ANTI-SOCIAL NETWORK

by Piyush Jha

  But this year had been lean. Customs had started cracking down on imports and his contacts in customs had warned him off. As a result, he hadn’t been able to bring in an assault gun for fear of getting noticed. Six months into the year, he had decided to sell one of his own sports guns to sustain himself until things became easier. Now it had almost been nine months since his last sale and he still hadn’t got a customer that fulfilled all his requirements of a ‘safe’ buyer.

  Today, though, his luck seemed to have turned. He had received a call from a man with a strong Punjabi accent who had said that he urgently needed a gun with a silencer to fire at a close range. ‘Where are you going to use it?’ was the only question that Brahme asked, not interested at all in what it would be used for. ‘Punjab,’ was the single word answer that was music to Brahme’s ears. Setting up the clandestine rendezvous was easy. The Darukhana ship breaking yard had served him well as the maze of rusted metal and timber had long been his tramping ground. The ease with which he could slip in and out undetected had been no match for any customer unfamiliar with the terrain.

  But as he pocketed the money and handed over the Swiss-made Hammerli sports pistol with a crude country-made silencer and a box of .32 wadcutter cartridges, a sliver of doubt entered his mind.

  His fears were confirmed as the young buyer cracked open the gun’s bullet chamber and loaded it with the wadcutters even before he could turn to leave. The man raised the Hammerli and lined it to the centre of Brahme’s head. Brahme shivered, unable to believe that what he had been expecting every time he stepped out for his transactions over the past twelve years had finally happened. Shutting his eyes tight, he braced for the silenced pop of the gun. But just then, the buyer’s cell phone rang. The few seconds of distraction were enough for Brahme to duck behind a shed and then into the unused porta-toilet that led into the hidden open mouth of a man-sized cast iron pipe. He had always imagined that his would be his escape route should things ever go bad and today, they were as bad as they could be. As he ran headlong through the length of the pipe, he could hear the gun-toting buyer desperately trying to find the entry point into the pipe. Frustrated at not being able to find the pipe’s mouth, the buyer ran alongside the pipe, taking random pot shots at it, hoping to hit Brahme. But, of course, the cast iron pipe was too thick for the wadcutters. Brahme reached the end of the pipe and plunged headlong into the open hull of the MV Matrubhoomi, an old rusting ship from the south that had just about enough skeleton left to offer Brahme the protection he needed. During all this time, the buyer’s cell phone had been ringing; at the base of the hull of the ship, he finally stopped to catch his breath. Shooting one final round of wadcutters into the iron maw of the old ship, he picked up the call. In the still of the night, the voice on the other side of the phone was clear enough to be heard.

  ‘Are you on the train?’

  ‘Not yet,’ the buyer panted into the phone.

  ‘Why are you panting, any problem?’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘Are you sure, Akhbir?’

  Akhbir, the buyer, replied, sounding slightly irritated now, ‘Don’t question me. I don’t report to you any more.’

  The voice on the other side of the phone didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Crouching low in the shadows, Brahme could hear Akhbir breathing heavily as he waited. After almost thirty seconds of silence, the voice crackled through the night again. ‘But I will still look after my best man. Just leave everything to me, go and lie low in Punjab. I’ll get your share to you.’ Akhbir seemed to be considering this; he spoke after a few moments, ‘Okay. I’ll do what you say. But not until I finish what she started.’ He sounded calmer now.

  Now the voice on the phone became agitated. ‘What are talking about? Don’t do anything foolish. Just do as I say and leave Mumbai tonight…’

  Akhbir cut the line. The phone went silent but Akhbir didn’t turn and leave immediately. He stood there listening, waiting to hear anything that would have give him an indication of Brahme’s location. Brahme held his breath in an attempt to minimize all sounds that could betray his whereabouts. Fortunately for him, his shooter’s training still held him in good stead and, after a few minutes, he heard Akhbir turn and leave, his footsteps crunching on the debris strewn on the ship breaking yard’s uneven floor. Only when the steps were completely out of earshot did Brahme dare to take his next breath.

  24

  SuperTrance Nightclub. The name pierced Virkar’s grogginess, making him sit up with a jerk. He had been tossing and turning in bed for some time when the name had suddenly popped into his mind. Reaching for his cell phone on the bedside table, he checked the time and, to his surprise, saw that it was only 11 p.m. What am I doing in bed so early?

  Suddenly, it all came back. He had left Akhbir’s apartment in Byculla with some members of the Cyber Crime Cell. They had taken all the computer equipment to their office at the Crime Branch Headquarters. Frustrated after a fruitless discussion with the officer-in-charge who had told him to leave everything in their hands and not to interfere while they went about examining Akhbir’s computer, Virkar was tempted again to ask them to allow Richard to assist them. At the last minute, though, he decided against it as he realized that he would open a can of worms by declaring his association with a teenager who nursed a cocaine habit and a penchant for hacking.

  Now, as he stared at Naina’s soft, sleeping body on the bed next to him, he remembered how he had headed straight for Naina’s apartment and rushed into her willing arms. They had made love and he had fallen into a fitful sleep, only to be woken by the sudden thought of the visiting card. The fact that he had found the visiting card of a nightclub near the garbage chute outside Akhbir’s apartment somehow seemed relevant. In all probability it had fallen out from somebody else’s garbage bag but he just couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  Virkar tossed about in bed for another five minutes and then cast a glance at the sleeping Naina. Making as little sound as he could, he reached for his clothes that were lying on the ground beside the bed. He sifted through his pockets and luckily found the half-crumpled card. Using the light from his cell phone, he read and reread the name Philo Garlosa a few times, trying to remember if he knew that name from somewhere. He flipped the card and saw that the address was printed on the back. The Super Trance nightclub was a part of the old Sahyadhri Cloth Mill situated close to Deepak Talkies in Lower Parel.

  He hesitated for a few more seconds then dialled the club’s phone number printed on the card. After a couple of rings, a voice answered his call, ‘SuperTrance.’

  ‘This is Inspector Virkar from the Crime Branch. Is there any problem there?’

  The voice on the other side replied, ‘Sir, it’s only a few minutes past eleven. We are allowed to operate until 1 a.m.’

  Virkar immediately changed his tone. ‘No, I did not mean that kind of a problem. I was wondering if you’ve seen any suspicious-looking characters there.’

  The voice did not answer for a few seconds and then replied curtly, ‘Sir, most of our customers are from good families. If you like, you can check with ACP Shahane of Zone-III. Shall I give you his phone number?’

  ‘No thanks,’ sighed Virkar, ‘it’s okay.’ He hung up. It’s no use talking to this stupid man, he thinks I want to extort money from him, which is why he’s dropping names. But the question that was nagging him popped back into his mind. If the card wasn’t Akhbir’s, then why did he have it? Who is Philo Garlosa? Virkar felt like a drowning man, clutching for straws. Should I call someone from the Crime Branch and send him to enquire about Philo Garlosa? Virkar realized that if he were to rush into the nightclub with a drawn gun, he would spark off panic and create a situation that could take a very bad turn. Making up his mind, he redialled the number.

  ‘Can I speak to Mr Philo Garlosa?’ he asked when the call was picked up.

  ‘Philo is not a “Mister”; she’s a “Miss” and she’s busy right now,’ the voice said brusquely.r />
  Virkar put down the phone. How was this girl Philo connected to Sagarika? He glanced at the address again—from Naina’s apartment in King’s Circle, it was just about ten minutes away at that time of the night.

  He grabbed his clothes and pulled them on, making as little noise as he could so as to not wake Naina. He was about to rush out of the flat when a question popped into his mind: Why am I going there? Virkar felt a little sheepish for not having asked himself this earlier, realizing that perhaps it was his sleep-deprived state that had led to this knee-jerk reaction. He realized that there was only one way he could do this—he needed a trusted pair of eyes and ears inside the nightclub, eyes and ears that would relay information to him outside. He glanced again at the sleeping Naina, knowing that he would have to drag her into this potentially dangerous situation. But he had no choice and, in any case, Naina had made herself an integral part of this investigation and there was no turning back now. He reached out and shook her shoulder, trying to convey urgency through his touch. But it was only after she had mounted the Bullet and Virkar had touched 130 kmph that he began to go over his plan with her.

  25

  The girl with the pixie haircut had been dancing non-stop, her tight halter-top struggling to contain her sinewy, writhing body. Her painted-on jeans began far below her naval and ended far above her ankles. A casual observer at the SuperTrance Nightclub might wonder if she found it difficult to breathe with such tight clothes on, but she seemed to be handling them just fine. In fact, she was quite oblivious to the stares that were directed towards her. Her eyes were shut and her Ecstasy-induced smile seemed to be flashing a ‘come-hither’ to all the young men on the floor. Perhaps it was too early in the night or perhaps it was the fear of their girlfriends, or perhaps she looked a tad too hot to handle, but no guy had approached her yet.

  In the darkness of the dance floor, Akhbir broke away from a knot of revellers and walked straight towards her. He swayed with the beat, waiting for her to come out of her self-induced trance. He didn’t have to wait too long; she opened her eyes, perhaps sensing his presence.

  ‘Remember me?’ he asked.

  The girl’s voice was flat as she said, ‘No, should I?’

  In the darkness, Akhbir couldn’t see her eyes. For a microsecond, he looked unsure as the girl continued to sway to the music as if nothing had happened. A beam of laser light travelled across her face and suddenly Akhbir was sure.

  ‘You’re right, I didn’t recognize you at first in your bold new clothes, but I remember your eyes.’

  The girl let a sly smile curl around her lips, ‘You like my eyes?’

  Akhbir smiled back. ‘Yes, even though you’ve changed your contact lenses, I can still see fear in them.’

  The girl now broke into a full-throated laugh. ‘Oh, come on, dude, don’t be so filmy. I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m feeling really sexy tonight. So get your body closer and dance with me.’

  Akhbir stepped closer to the girl and she swayed against him, letting her body rub tantalizingly against his. He reached out and held her gently in his arms as he swayed with her. For a few minutes they danced as one, Akhbir playing with the girl’s hair as he manoeuvred her towards the darkest corner of the dance floor. As she smiled at him, he reached out and held her right hand in his; slowly, he guided her hand towards the lower part of his body. The girl’s smile turned mischievous but she played along. When her hand was just above Akhbir’s crotch, the girl whispered into his ear, ‘Do you want to go some place quiet?’

  Akhbir nodded. ‘Yes, but I just want you to feel what I’m feeling.’ He pressed her hand to the crotch of his jeans. Suddenly, the girl’s expression changed to one of abject fear. Instead of what she had been expecting, she could feel something hard and metallic which, she had no doubt, was a gun.

  Akhbir’s smile now turned malevolent. ‘At my building, you had asked me if I would like to sample some of your lipstick. Now I want to know, would you like to sample the bullets from my gun?’

  The girl shuddered; her lithe body seemed to have lost all its spirit. Her free hand made a feeble attempt to punch Akhbir’s jaw, but he was too quick for her. He ducked and reached into his jeans.

  Across the dance floor, Virkar raised his gun and waited for the right moment.

  Ten minutes ago, he had arrived at the nightclub and sent Naina inside. It had taken her five minutes of peering in the dark to spot Akhbir. A few minutes later, Virkar was by her side and was now waiting for her to get the house lights switched on.

  Two more seconds and all the lights in the nightclub came on at once. Virkar had prepared himself for this by staring into the laser lights so the sudden flash of light did not blind him. But Akhbir stood blinking, momentarily blinded, with his gun in his hand. Out of the corner of his eyes, Virkar noticed what seemed like another man standing with a gun aimed at Akhbir. Virkar made a mental note to take action in that direction too. But, right then, Virkar kept his eyes focused on his first target.

  Using the distraction to her advantage, the girl shook off Akhbir’s hand and sprang away, crouching to avoid getting in the way of a bullet.

  Across the floor, this was the moment Virkar was waiting for. He pulled the trigger, his bullet hitting Akhbir in the chest. As he fell, Akhbir shot a bullet in the direction of the crouching girl. His bullet grazed the girl’s skull and embedded itself a few feet away into the wall.

  Virkar now swung his gun in the direction of what had seemed like another shooter, but saw that there was no one there. He turned around and dove into the panicked crowd that was now running helter-skelter and pushed his way towards the fallen Akhbir. He kicked Akhbir’s gun away from his body and checked for a pulse. Having quickly ascertained that Akhbir was well and truly dead, Virkar turned his attention to the girl.

  Blood was pouring from the wound on her head but Virkar could see that she was still breathing. Cursing under his breath, he quickly took out his phone to call an ambulance but he was stopped short by Naina’s voice. ‘I’ve already called the ambulance and dialled 100 for the police.’ She then knelt next to the wounded girl, tore off the hemline of her soft top and used it to swab the girl’s wound in an attempt to slow down the blood flow.

  Virkar’s voice was breathless, ‘Did you see the other man with the gun?’

  Naina looked confused. ‘What other man?’

  Virkar sighed and shook his head. ‘I guess these disco lights played a trick on my eyes.’ He sat down on the floor next to Naina. ‘Well, maybe you can do me another favour. Please tell me who this girl is? She’s definitely not Sagarika’.

  26

  The past week had been tumultuous. Virkar had simultaneously been lauded by his seniors for his actions at the SuperTrance Nightclub and at the same time, castigated by certain sections of the media for endangering the lives of other patrons. The Cyber Crime Cell had gathered enough evidence to conclude that Akhbir Singh Mann was the head of the Anti-Social Network and had been running a sextortion racket, which he operated from his Byculla apartment with the help of Rajesh Chawre, Kshitij Bhatia and Nayantara Joshi. Numerous video clippings saved on Akhbir’s hard disk bore disgusting testimony to this fact.

  But what was more surprising was that the girl who had been shot by Akhbir at SuperTrance Nightclub had survived, although she had fallen into a coma. She had been identified as twenty-two-year-old Philo Garlosa from Assam, a student of St Catherine’s Polytech at Dhobitalao. Things moved swiftly from there, the Assam Police easily identified Philo since they had her fingerprints and photograph on file. Philo belonged to the Dimasa tribe of the Cachar district of Assam. Police records stated that she was an ex-member of the Black Widow militant group operating in the north-eastern corner of India. According to the Assam police, Philo had been a member of Black Widow since the age of fifteen but had had a falling out with the leader of the group a year ago after he had got her pregnant and then forced her to abort the child. Philo had come out of the hills and
had surrendered to the police, after having struck a deal: she would trade any information she had about the group for a complete pardon and a chance to restart her life.

  Having got a small government grant under the surrender policy, Philo had been allowed to restart her life away from Assam in distant Mumbai. Philo had come to the metropolis and enrolled herself in the St Catherine’s Polytechnic to do a course in hospitality management. She had chosen not to stay in the college hostel but had instead taken up a small room at the back of a dilapidated Parsi bungalow in Sion. She was also working as a hostess at the SuperTrance Nightclub to supplement her meagre allowance.

  Virkar had led a team of his men to Philo’s room in Sion and found that the bungalow was right next to the base of the hill of the Sion hillock fort. The room itself had just a few of Philo’s clothes and some books but under the bed, Virkar discovered the most damning evidence possible: a black backpack containing a hunting knife and a long-haired wig.

  It was still not known why she had gone on a murder spree, killing Rajesh Chawre, Kshitij Bhatia and Nayantara Joshi, but Virkar’s colleagues were willing to bet that she was actively involved in the racket. On his part, Virkar did not want to rush to a conclusion; after all, they hadn’t found Sagarika as yet. Moreover, Virkar was still unsure what the connection between Philo and Akhbir was, and why they were at each others’ throats with knives and guns. Unfortunately, Virkar’s voice was drowned in the cacophony of voices ready to put the case to rest and move on to other things. For a couple of days, Virkar had protested but no one was willing to listen. Hints were dropped that he shouldn’t rock a perfectly fine boat—after all, as ACP Wagh hadn’t hesitated to point out, Philo was clearly the killer. Virkar had finally decided to play along, but had privately gone over the case again and again with Naina. She had also been worried about Sagarika, but since there were no leads, her ideas, too, were hitting dead ends.