—
The debonair man stands on cue, notes the time on his pocket watch, holds a hand to the waiting chair, calls out, “Please.” To the Israeli he says, “Thank you, Eli, that will be all.”
Gautam walks forward, running his hands over his jacket. “You picked one of my best.”
“I assure you,” the debonair man says, “I had nothing to do with that. But your driver was very helpful. He seems to know your taste.” His accent is vaguely public school, clipped, impossible to place. “Please,” he goes on, “have a seat. We’ve much to discuss and time is a factor in all this.”
“How,” Gautam replies, “did you get into my apartment?”
A pleasant smile. “Why, with your keys, Mr. Rathore.”
“Ah, yes. I was wondering where they went. I’d very much like to have them back.”
“All in good time.”
Gautam considers the TB scars pitting the man’s face.
“And you are, exactly?”
“My name is Chandra,” the man says. “That’s all you need to know.”
Gautam splutters with forced jollity. “I need to know a hell of a lot more than that!”
Chandra smiles, takes his own seat. “Would you like some whisky, Mr. Rathore?”
“I would, as a matter of fact,” Gautam says, his voice dripping with disdain. “I was on the verge of enjoying some mediocre wine earlier, but your Neanderthal in the bushes saw fit to throw me in the pool instead. You’re lucky I’m suffering a particularly intense hangover or my ire would be worse.”
Chandra takes the decanter and pours Gautam a large measure, adds the merest splash of water, slides it carefully across.
Gautam takes the glass, brings it to his nose.
A smile.
A frown.
“I know this.”
“I’m sure you do. No doubt you’re a connoisseur.”
Gautam brings the glass to his lips, lets the whisky play on his tongue a moment before swallowing all of it down. “Yes. I’d recognize this anywhere. It’s Japanese.”
“Very good.”
He drinks all the whisky in one go.
“More.”
“Let’s play a game. Whisky for answers. It has a wonderful dynamic.”
Gautam taps his glass on the table. “Pour.”
“You are keen.”
“Pour.”
Chandra does. A little less this time.
Gautam doesn’t wait for the water. He swallows it impatiently.
“Not exactly playing your cards close to your chest, are you?” Chandra says.
“What does Sunny want?” Gautam snaps.
“I’ll ask the questions, Mr. Rathore.”
“He did send you though, didn’t he? Or at least, you’re here on his behalf.”
He tries to pour another whisky himself, but Chandra pulls the decanter away.
“How would you characterize your relationship with Sunny Wadia?”
“Purely transactional,” Gautam says.
“In what way?”
“I consult for him.”
“On what?”
“This and that.”
“Can you be more specific.”
“Failure. I consult on failure. It’s my specialty. I’m good at it. I notice he’s good at it too.”
Chandra sips his own drink.
“You consult for him on hotels.”
“Yes. This is getting tiresome.”
“Do you enjoy his company socially?”
“We’re not fucking, if that’s what you mean.”
“The thought hadn’t crossed my mind.”
Gautam snorts. “I’m sure it has now.”
Chandra, a wan smile. “Quite.”
“For heaven’s sake, man, give me a drink. A proper measure. Patiala at the least.”
“How much cocaine have you been using in recent months, Mr. Rathore?”
“As much as Daddy will give me.”
“Daddy?”
“The universal Daddy in the sky.”
“Your relationship with your own father is . . .”
Gautam hoots, claps his hands together. “You’re a psychologist!”
“Merely a lawyer.”
“Do you think I got where I am today,” Gautam says, “by being an idiot?”
“Your father has more or less disowned you, is that so?”
“I’d venture it’s the other way round.”
“And you’re quite happy in your current situation?”
“Don’t I look happy?” He taps his glass. “Drink.”
“Tell me something about Sunny.”
“He hates his father.”
“Tell me something we don’t already know.”
Gautam hesitates. “He was planning to leave him. How’s that for news?”
Chandra pours a drink.
“And you encouraged that?”
A bitter laugh. “I listened to his complaints, like a good and loyal friend.”
“And the cocaine?”
“What about it?”
“Where did it come from?”
“A lady never tells.”
“Was it his?”
“Pffft. Absolutely not. I have my people.”
“But Sunny paid for it?”
“Naturally.”
“And he took it too.”
“Naturally. Now what’s all this about?”
“Aren’t you at all curious, Mr. Rathore, to know why you’re here? To know why I’m here with you?”
A cloud passes over Gautam’s face. A moment of seriousness. He swallows his whisky, pushes his glass forward. “More.”
“What exactly do you remember about last night?”
“More.”
“I need you relatively sober Gautam.”
“It’ll take a lot more than this to get me drunk.”
Chandra pours him another small measure.
“And a cigarette.”
Chandra offers him the pack. “Keep it.”
“I am quite happy to talk,” Gautam goes on, taking Chandra’s gold lighter, lighting the cigarette, putting the lighter in his pocket. “As I said, I’m no fool.”
“I’d like the lighter back.”
Gautam looks perplexed, but removes it, slides it back.
“Are you in the habit of taking whatever you want?”
“Back to psychology now?”
“Do you see the world as essentially yours?”
“I’m quite happy to talk.”
“Last night . . .”
“What has Sunny done?”
“Last night . . .”
Gautam suddenly sits up. “He’s not dead, is he?” He frowns. “He didn’t . . .”
“What?”
“What did he do?”
“What do you think he did?”
“I don’t know.”
“You were in the club together, do you remember that?”
There’s that black hole again.
He shivers.
“Listen . . . Sunny turned up at my door one day. He didn’t have to. He turned up and opened this bottle of whisky and asked me about hotels. Hotels? I’m not a fool. He didn’t need to ask me about that. I know my reputation, I know exactly what people think of me. Frankly I don’t care. Don’t think I didn’t ask why he was there.”
“Why do you think he was there?”
“I don’t know.”
Gautam ashes his cigarette on the table.
“What do you think he wanted from you?”
“I don’t know. But”—he lowers his voice conspiratorially—“he was weak. Lonely.”
“You saw that?”
“I did.”
“And then?”
“Nothing.”
“You exploited him.”
“We exploited one another. He needed a shoulder to cry on. Someone who understood his unique pain. And I needed someone to buy my coke for me. Everyone left satisfied.”
“Sunny used the cocaine too?”
“Bien s?r! Naturellement.”
“How much did he use?”