Ajay lowers his sleeve without a word, brings the tumbler to his lips, takes a tentative sip, then a deeper one. Puts the glass down. “Give me a cigarette,” he says.
Sunny holds out his open pack, looks into Ajay’s bloodshot eyes, sees the slightly trembling hand. “We’ve both changed.”
Ajay takes the cigarette.
Sunny leans across with a flame. “What were you going to say?” He lights his own, and they sit there smoking in silence for a while. “Do you even know?”
Ajay only stares.
“Were you going to hurt me?”
Was he?
“I heard you killed some men inside.”
Ajay looks around the room. “One or two.”
Sunny removes his shades. “I know,” he says, “you don’t work for me anymore. But soon everything is going to change.”
“That’s what you said last time.”
“And I could use a man like you.”
* * *
—
Tinu bursts through the door into this scene, looks between the two men drinking whisky with incredulous eyes. “You,” he barks, “I told you to wait outside.” Then he sighs, shakes his head. “Now come with me. Bunty wants to talk.”
Sunny begins to stand.
“Not you,” Tinu says. He points to Ajay. “Him.”
6.
Ajay stands in front of Bunty’s desk, Tinu on guard just behind him. In a fug of cigarette smoke, Bunty says, “This is the first chance we’ve had to talk.”
Ajay watches Bunty, glances at Tinu, resigned. “There’s nothing to say,” he replies.
“You’re not in trouble,” Bunty smiles, then nods to Tinu. “You can leave us now.”
* * *
—
On the wide verandah of the mansion, Sunny smokes another cigarette. He scans the horizon. Checks the discreet watchtowers with their hidden gunmen on the perimeter fence. Thinks to himself: Dinesh better get this right.
He tries to get it all lined up in his head. The who, the what, the when, and the where. The only thing he doesn’t try to know is the why.
He hears a door opening inside, sees Tinu stepping out.
Sees Tinu answering his phone.
* * *
—
Bunty stands and comes round the front of his desk. Inches away from Ajay’s face. Looks him up and down.
“I have a question for you. I’ll be happy for you to tell the truth. Before this unfortunate business with my son, you returned to your home. What happened when you were there?”
Ajay looks him square in the eye. “I killed three men.”
“Why?”
“They tried to steal from me.”
“What did they try and steal?”
“Money.”
“And you didn’t get caught?”
“I came back here.”
“I see. And in jail?”
“I killed again.”
“For whom?”
Ajay wavers. “For myself.”
Bunty thinks this over.
“What my son did to you was wrong,” he finally says. “I won’t deny it. But it was part of a bigger plan. And whatever has happened in jail, I know you are still loyal to me.” He lays a hand on Ajay’s shoulder. “The reasons for your imprisonment are difficult, but they’ll soon come to an end. Soon a deal will be put in place that will guarantee your freedom. My question is, what would a man like you do next?”
Ajay thinks of his sister. Remembers Vicky’s words.
DO WHAT YOU’RE TOLD.
But now’s a chance to confess.
He’s about to talk.
But . . . too late . . .
* * *
—
Sunny is lost in his turbulent thoughts when Tinu calls out to him urgently from the office door. “Sunny, get in here, now!” Tinu disappears inside.
By the time Sunny follows, Tinu is whispering into Bunty’s ear.
Do they know?
“We have news,” Bunty says. “Something we can’t ignore.”
Tinu turns to Sunny. “We found him.”
He feels his stomach drop. “Found who?”
* * *
—
Sunil Rastogi. He has been spotted in the alleys of Old Delhi. It was a rumor at first, from an informant, now Tinu’s men have it confirmed. He’s been sighted in Darya Ganj. He’s been followed to an old Christian community, a colony bungalow forgotten in time, hidden behind rose gardens and hedges in Civil Lines.
“He’s going by an alias. Peter Mathews,” Tinu says.
The sweat creeps on Sunny’s brow.
“We have people watching the perimeter, we have eyes on the escape routes. We have eyes on the wider roads. We have to be careful not to spook him or he’ll escape again. Like he did in Saharanpur.”
“In Saharanpur,” Bunty adds, “he didn’t get away on his own.”
* * *
—
From the front gate, six black Subaru SUVs cruise toward the mansion. Sleek, muscular, covered in dust.
* * *
—
“Kill him,” Sunny says.
Bunty looks to Tinu. “We could fly in Shiva or Dadapir from Bombay.”
Tinu holds up a cautious hand. “But we should watch him first.”
“There’s nothing to watch,” Sunny says. “I want him dead.”
Tinu looks at his phone, offers another way. “We can bring some UP contacts in tonight. I can make some calls.”
From the corner of his eye, Ajay sees the video screens hanging on the wall.
Black SUVs arriving at the front of the mansion.
* * *
—
From the frontmost, Vicky steps out, dressed in his long black Pathani suit, his forehead daubed with red and orange tilak, his eyes covered by wraparound shades, his fingers glistening with his rings.
* * *
—
Bunty looks from Ajay to the screen.
Back at Ajay.
Notices his eyes are wide, his hands are trembling.
“He’ll do it,” Bunty says.
It takes a moment for Ajay to realize everyone’s looking his way.
“He can’t,” Tinu protests. “He’s only here for the wedding. He’s still in jail.”
“He’ll do it,” Bunty persists. “He’ll kill this Rastogi for me.” Bunty looks to Sunny. “For you.”
But Sunny’s eyes have already traveled to the wall.
The distraction outside.
The many goons pouring out of the other cars.
Vicky at the heart of it all.
“I’ll do it,” Ajay says. “But, sir, do one thing for me.”
He reaches into his inner pocket, pulls out the torn, worn photograph.
His sister.
Naked.
Alone.
Holds it out.
Bunty examines it, the woman on the bed, doesn’t flinch. Turns it over, reads the cut-off words: . . . WHAT YOU’RE TOLD.
“What’s this?”
“She’s my sister.”
“What do you want from me?”
“She’s in Benares. Make her safe.”
Voices outside. A rabble.
Bunty looks into Ajay’s eyes. Hands the photo back to him. “Bring this to me once the job is done. Then we’ll find her. You have my word.”
With that said, Vicky Wadia swaggers in.
“Looks like the party started without me,” Vicky purrs, “but where’s the whisky, brother?”
Sunny looks to be in pain.
He puts his shades on. “I have to go.”
He turns to march past Vicky, but Vicky grabs him by the arm. “Congratulations, son.”
But Sunny pulls his arm away.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” Bunty calls out in a measured tone.
Vicky approaches his desk. “You thought wrong.”