Chapter Sixty-Nine
When Dominic left, Randall slipped around the car to open the door for Vinson. Before he could reach it there was a voice from the alleyway, and we both stopped.
‘I warned you,’ Madame Zhou said. ‘I warned you to stay away from Kavita Singh.’
Her goons, the twins and the acid throwers, peeled off their skin of shadows. I was about to answer, but Randall stepped forward, standing beside me.
‘Please,’ he said, quietly.
‘I got this, Randall,’ I said, trying to watch five dangerous minds at the same time. ‘Madame Zhou does a regular show in this alley, and somehow I always get a ticket.’
She laughed, but she was the only one.
‘Please, allow me to speak,’ Randall said softly. ‘I’ve been waiting for this.’
He meant it. I allowed him.
‘Permit me to present myself to you, Madame,’ he said, addressing the veiled figure. ‘I am Randall Soares, one of two men who stand here for the Woman. If any harm comes to the Woman, I will kill you, and all your pets. This is your last warning, Madame. Leave us alone, or die.’
He had guts. It was more than I’d have said, in his place, because I knew that Madame Zhou’s specialty was second-hand revenge. I was hoping that Randall didn’t have a family that could be traced through his name.
Randall had his hand in the pocket of his jacket. The acid throwers had their hands in their pockets. I had my hands on my knives. Madame Zhou moved backwards into the alleyway until shadows ate her again.
‘Randall Soares,’ she said, the last word a rattlesnake’s hiss. ‘Randall Soares.’
The pets backed into the shadows. The alley was silent.
‘Get in touch with any Soares that you know,’ I advised him. ‘That woman is all grudge.’
‘I have no family,’ Randall said. ‘I am an orphan, given up at birth, and never adopted from the orphanage that I left, at the age of sixteen. Madame Zhou cannot hurt a family I don’t have.’
‘You’d really kill them?’
‘Wouldn’t you, sir?’
‘I’m hoping to stop it before it comes to that. Are you ex-army?’
‘No, sir, Indian Navy Marines.’
‘Marines, huh? For how long?’
‘Six years, sir.’
‘What happened?’ Vinson called from the car.
‘Bat’s in the wrong belfry, sir,’ Randall said, opening the door for him. ‘A small fist, knocking on Hell’s gate.’
‘So fricking great to get out in the air,’ Vinson said, stretching. ‘I was in that car for hours. I gotta piss, man, like urgently.’
He made for the nearest wall.
‘Get civilised, Vinson,’ I said. ‘Hold it in, until you get upstairs. There are motorcycles parked here.’
Randall put the car close to a wall in the arched alleyway, permitting traffic through the lane but allowing for a quick getaway.
‘No-one will mess with it,’ I said, as Randall locked the car. ‘You can come upstairs, and stretch your legs.’
‘Wonderful, sir.’
‘Enough with the sir bullshit, Randall. My name is Lin, or Shantaram, if you prefer, but never sir. You might as well call me boss.’
‘Thank you, Mr Shantaram,’ he smiled, Goan sunsets gleaming in his eyes.
‘Can I piss somewhere?’ Vinson asked, riding waves on the footpath.
Randall and I shuffled Vinson up the stairs, and I banged on the door.
‘Open up, Jaswant.’
‘What’s the password?’ Jaswant called from the other side of the door.
‘Open the fucking door, you motherfucker,’ I said, supporting Vinson.
‘Lin!’ Jaswant said, from behind the door. ‘What do you want?’
‘What do I want, you landlord’s excuse for a Punjabi? I want to strangle you with your turban, and stab you with your own kirpan.’
‘Over my baptised ass,’ he said. ‘What do you really want?’
I looked at Randall, who seemed to be enjoying himself. I looked at Vinson, drooling off my arm. He was certainly enjoying himself. I looked at the locked door to my own hotel.
‘I would like to come in please, Jaswant,’ I said, as sweetly as possible with clenched teeth.
‘No problem,’ he said. ‘Do you have any infected with you?’
‘Open the fucking door, Jaswant.’
The barricade scraped and shuddered away from the door, and we scrambled inside. Jaswant shoved the sculpture back into place, turned quickly and pointed at Vinson, who was swirling drunk.
‘He looks infected,’ Jaswant said.
‘I have so gotta piss,’ Vinson said.
‘Is he leaking fluids?’ Jaswant said, stepping back a pace.
‘He’ll leak them on the floor, if you don’t stop talking,’ I said, trying to escape.
‘Did you see any infected out there?’ Jaswant asked.
‘Enough with the zombies,’ I said, leading Vinson to my room. ‘This is Randall.’
‘Hi, Randall. I’m Jaswant. How was it out there?’
‘Quiet for now,’ Randall said. ‘But I’m completely with you on zombie vigilance. Prudence is the only wisdom, where the undead are concerned.’
‘Exactly!’ Jaswant said, returning to his chair. ‘I keep telling them. Plagues. Chaos. Situations like this. It’s always how it begins.’
‘Jaswant,’ I said, trying to keep Vinson vertical and open the door to my rooms, which was surprisingly difficult. ‘I’m gonna need more supplies. As you can see, I’ve got guests.’
‘You bet your foreigner ass you have,’ he laughed.
I opened the door and found Didier in my room, with Oleg, Diva, and the Diva girls, Charu and Pari.
They were all in costume. Diva was in a leopard-print bodysuit. Didier had abandoned his gladiator torso, except for a leather mask, but kept the tutu and tights. Oleg was a Roman senator, in sandals, and a toga made from one of my sheets. Charu and Pari were cat people, complete with tiny ears and long tails. Charu was Persian grey, and Pari was night black.
‘Lin!’ Didier said from his place beside Diva on a mattress on the wooden floor. ‘We were being fashionably late for the party, and we were stopped at a police roadblock before we got there, so we returned here, just as the whole city went into lockdown.’
‘Hi, Lin,’ Diva said. ‘Do you mind that we’re here?’
‘Of course, not. Happy to see you. This is –’
‘Randall, Miss Diva,’ Randall said. ‘And your beautiful face begs no introduction.’
‘Wow,’ Charu and Pari said.
‘Hi, I’m Vinson,’ Vinson said, ‘and I found my girlfriend. She’s in an ashram.’
‘Wow,’ Charu and Pari said.
‘This is Charu,’ Diva said. ‘And this is Pari.’
‘She’s in an ashram,’ Vinson said, shaking hands with Pari.
‘Is she like, possessed?’ Pari asked.
‘Or dying of an incurable disease?’ Charu offered.
‘What?’ Vinson asked, swaying as he tried to focus on them. ‘You know, I really gotta pee.’
I steered him to the bathroom and shut the door.
‘You look messed up, Shantaram,’ Diva said, standing up and offering her arms. ‘Gimme a hug, yaar.’
She hugged me, and sat down again next to Didier on the mattress. I looked at the mattress. It was familiar. I glanced through my bedroom door at my bed. The mattress was gone. The bare wooden bed was a coffin. My mattress was on the floor.
‘I hope you do not object, Lin,’ Didier said, drinking my zombie rations. ‘Since we are all stuck here for the Devil knows how long, it seemed like the only viable solution, to move the mattress here.’
‘Jaswant!’ I called out to the manager. ‘I have more guests. I’ll take everything you’ve got!’
‘That’s not how it’s done, baba,’ he called back. ‘You know that.’
‘Jaswant, it’s either me, or I’m sending Didier out there to negotiate.’
‘Apology accepted,’ he said. ‘The stuff is yours.’
He brought cardboard boxes into the room, and cases of bottled water. He returned with a gas bottle and a two-burner stove.
He shoved my journals and notes to the side, and installed the stove, lighting it with a battery-powered sparker shaped like a pistol. He turned the gas high and low and high again, as if releasing fireflies from a bottle.
‘Wow,’ Charu and Pari said.
Jaswant bowed.
‘Restaurants are closed,’ he said, ‘and there’s no take-out, no deliveries, and nothing but what you cook yourselves, for who knows how long.’
‘We’re gonna need more to smoke,’ I said, at the door to my room.
‘That can be arranged, but it won’t be cheap, with this lockdown.’
‘I’ll take it all.’
‘There you go again. Haven’t you learned anything? You’re a menace to honest business.’
‘Didier!’
‘Apology accepted. I’ll bring the stuff along later. It’s in the tunnel.’
‘The tunnel?’
‘Yes.’
‘There’s a tunnel, underneath this hotel?’
‘Of course there’s a tunnel. That’s why I bought it. Sikhs, surviving World War Three, remember?’
‘Can I see it?’
His eyes narrowed.
‘I’m afraid . . . that’s above your pay grade,’ he said.
‘Fuck you, Jaswant.’
‘Unless –’
‘Fuck you, Jaswant.’
‘Unless,’ he persisted, ‘the zombies break through, and it’s our final option. If I had that phaser pistol, we’d be on easy street.’
‘Enough with the zombies.’
‘You’re no fun at all,’ he said, walking back to his desk. ‘The stove is a rental. I’ve put it on your bill.’
I took a look at the barricade, thinking of Karla, waiting for the time to search again, and glanced back at the people in my room.
Oleg was going through the boxes. He pulled out some pots and pans.
‘Very useful,’ he said.
‘If only we’d saved a servant,’ Pari said.
Diva lost it, laughing so hard that she pulled her knees up to her chest and rolled herself into a very tight in-joke.
‘No need for servants,’ Oleg smiled. ‘Have you ever tried Russian food? You’ll go mad for it, I promise you.’
‘Wow,’ Charu and Pari said.
Oleg had sent the T-shirts to Moscow, one to each non-identical twin, and by Didier’s rules he was free to get re-scented while he waited for Irina, his pheromone pilgrim, to respond.
The Diva girls liked him. Everybody liked him. Hell, I liked him. But all I could think of was Karla, out there, stuck in a building somewhere, with no security but her own.
‘Can I help with the cooking?’ Vinson chimed in as he drunk-shuffled out of the bathroom.
‘Inadvisable, Mr Vinson,’ Randall intoned. ‘I suspect that Mr Oleg’s culinary skills are a spectator sport, not a blood sport.’
‘Who are you again?’ Diva asked, leaning against Didier on the mattress.
‘He’s Randall,’ Didier said. ‘I told you about him. He’s a mystery, explained in clever phrases.’
‘I’m Randall, Miss Diva,’ Randall said. ‘And honoured to make your re-acquaintance.’
‘Please, come and sit with us, Randall,’ she said, patting the bed.
‘May I respectfully request, Miss Diva, that Mr Vinson be permitted to join me? He seems to have been left in my charge, and I think he should gently recline.’
‘Of course,’ Diva said, patting the mattress. ‘Put it here, Vinson.’
‘Thank you so much,’ Vinson said, as Randall eased him into a semi-slump on my mattress, one of my pillows behind his head. ‘My girlfriend is in an ashram, you know. I’m afraid I got a little tight, tonight, and actually even yesternight, because she’s in an ashram, you know, and that means, like, God is her boyfriend now or something, and how can I fight that? How can anyone fight God? And, like, if He’s so powerful, why doesn’t He get His own girl? It’s got me beat. It really has.’
‘It’s got you bad, baby,’ Diva said.
‘It’s got everybody bad, if you’ll pardon me, Miss Diva,’ Randall said. ‘It’s the fight or flight of affection.’
Diva reached across Didier to put her hand on Randall’s arm.
‘If I said I’d double what Karla is paying you, would you jump ship, Randall?’
‘Working for Miss Karla is beyond price,’ Randall smiled. ‘It is a privilege, so, with respect, I will remain on board, and help Miss Karla man a lifeboat, if required.’
Diva sized him up, wandering through his smile.
‘We’re going to get to know one another considerably better,’ she said, ‘if we stay locked up here all night.’
‘Every minute in your company is an honour, Miss Diva.’
I left that minute with them, honoured to be alone for a minute in my bedroom, but Diva quickly followed me, spun me around, and grabbed the lapels of my vest.
‘Is there something between Randall and Karla?’ she whispered.
‘What?’
‘If there is, I wouldn’t poach on her territory. I like Karla.’
‘Poach?’
‘But if there isn’t, I tell you, Lin, this guy is so hot. He’s like melting fucking hot, yaar.’
Places in our beautiful Bombay are burning, I thought. Places are gone. People are gone.
‘Right,’ I said, staring at her, not understanding why she wasn’t preparing for a lockdown of the city that could last for days, but glad to see a tiger-growl of the old Diva.
‘So, it’s cool, then?’
She was searching my eyes innocently.
‘Yeah.’
‘And there’s absolutely nothing between Karla and Randall? Because, I mean, he’s so hot, it’s like pretty hard to believe, you know?’
Worlds aren’t meant to change so quickly, so strangely, but they always do. I couldn’t understand any of it. Karla riding with Benicia, Naveen riding with Kavita, Diva dancing with Randall, my room filled with people riding out the storm. I only had one rope in that storm: Karla, maybe stuck somewhere, waiting for me to come.
‘You’re cool, Diva. It’s okay.’
She skipped from the bedroom, and I shut the door behind her, leaning against it without locking it. I didn’t want them to hear the sound of the lock turning, and feel unwelcome. They were welcome to stay for a month, as far as I was concerned. I pushed against the door with my back, expecting someone to open it at any minute, but needing a minute to myself.
Kavita was right. Karla never moved from the altar inside, even while I lit candles of devotion with Lisa. Karla was the altar inside, from the first second that I saw her.
Is it a sin to give your love to someone, when you can’t give your heart? Did we die inside, for a while, or did we keep love alive? Did she cut her wings, that dove, when she threw the window open? Was the happy life I thought we had, just the happy life I thought I had? Did I live a lie with Lisa, or lie a life?
Laughter rollicked in the rollicking room next door: a lifeboat, adrift on irresistibility. And for some peaceful minute of unwelcome truth, the door against my back was the wall of a confessional, and all my sins of omission and commission tumbled through my heart: Nazeer and Tariq, neglected friends burned and shot, and Lisa, neglected love lost forever. Remorse for my selfishness crawled across my skin. And I begged the dead to forgive me.
Laughter and stamping feet drummed through the door, tapping me on the back. I didn’t know if it was absolution or penance. I decided to call it even, and began to clean up my bedroom, in case any of the survivors in the next room needed a place to sleep.
I folded sheets and a blanket on the wooden bed base, to provide as much comfort as possible for any weary sleeper. I tidied the room, put my books in one corner, and my guitar in the other, and wiped the floors over with a damp cloth.
And somewhere in that unexpected service to unexpected guests, somewhere in the peace and simplicity and necessity of it, the stream of regret became a river, and I let Kavita and Lisa go.
Wherever they’d been, wherever they were going, living or dead, I let them go. I remembered how they laughed, how I’d made both of them laugh. And I smiled, thinking of it, and that smile opened the grated window, and set them free.