EasterSpice

by Cynnamon Foster

  I had no desire to banter with her. I couldn’t keep my eyes off the road. I clenched my fists so tightly that my knuckles had lost all of their color. No vehicle had anything that functioned like brake lights, the people didn’t have bumpers even though they acted as if they did and the sidewalks were nonexistent. Throngs of people ambled along the road, seemingly unconcerned with traffic. Shirtless men and traditionally clad women carrying large bundles, jugs and kitchen sinks all wandered in and out of traffic. Elisheba was watching the same people I was. She laughed out loud. “They walk like they have another ass at home.”

  I glared at her before she forgot herself. The small houses closed in on me as the streets narrowed. People sat in fenced-in yards with bone-thin dogs nearby. Women swept dirt areas while kids played in the clouds of dust they stirred up. The sight was alien and at the same time, not. The only difference between what I was passing here and some parts of east Austin were the cows that roamed freely or that were loosely tied outside houses, instead of being penned in at some dying farm the way I was used to seeing them back in Texas. Cows were everywhere and anywhere they wanted to be. That, and the occasional monkey.

  “I guess holding your phone in your hands makes you feel like you’re in control, huh?” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “You do realize that the driver could take us anywhere, leave us, and we’d be fucked, right? His English is worse than my Hindi, so communicating with him is out.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better? I’m glad this is a joke to you.” I hated that she was right. My map function was not working at all and I barely had a bar of signal. I had no clue where I was. For a minute, I was scared, but I shook it off. I’d faced worse. The electronic trail behind me would be too easy to follow for anyone on Reed’s team. If push came to shove, they could track me down by the IM Bala had sent to Elisheba. She’d sent her the address that way. A chat record would be stored on her computer. At least they’d have a general idea of where to look.

  The cab rocked back and forth, tossing me around the backseat. The driver honked consistently to signal his passing of the car or truck in front of us. Each time, I closed my eyes and bit my lip to keep from gasping. My head felt as if I was getting the adult version of shaken baby syndrome. Elisheba didn’t even seem bothered. I held on to the door the best I could. Even if I could tackle the crazy traffic, there was no way I could even begin to navigate these roads myself. The driver stopped twice to wait for a cow to decide to move and he didn’t even try to honk his horn at the animal.

  The air-conditioning in the cab was barely working but I didn’t dare open the window. The combination of the heat and the anticipation was getting to me. Beads of sweat appeared on my forehead and I dabbed at them gently with a well-worn tissue. It was October and hot as hell. I’d been all up and down the east side of Austin many times alone, but there was nothing more daunting than someone else’s ‘hood. The thing was, almost all of the India that I was seeing looked as if it was the ‘hood, even if it was supposed to be safe.

  It took almost an entire hour for the driver to stop. He’d been stopping and waiting for cows and slow people so often, that I didn’t even realize we’d reached our destination until he turned around and stared at me.

  “What time would you like me to come back, madame?” Even after all those weeks of studying the dialect and accents, his British/Hindi-accented English was almost unintelligible to me.

  “Four hours.” Elisheba was matter-of-fact.

  “Yes, madame,” he said, as he hopped out of his right-hand door and smoothed his all-white driver’s uniform.

  I’d learned to wait for them to open the door. The extra time he took gave me time to figure out what to do. We’d stopped in front of a narrow tenement building, wedged between two others that looked almost exactly like it. He closed the cab door and sped away, I assumed to go somewhere and wait.

  “So now what?” Elisheba asked. “I’m not sure if this is where I was last time.”

  I looked at her in disbelief. It was as if she was wandering around the country aimlessly. I was truly lost but was not about to let her know that. “Now we blend in and act like we belong.”

  The driver would wait. I now knew that he was one of ours, but he was playing his part to the hilt. He’d practically thrown us out of the car. I couldn’t find a number on the building, but according to my phone, we were in the right place. I had service again. A dot blinked somewhere in what I hoped was the vicinity of where we were.

  Even though I had on the right clothes, I still managed to feel out of place. My long peasant skirt covered me down to my ankles and my top was like a traditional Indian tunic in my favorite shades of azure. Not exactly high fashion, but comfortable. The agency had warned me about not being too “fashion-forward”, especially when I was alone. It would be no good for me to end up in an Indian jail because I’d kicked some man in the cajones after he’d groped me. If I needed to, I could run or fight without fear of showing too much leg or falling off my sky-high shoes, but that didn’t make me feel more at ease in the strange surroundings. It sucked to be caught after dark in a place where you stuck out like a sore thumb. Even though it was just about dark, Elisheba pulled out her stunner shades and slipped them on.

  “The more things change, huh?”

  “What?” she said. “If I’ve learned anything from India, I’ve learned that if I’m going to be stared at like I’m a rock star, I might as well look like one.”

  Bala stepped from the building, shielding her eyes from the fading light. She was more dressed up than she had been at work. Her purple sari was lined with gold on the part that went over her shoulder. The thin fabric fluttered in the evening breeze. There was a purple bindi on her forehead now, this one was larger and looked more like an ornament, and it accented her thick eyebrows which she’d darkened. She pressed her hands together as if she was in yoga and gave an almost imperceptible nod, but said nothing. Her arms, laden with a multitude of famous Indian glass and gold bangles, jangled loudly as she moved. She would be right at home in Texas. It was impossible not to notice her color-coordinated bling. For a half second, I felt underdressed.

  I returned her greeting, pressing my hands together as well. “You look different,” I said.

  She raised one eyebrow. “More traditional?” If I didn’t know better, I would think she was smirking at me, but the hesitant attitude she’d had at the office seemed to be gone. “My boyfriend likes it when I dress this way. Let’s go.”

  “Your boyfriend?”

  “I’m allowed to have a life. You can’t believe everything you see on TV. I bet you thought I was waiting for some arranged marriage or to be sold to my new husband or something.”

  “Probably as much as you were waiting for me to show up braless in a miniskirt,” Elisheba said.

  I would swear that Elisheba almost called her “chica”, the name she used to call me all the time. I listened while they bantered back and forth. Elisheba was Bala’s guest. I was just an extra. I hoped she knew that Bala’s invitation was a test. Everything Bala said seemed to be so carefully measured.

  We walked toward the door, and I acted as if I didn’t notice Bala checking me out from the corner of her eyes. I didn’t have enough information on her yet to figure out what her motives were or how she fit into the big picture. I got the distinct feeling that she didn’t want me there, and I’d come to learn that there were very few saints in the world. She had to be getting something out of inviting Elisheba along to her soiree.

  Elisheba was easy. She’d changed her name but she hadn’t changed who she was. She acted as if this was torture for her, but truth be told, she wanted adventure. I wasn’t mad at her for that.

  I trailed them into the tenement. Elisheba followed Bala so closely that if she stopped, she’d bump into her. More cautious, I lagged behind a bit. We stopped just inside the door and Bala signed a guest book. Elisheba followed suit as Bala handed each of us a mask.

 
“Really? A mask? They didn’t say this was a masquerade party,” I said.

  Bala practically thrust one at me, holding her arm out in an insistent manner. “It’s not. Just a house rule. Our host likes us to keep thing anonymous.”

  “Just do it, Desiree. It’ll be fine.” Elisheba was already slipping hers on. I sighed then followed suit.

  The narrow hallway was lit by fake candles attached to the bumpy textured walls. I resisted the urge to run my fingers across them, afraid of what I couldn’t see in the dim light. The smell of what I thought was incense was heavy in the air, but I couldn’t identify what it was. Soft music played around me, intermingled with laughter and voices, but it was impossible to tell where any of it was coming from. I followed Bala and Elisheba, but my eyes and ears were sharp for any detail around us. Sometimes, the small things could make a difference.

  Bala’s jewelry tinkled as she walked and I focused on the sound. I wanted to be aware, but not separated from them. We passed several small hallways that jutted off into darkness, separated from the main hall by heavy velvet curtains. After what seemed too long, we emerged into a room so big, it felt as if the small hallway had opened into a cavern.

  Even in the dim light, the contrast to the debris-littered street was startling. The room felt spotless. The same fake candles were attached to the walls all around the room. They gave off just enough light for me to be able to see that the room was full of people standing around, some talking, others close enough to be kissing, but I wasn’t sure. We passed a table and Bala reached down and grabbed a glass full of a milky-white liquid. She handed one to me without speaking. She smiled slightly as she lifted hers to her lips, indicating that I should do the same. The idea of being poisoned flitted quickly through my head then left. I’d survived worse. I only hesitated a minute. There was no reason for me to mistrust her, and she certainly had no reason to want to hurt me, as far as I knew.

  The drink was slightly sweet and it went down smooth, but it was most certainly an alcoholic beverage. I flicked my tongue across my lips to get it all. “I thought Hindus didn’t drink alcohol.”

  “I never said I was Hindu. And that’s Muslims, and even some of them drink.”

  As far as I could tell, the drink was harmless, but I couldn’t help thinking about all the spy movies I’d seen where the undercover agent was knocked out by something in their drink. The room didn’t go black or start to spin, but I immediately felt more relaxed, as if I’d smoked a joint or something.

  Bala smiled at me for the first time ever. “How do you feel?”

  “Like myself.” I hesitated, not sure what I was supposed to say. “So when do we meet this friend?”

  A look of surprise crossed Bala’s face. “My,” she said. “Aren’t you eager?”

  “Elisheba told me all about it. I’m just curious.”

  “Everything has a time.” Bala’s voice was tinged with sarcasm. “Come with me.”

  Again, I found myself following Bala toward what I thought was the back of the building. This time, people were starting to blend together as we made our way through the crowds. The music seemed louder and the room seemed larger and fuller than when we first came in. Earlier, people seemed to be whispering, now laughter filtered through all the conversations and I could hear the clipped speech more clearly. Instead of feeling more drugged from whatever it was she’d given me, I felt more alert and aware of everything around me. I heard every sound and smelled every smell. People touched me as I walked past them, but it didn’t matter. I’d been groped a few times since arriving in India, but I wasn’t put off. Most of the touches were friendlier, more of a welcome than an invasion of my personal space.

  I noticed that Elisheba was gone. The alarm I should have felt wasn’t there. We walked through a gold curtain to a smaller room. Here, people sat around, huddled in small groups, on cushions strewn throughout the room. They appeared to be drinking more of the white milky drink we’d had when we entered. Not all of the people spoke with the familiar clipped accent of Indian English I’d grown used to hearing. Instead, I could definitely hear the flat, broader sound of North American English too. I was just about tired of following Bala around when we stopped near a group that all seemed to center on one man.

  They parted as we stood there. Bala smiled and extended her hand down toward the man who was at the middle of the group, practically holding court.

  “Bala,” he said. “Such a vision of loveliness.” The man was what some might call “distinguished” in a stereotypical way, even though half of his face was covered. Older than Bala and me, his salt-and-pepper beard was neatly trimmed. His accent seemed somehow English but not. Although he was sitting, it was clear he was well dressed. His white shirt was impeccable, and even though the ends were outside his pants, the small embroidered monogram on the sleeve showed it had been custom designed to fit his body. Although everyone had been talking, they stopped and listened intently when he greeted Bala as if he were EF Hutton.

  Bala’s smile hid a lot behind it. Obviously, I didn’t know her well, but I could see that some things were better left unsaid. She accepted his compliment graciously while he took her hand and kissed her gently on the back of it. Bala smiled and did that side-to-side neck thing I’d seen many of the women do; it was almost like a nod that went the wrong way. It struck me as more of a non-commitment than a nod, though.

  “This is my new friend,” Bala said. “Desiree.”

  The man looked at me intently. “Yes, from Ghana.” He paused. “And what of Elisheba?”

  “She’s here. I thought you’d enjoy this one too.”

  Why had Bala referred to me as if I was an object or not present in front of her?

  He looked at me intently, his eyes gently piercing my face. “Yes,” he said finally. “More is always better. The pleasure is all mine. Won’t you sit with me awhile?”

  He really didn’t seem to be asking. I glanced over at Bala to see if this was the man she’d spoken of, the one who wanted to meet Elisheba. It felt more as if I was being presented to him on a platter than making the acquaintance of anyone new. Her nod was so slight I almost missed it.

  He sensed my hesitation. “I’m sorry. My manners. My name is Rick Wellington. Let’s talk a minute.” Rick patted a pillow across from him, shooing his admirers away at the same time. Even Bala nodded and stepped back.

  I shrugged, then folded myself onto the purple velvet pillow he’d touched. I wondered if Reed or Sam knew he was here. This was the man from the file. Most of his face was hidden by his mask, including one of his eyes, but I could feel it deep in my bones. When he removed that mask, I was sure I’d see a set of mismatched eyes. Excitement was building in the pit of my stomach. Was I sensing danger, or was the milky-white drink was having some strange effect over me?

  I smiled, and Rick smiled back. Bala said nothing. Her face was as still as stone. I was being presented with a challenge. My heart raced. No matter who I was supposed to be, I’d never been one to walk away from a challenge. Elisheba would have said, “Bring it,” but I just smiled thinly and tried my best to float down onto the pillow offered me with style.

  Chapter Ten

  Sam

  Homeboy took me to another section of the property.

  “Are you a drinking man, my friend?” This room was slightly better lit than the one we’d left, just enough to see that the drink he offered was milky white, in a small glass. He picked two up off a small table by the door as we entered and extended one to me as he slammed back the other.

  I didn’t want to offend him but I still waited for him to finish before I took it. No use in being poisoned before I’d even begun. The stuff looked like a cup of watered-down powdered milk. It didn’t look good, but I sipped it anyway.

  My host laughed. “This is not a sipping drink. This is a one you take quickly.” He laughed again. “I am Rick. This is your first time here?”

  I nodded.

  He stepped closer. “Who invited you?�
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  “Someone from my job.” My tricky truth seemed to satisfy him. A grin spread over the part of the face that I could see.

  “You will enjoy it here. I do this several times a week. People like to come and mingle. And many find what they are looking for here.”

  “Who says I’m looking for anything?”

  Rick paused and seemed to be studying me. “My friend, we are all looking for something.”

  Someone behind us cleared his throat, interrupting our discussion. “Mr. Wellington,” a smallish man spoke in an even smaller voice.

  Rick turned abruptly. “What?” The sharpness of his tone surprised me, and the man cringed. “Speak up. I am with a guest.”

  His answer was almost unintelligible.

  “English, please. It is rude to speak in Hindi in front of our guests.” He turned to me. “Forgive my employee.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Rick. One of the ladies is acting up.”

  Rick didn’t seem too alarmed, but I was certainly intrigued. Was one of the guests drunk on the milky-white stuff?

  “If you will excuse me, I have to handle this. You can come along if you wish.”

  There was no way I was turning down that invitation. I couldn’t imagine how a “lady” would be acting up, but I sure as hell wanted to find out.

  Rick strode back into the main room, and I followed. The room was fuller now, and several people reached out to him. He smiled and graciously brushed them all off, heading toward one of the curtained alcoves in the back corner of the room. Two worried women paced outside. One ran up to him as soon as we neared.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Rick. I tried.”

  What in the world was going on? Rick strode past her and practically threw the black velvet curtain open. I almost ran into him when he stopped.

  There was a woman in the alcove, sitting back in the corner. She sat with her head down like a scolded puppy. The kind, welcoming man who’d offered me the drink was gone, replaced instead by someone with a crazed look in his eye, dark face and hardened jaw. Even though I didn’t know him well, it was obvious he was pissed.