear. ‘I’ll bring you back a souvenir.’
‘Please don’t,’ I said, but he was already riding away.
The Fort area was only a thirty-minute walk from where we were standing, and roughly the same distance from Sanjay’s mansion. If the Scorpions were really provoking a fight so close to home, the war that Sanjay had tried to deal away was already on his doorstep.
‘Do you think they might take me with them, one of these days?’ Farzad asked, watching the four motorcycles vanish in the traffic. ‘It would be so cool, to kick some ass with them.’
I looked at the young forger, who’d been kicked unconscious the night before but was already thinking of kicking someone else. It wasn’t cruelty or callousness: Farzad’s violent fantasy of brotherhood and blood was a boy’s bravado. He was no gangster. After just a few hours in the cells, he was already breaking down. He was a good kid, in a bad Company.
‘If you ever go with them, and I come to hear about it,’ I said, ‘I’ll kick your ass myself.’
He thought about it for a moment.
‘Are you still coming to breakfast, please?’
‘Count on it,’ I said, putting an arm around his shoulder, and leading him to my bike.