Looks at both of them, Neda and Gautam.
Gautam closest to him, smashed in the face, bleeding from his nose, his contemptuous face serene in spite of it all.
Neda, makeup smeared, head tilted back, almost snoring, ugly looking, mouth open to bare her teeth. They could be two kids, exhausted from a big day out.
He can hear sirens. But the city carries on.
And what has he done?
He glances at the passenger seat and sees Ajay’s gun.
What has he done?
He reaches in and takes it, feels its weight in his hand, opens the rear door on Gautam’s side, gently presses it to the flesh of Gautam’s cheek. It would be so easy to pull the trigger.
No.
His hand is beginning to shake. He is fearful of the weight, he suddenly can’t remember if there’s a bullet in the chamber. His brain is fogging, shutting down. With great force of concentration he removes the clip, places it in his pocket, pulls back the slide, and ejects the bullet from the chamber. It falls into the road, rolls in the dark.
Fuck.
Should he get on his hands and knees?
No.
It’s not about time. It’s about dignity.
He searches Gautam’s pockets and pulls out two baggies.
He climbs back into the driver’s seat, puts the unloaded gun and clip in the glove box. And in the sulfur glow of the streetlight he uses his car key to scoop out a large bump of coke.
* * *
—
Sunny dials the number.
And Tinu wakes. Groans.
“What is it?”
He’s trembling. “There was an accident.”
Tinu takes a pause, turns on his bedside lamp. “Tell me.”
“Some people are dead.”
Lights a cigarette. “Who’s dead?”
“People. On the road.”
“Did you kill them?”
“No. It wasn’t me. It was Gautam. He hit them with his car.”
“Are you with the police?”
“No.”
“Where are you?”
“On the road, somewhere else.”
“Far away?”
“Far away. I’m safe.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“How many dead?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you sure they’re dead?”
“Yes.”
“Where’s Gautam?”
“With me.”
“In your car? Or his?”
“In mine.”
“Where’s his?”
“Back on the road. It’s a wreck.”
Tinu puts out the cigarette. “OK, is this right? He crashed his car, you pulled him out, you left with him in yours. Is this how it is?”
“Yes.”
“And no one else saw you? No crowd, no scene?”
“Nothing.”
“Where did it happen? Where exactly?”
“On the Inner Ring Road, by Nigambodh Ghat.”
“Which car of his?”
“His Mercedes.”
“And you’re in?”
“The Toyota. The Highlander.”
“Who else is there with you?”
“Gautam, me, this girl.”
“Neda?”
The pause of fear. “Yes.”
“And where’s Ajay?”
Sunny braces himself.
“In the car.”
“In the car with you? Let me speak to him.”
Silence.
“Put him on the phone . . .”
“I can’t.”
“Sunny . . .”
“He’s in the car on the road.”
It sinks in.
“You left him there?”
Eyes closed. “I had to.”
“Is he alive?”
“I made him drink whisky . . .”
“Sunny, is he alive?”
“Yes!”
Tinu collects himself. “OK. There may be time. Listen carefully.”
Sunny begins to sob. “I did it for him, Tinu!”
“Don’t fall apart.”
“Tell Papa. I did it for him.”
“Listen carefully.”
* * *
—
It happened like it was happening to someone else. Tinu gave an address on Amrita Shergill Marg. “A man called Chandra will meet you there. Do everything he says.”
* * *
—
The man called Chandra was waiting on the lawn of the high-walled compound with the three-story bungalow looming behind, sitting on a deck chair in the moonlight, smoking a cigarette. He wore a camel-hair overcoat over a pair of powder-blue pajamas. His rubbery face under the floppy fringe had an aspect of weary bemusement. Seven or eight men in black Pathani suits and surgical gloves were waiting on the driveway ahead. When the SUV came to a stop and the gates were closed, they opened its doors and got to work.
Neda and Gautam were removed from the rear seat first, their phones and wallets and other personal effects stripped from them, placed on the low wooden table at Chandra’s side. Gautam was carried across the lawn to a second driveway. There were two cars: a white, government Ambassador at the front, a BMW behind. Gautam was placed inside the rear of the Ambassador. A police driver and a Black Cat Commando sat inside. A uniformed cop climbed into the back alongside Gautam, propped him up, pulled the rear net curtains shut as the driver put it into gear. Then the gates were opened, the Ambassador pulled away, and Gautam was gone.
As this was happening, two men carried the still unconscious Neda round the side of the main building.
Sunny gripped the wheel of the SUV and watched her go.
Chandra rose from the deck chair, buttoned his coat, came to stand beside the front window. Tapped on it.
“My dear, it would be wise if you stepped out now.”
Sunny did as he was told. “I didn’t hurt her,” he said.
Chandra nodded absently. “That’s not for me to say.”
“What will happen?”
“She’ll be afforded every courtesy.”
“What happens to me?”
“Are you in possession of a firearm?”
“In the dash.”
“Drugs?”
He fingered the bags of coke in his pocket.
“I threw them out.”
“Where?”
“On the road.”
“Where on the road?”
“Nowhere. In some bushes.”
Chandra examined Sunny coolly.
He pointed toward the BMW.
“Get in the car and go.”
* * *
—
The BMW slipped through the streets with funereal calm. The city reeled through the black glass, signs of morning emerged in the sky.
He began to search the back.
The driver glanced in the rearview mirror.
“Looking for something?”
It was Eli, the Israeli, the Cochin Jew. A member of his father’s security detail. The one who’d trained Ajay.
“I need a drink.”
Eli raised an eyebrow. “You and me both, buddy.”
“Do you have one?”
“This is more than my job’s worth.”
But a minute later he produced a hip flask from his pocket and passed it back. “Don’t finish, OK?”
Sunny unscrewed it, sniffed, recoiled.
“What is this?”
“Israel arak, my friend.”
Sunny took a hit and winced.
“No good?”
“Tastes like shit.”
“So give back.”
Eli held his hand out.
But Sunny drained the flask all the same.
* * *
—
They entered the farmhouse estate by the service gate that passed through the woodland. It was nearly five a.m., and the BMW went slowly along the shadowed track, the lights picking out the moths and potholes, the dark blue sky elusive in the trees. The arak burned. But it was an abstraction. Eli’s phone rang. He picked up and listened and held it back toward Sunny.
“It’s for you.”