The buildings on either sides of the alley are a Mumbai special. There is a corner hotel with a paan thela next to its entrance that is bustling with customers right at noon. The paan thela which is a stall for selling tobacco in its all avatars is no longer decorated with gutkha garlands as it has been banned in Maharashtra. A bakery next to the hotel smells of doughnuts. I walk as casually as I can, but am focused on soaking as much detail as I can.
A real estate shop on the right side gives way to a crammed general store. I look up on either side to spot small flats with windows to the street. The buildings look well used. We keep walking to the end of the alley as it ends with the wall of a housing society on the other side. No sign of the Wheely. I jerk my neck at Ulhas. He shrugs & points to a shop right next to where we are standing. Because this is supposed to be shock & awe affair, we have not contacted the nearest police station. Everybody is on a need to know basis. We have to find our own way. It is a jewelry shop named Kohinoor. The display board & the reception of the shop look so dark that I think it could be closed but Ulhas has already vanished inside. I follow him.
There are glass shelves made for hosting traditional ornaments. They house aging, yellowed necklaces, out of fashion silver rings with a green patina & old earrings with red stones. The light in the store is enough for me to make out a corner table besides the shelves where an old telephone is resting. Immediately above it is a wooden platform holding a portable color television. On the opposite side is a larger table which looks like the traditional galla or the cash register. Ulhas is talking to the man in charge. He is middle aged and has an angular face. The hair is almost white but thick, a tall nose juts out from his equally white stubble. The eyes behind his spectacles are as bright as the lighting in the room. Wearing a khadi kurta, he is seated cross legged on a cotton mattress. Behind him is an ancient looking safe with a three spoke handle. My initial assessment, a Gujrati businessman. A ceiling fan creaking to a rhythmic tune of rust is the only source of ventilation. Bolted to the wall is a Wi-Fi router blinking with multi colored blips. Definitely a Gujrati.
“The Wheely is in the opposite building. You have to take the stairs.” The man says to Ulhas.
Ulhas thanks him & turns around. May be it is my goggles or Ulhas’s khaki pants that tip him off.
“Kuch lafda hai kya saab?” Is something wrong? He whispers.Ulhas looks at me for approval. I nod.
“What is your name?” Ulhas turns back to face him.
“Sumit Patel.” The reply looks enthusiastic and not a scared one.
Ulhas extracts a photograph of Achhu’s cadaverous face from his shirt pocket. He puts it on the galla.
“Patelji, do you know who this is?” Ulhas looks him in the eye.
“Hey bhagwan, this is Achhu.” The shock & concern are authentic. We have come to the right area.
***
The interior of the Wheely is in stark contrast with its hard to locate, shabby exterior. Next to the pathetic door that I get in from, there is a large entrance. It is a huge glass door that reveals the club. The club has a design similar to an open dance floor. All the utilities like sofas, tea machines, vending machines are close to the walls. But the center of the floor is occupied by circular tables. Each table holds 4 to 6 computer screens depending on its size. Somehow, the CPUs are out of sight along with the wires that usually outline a computer. Many tables have keyboard & mice, but some have joysticks & even analogue game controllers. Bathing in Iodine colored lighting, each and every computer is manned. The vending machines, the sofas are occupied too. Hanging from the ceiling is a large TV screen that shows a split screens from computers that are engaged in a multiplayer game. Blood & gore on the screen is being cheered on immediately. The volume is a bit muted as I am still on the other side of the door. A huge man with a shaven head, arms as thick as my thighs is standing by it. He is wearing a black T-shirt, has black shoes on to go with his black jeans. The T shirt has Wheely’s logo on it.
“Entry pass?” He raises his hand in an open palmed gesture. Because of the small door, Ulhas takes some time to emerge from behind me. The doorkeeper recognizes the Khaki trousers as I smile at him.
“Nako re! We are here for a different game. Who is the umpire here?” Ulhas tells him that we don’t want an entry pass & asks for the person in-charge. The doorkeeper sizes us for a moment & then speaks into the collar mike attached to his t-shirt. If game zones run by gangsters have such sophisticated security equipment & procedure, why the Mumbai police modernization is a matter of debate?
We are lead inside after a few minutes. As the doorkeeper leads us away from the floor, I notice the players. Most of them are teenagers. Totally engrossed in the games that they are playing, they are shouting, gesturing & cursing at each other. A few lit cigarettes are on their young lips, lots of tables are littered with soft drink cans & empty snacks covers. I feel like checking one out for its contents but today it is about something else. That can wait. Not one of them notices us. A cabin is now visible at the end of the floor. As the door to the cabin opens, Ulhas barges inside with sure steps. It is a gesture executed with cold & no hurry. Inside are two hefty specimen on either side of a man dressed in a half sleeved white silk shirt & trousers. He is seated in an office chair. A bushy moustache covers his upper lip. A thick gold bracelet rests on his left wrist. There are rings of silver, gold & what not in every other finger of his hands. A table separates two more chairs in front of him. I have seen photographs of Anees & this is definitely not him. The long tilak on his forehead confirms it even further. He looks to Ulhas & then at me. He says nothing, but keeps staring at both of us. We play his game.
“Nain ma takka karne aaye ho kya?” Are you here to eye up like girls? He breaks the rally.
“I thought he too was going to call someone higher up.” I say to Ulhas with a smile.
“Are you the responsible person around here?” Ulhas asks the man.
“May be. Why do you need one?” He asks back.
Ulhas throws Achhu’s photograph on the table.
“From now on, I am going to assume you are. At least for what happens next. Do you know him?” Ulhas quips.
“No. Should I?” He answers after taking his time.
“Does not matter now.” Ulhas leaves the cabin. I stretch my arms, crack my knuckles & occupy the chair in front of Mr.Cool. I know who he is! I remember his details from the department’s file on Anees and his subordinates.
“It is bad manners to answer a question with a question Dhanaji. Especially if the question comes from a cop.” I bring up my left foot that does not have the gun strapped on to rest on the table. Dhanaji must be able to see my shoe size & the artistic patterns in the sole as a similar pattern of criss-cross lines forms on his forehead. He is seething with anger as he rises up from his chair. The two doorkeepers on his sides take a step forward in my direction. But Dhanaji’s face changes emotions as he is able to see the game floor now. Ulhas must be lining up his customers in queues by now, threatening them with everything from breath meter tests to juvenile drug charges. I am sure the kids would be scared to death and some of that fear should make its way into Dhanaji too if he is a good businessman. His uptightness could ruin the “game” here. The two gatekeepers on his side are confused now. Should we beat up the guy in the cabin or should we charge out to take on the man in khaki?
“Call him here. I will answer the questions.” Dhanaji says to me. The tone is lowered & the sarcasm seems to have evaporated.
“That’s moe like it.” I rise from the chair & bang twice on the cabin door with my hand. Ulhas gets the signal. He asks the game players to keep standing where they are & enters the cabin to occupy the chair next to me. He looks at Dhanaji & does not bother repeating his question.
“That is Achhu. I don’t know his real name. He was a regular player here. But I have not seen him for a week now.” Dhanaji speaks up.
“Was he just a player? I thought he worked for you.” I join to make this
a three way conversation. Sumit told us that virtually all the complex electronic hardware & software installation in the entire area were done by Achhu. Even his Wi-Fi network was created by Achhu. He was an employee with the Wheely.
Dhanaji pauses for a while. This means he may be making up what comes next.
“He did odd jobs for us. Was not an employee.” He reiterates.
“Is dropping players off included in your service? That too by a company owned vehicle.” Ulhas throws another photograph at him. This one shows the Fortuner with its number plate visible & a picture of Achhu being dropped at Mira road. Dhanaji does not speak.
“Are you going to answer that or should I go outside again?” Ulhas rises from his chair.
“Wait Ulhas, may be his boss knows the answer.” I put in a googly. The Americans usually have a curved ball terminology for a tactical baseball move, but the Indian cricket fan knows the googly better. Dhanaji stiffens at the mention of his boss. His jaw hardens & the fists curl instinctively. But he manages to keep quiet.
“Get your boss here.” I press on.
“He is not here.” Dhanaji answers immediately. “And you have no right to question him. Not without an appointment. You don’t know his reach. It will be wise for you not to involve him.” He blabbers on. I get up to face him & slowly remove my shades for impact.
“Dhanaji, Dhanaji. It is you & your boss who have involved us. And we don’t back off from our involvements unless justice is served. About the appointment, let me make one. I am Pandurang Jagtap & he is Ulhas Gosavi. If I don’t hear from your boss in the next 24 hours, I will be back with a warrant. And believe me, Ulhas is a gentleman when compared to my warrant executors. I am sure you can use your boss’s reach to find where to contact me.” I see Dhanaji’s cheek tick with anger.
“Count on it. You will hear from him.” He spits out the words. I put on my shades & walk out of the Wheely.
As we walk back to the Gypsy, one of the gatekeepers follows us. He keeps his distance but follows up persistently. He watches us get into the car & drive away. My phone buzzes. I see that I have a new email. My office email account is synchronized to my Google Nexus. It is a special facility that is extended to officers who are on field duty. The facility is still active for me from my last assignment. It is from Kshipra with a video attachment showing the Fortuner dropping Achhu. I download the attachment to my phone & watch it. She has done a fine job with improving the light & reducing the grains from the footage. The number plates are clearly visible & though in monochrome, I can make out a clear outline of Achhu. As usual, Ulhas is at the wheel. I check in the rearview, nobody seems to be following us.
“Where to now?” I ask Ulhas.
“Let us get back to the office for a cup of tea.” He drives towards Dadar.
The rattling seems to have gone well. Dhanaji’s contorted face was a proof of that. I am bracing for the return from Anees. Will it be a veiled one or a direct one? I am ready for it; in fact it could be a worthwhile challenge. Taking on criminals with methods similar to theirs & on their home turf is one of the parts of this job that I enjoy the most. Having a hint of a criminal conduct is one thing but the real catch happens when they react to such rattling. This is how mistakes can be extracted. Mistakes that can be used to put them away for good. But in my heart, I can only go back to Achhu.
Sumit was quite informative about him. According to him, Achhu was well known around the Wheely. A whiz at everything related to computers, Achhu was a sought after man. Soft spoken & helpful, he would be ready for any digital chore as long as food was offered. Sumit knew him for almost 2 years but was unsure of Achhu’s native place or family members. Achhu was a South Indian for sure & Sumit thought he lived alone. Didn’t know where that was. Achhu was an employee at the Wheely & it is rumored that he had special attention of Anees Vilayati. Sumit thought the salary was about Rs.20,000. Per month. Now for a hardware whiz, that is peanuts. Why would Achhu work at such a hole however glossy when he could have got a better paying & socially approvable job anywhere? Another question to answer.
8
Tea Break
I am near the Dadar office after an hour. The traffic kept us out for almost 30 minutes. In the meanwhile, I have tried to find any information on Achhu from every possible source. I called Jamil but he didn’t have anything. Tried with a few guys in the crime branch without luck. I am holding off calling the police station nearest to the Wheely because they would come to know off my kneejerk visit to the Wheely soon. Or they might know it already. I also managed to inform DYSP Khan about the visit. The agreed code between us is that if I call him on his mobile & let the phone ring twice before cutting the call from my end, he is to understand that it went well. I don’t believe in messages as mobile phones, call logs & message records can be tracked. But it is hard to deduce meaning from a missed call in hindsight & I don’t think that cell carriers count the number of rings. This gives us two things. First, the DYSP knows the status of the operation. Second & important in the context, he has deniability. I keep a constant watch on the rear view mirrors. Nobody seems to be following.
My cell phone rings. It is Kshipra. I answer without delay.
“Yes, X.” Ulhas throws me a look of surprise. I turn away from him to gaze at the traffic.
“I have another piece that could be used as evidence.” She sounds happy. But pauses for effect.
“Go on, I am listening.” I humor her.
“Do you remember the shirt that the vic was wearing when he died?” She asks with a sparkle in her voice.
“Yes, from what I remember, it was a light blue shirt with a floral design on it.” I did read the report multiple times.
“Is that all?” Kshipra is still playing the game.
“It also had oil & sweat stains.” I see where she is going with this.
“There you go. I extracted a frame from the CCTV video where his shirt was almost completely visible. I sharpened & corrected the image so that I could get a pattern of the stains & the floral design on the shirt. Then I sent it over to the forensics guys who still had the shirt. A quick photographic comparison came to be a 99% match.” She elaborates. This means that the person who got down from the Fortuner was Achhu. I can almost feel my hands around the wrist of Anees Vilayati, the cuffs couldn’t be far away.
“This is fantastic Kshipra.” I catch Ulhas throwing another look of surprise.
“Listen, I may be able to see the DYSP by evening, can you email me a copy of the stain pattern report?” I want to prove this with every possible piece of evidence.
“I know you Jaggu. That is what you would want. I called you for the same reason. Actually, a friend of mine from forensics examined the evidence & matched it. She is on her way to the Dadar DYSP office. I have asked her to get you a print copy of my report & her forensic match by hand.” Kshipra has thought of everything.
“Great, I will be at the Dadar shortly. Who is this friend of yours?” As I ask the question, I know the answer.
“Her name is Bhavna Desai. She says that you two have met.” Kshipra adds casually.
“Dr.Desai’s daughter? Yes we met yesterday.” I return the yorker with a straight bat.
“Yup. That’s her. She should be there by now. If you don’t find her, try Dr.Desai’s office. Let me know how it goes with the DYSP.” Kshipra finishes.
Ulhas drives to the office parking soon. I don’t remove the mobile from my ear, trying to give him an impression that I am still on a call. I get down as soon as he kills the engine. I steal a look at him & he smiles. He shakes his head as I rush to the DYSP’s office. I take three steps at a time on the stairs to avoid running. I find a vacant chair in the reception. What is good to note is that the Khan seems to be out of office. Trying to look as casual as possible, I flip the pages of the newspaper lying on a nearby chair. After a while I look up at the door. Ulhas is walking towards me. He has Bhavna with him. Rascal.
“Aah. There he is.” He gestures dramat
ically at me.
“Pandurang, this lady is looking for you. Where were you?” He puts up an innocent face. I sneer at him & turn it into a smile by the time Bhavna looks at me. She is wearing a dark violet salwar kameez. Her hair is neatly tied in a pony tail. This makes the features of her face even more prominent. I notice a single diamond nose stud. There are matching gun metal earrings which look like long seekhs that suit her height impeccably but roast my heart easily. I melt further as a miniscule smile appears across her lips.
“Hi. Just got a call from Kshipra.” I mumble as I fumble with my goggles.
“I was on my way here anyway.” She replies. An awkward moment of silence follows.
“Here’s the report.” She extracts another envelope from her handbag.
“Thanks.” I accept the envelope.
“I need to leave, call me if you need any help with this.” She is leaving!
“Would you like a coffee?” I ask her.
“No, but tea would be fine.” She smiles again. My god! I look around but Ulhas is nowhere to be seen. We make way to the office canteen.
I find a sufficiently cornered table for both of us. Thankfully, the crowd is thin. The canteen is not the best place to take a beauty to; but at the moment, it will have to do. Best of all, the lady does not seem to take offense. I have seen my college friends twisting their noses at establishment canteens as places to socialize but she seems up for it. I signal Shetty for 2 teas. Everybody in the room is looking at us.
“So how’s the investigation going? Any breaks?” She settles into the bench without looking at it for stains. This makes me more comfortable.
“Going good. Some progress but nothing substantial yet.” I keep it simple.
“Kshipra says you are a classmate. When was that?” I am glad that she brings it up.
“We were together at Sydneyham. During BSc. She told me the same about you.” I keep up the track.
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