Golden Biker

by Alexander Von Eisenhart Rothe

  Gerd looked down over the railing, where the flood of screaming people was still writhing along. “Too far down!” he cursed, “if we jump down, we’ll break our necks and we’ll be trampled to death!”

  Babu and Willie had almost reached them. “Don’t even think about it. Believe me, the bullet is faster!” Babu shouted at them he cocked his pistol and took aim.

  Resolutely Sherie gathered up her Sari put one leg over the banister. “I am going to try!”

  “Don’t be silly!” Willie shouted from the others side, “By the way, we’re only after Gerd!”

  Gerd looked at Sherie. “Listen now...” he began, immediately stopped by Sherie, who put her finger gently on his mouth. “Oh no, I know what you’re going to say. But I don’t want you to sacrifice yourself, you don’t have to...”

  “What a foolish thing to say” Gerd interrupted her, “Look down, do you see what I see?”

  Sherie’s gaze followed his outstretched finger and locked at the paranoid elephant Mahatma, who, in total panic and trumpeting in full gallop, was approaching the bridge.

  “Six feet less on the way down. We only got one chance!” Gerd whispered to her and he swung one leg over the banister as well.

  “Get to the car!” Shaki shouted at the others as he saw Arthur and Bear getting away in the emblazoned tuc-tuc. “Where is Rajnesh?”

  At this very moment Rajnesh came rushing towards them, carjack swinging still ululating Indian war cries.

  “For heaven’s sake, what’s got into you?” Shaki stared at him in bewilderment, but Rajnesh took no notice of him whatsoever, as he ran straight past him taking after the tuc-tuc screaming wildly.

  “Now he’s definitely gone over the edge!” Shaki said to Number One, shaking his head. “Just forget him and get the car and be quick about it!”

  Number One just stared at him. “Ehm, Rajnesh was supposed to park the car, I have no idea where he put it!”

  Shaki was visibly trying not to explode. “Then get my demented nephew back her and ask him, dammit!” Number One nodded in silence, went over to the row of waiting tuc-tucs to the black and yellow clad minder, who was cursing and shaking his fist after the thieves who had stolen his master’s tuc-tuc, grabbed him by the collar and without a word threw him into the bushes, jumped into one of the other tuc-tucs and went after Rajnesh.

  “Ehm, boss” Number Two asked hesitantly, since it was now quiet obvious that Shaki was about to explode, “why is it exactly, that One is following Rajnesh now? Would it not make more sense, if he would go after Bear and the others?”

  Shaki stared at him wide eyed, like a fish. He closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths. “Go after him and get him back. We take care of Rajnesh later on!” he hissed between clenched teeth. Number Two just gave a quick nod, grabbed the yellow black clad Indian, who had just fought his way out of the brushwork and simply flung him back into it. Then he climbed into one of the tuc-tucs and hit the gas.

  It took some seconds before it dawned on Shaki that, again, he had made a mistake. “Hey!!!” he yelled after the vanishing tuc-tuc, “take me with you!!!”

  “Excuse me!” a voice suddenly sounded behind him. He whirled around and looked directly into the face of a dangerously looking gypsy, but which nonetheless was brandishing a polite smile. “I could not help noticing your conversation with those two fellows just now. May I presume that you are Rajnesh’s uncle Shaki?” Ashok was inquiring politely.

  Shaki had a hard time to restrain himself. “Yes, sorry to say, why?”

  “Well, I think, you are handling him in the wrong way, you know? He is harbouring a lot of aggression. Maybe you’re too hard on him?”

  Shaki’s mouth fell open. “I am... what???”

  “All I mean is” Ashok continued, “there seems to be some potential for unresolved personal issues. I could offer my help, maybe all three of us should...”

  “All the boy needs, is a good thrashing!” Shaki barked having regained his speech.

  “But no, that would be completely wrong!” Ashok admonished him, “quite wrong, actually.

  Violence only produces more violence!”

  A smile crossed over Shaki’s face. “So you’re against violence, right?”

  Ashok nodded mildly. “Absolutely, a nice word at the proper time, gives happiness and peace of mind...”

  “How nice!” Shaki interrupted him smiling benignly, pulled out his gun and held it under Ashok’s nose. “You wouldn’t mind then, handing me over your car keys, would you?”

  The inside of the India-Gandhi Memorial Hall was empty now. Up in the cupola some birds were twittering, the sound reverberating from the walls. Sunil stood alone on the empty stage.

  “Master, Master!” shouted a few of the yellow-black figures who had remained in the hall.

  Sunil waved at them languidly.

  “Have you seen the foreigners?” he shouted into the auditorium.

  “They have left with all the others, when they were running out of the hall!” his devotees answered back.

  Sunil cursed silently. When was this entire thing going to end? Maybe he should just drive straight home. It was totally useless to go on zigzagging around the country, only to hand some rupees over to the foreigner. Sure enough, it was all about his repentance, but had he not repented enough already? And all this fuss about his person had become quite tiresome.

  Below him his devotees were gathering again, looking up at him expectantly. At once Sunil felt some sort of obligation to say something to them. Maybe this was the right moment to end it once and for all. “Yes, ehm,” he started hesitantly, the well-adjusted PA system carrying his voice into the farthest corner of the hall. “You should not expect any miracles from me, because...”

  At this very moment the overweight ‘Nataraja Dreamboy’ George stormed the stage and fell around Sunil’s neck.

  “He saved my life!” he shouted euphorically. “I’ve been almost dead, and he came into my room and I could breathe again. This man is a holy man!”

  A drawn out “Ooohh!” came from the assembled congregation.

  “A miracle! Our Guru-ji has performed a miracle! He has saved George!” a voice cried out from the audience whereupon everyone broke out in doxologies and jubilations.

  “But, but...” Sunil stammered in consternation.

  Below the floor started to chant:

  “Behold, our master, Sunil by name

  Blessed be those, who have been touched by his fame!”

  George, who had only just now spotted Sunil’s followers, suddenly had a brainwave.

  “So you are a true holy man!” he exclaimed in surprise, “That explains it all. I am your servant, master!” He fell to his knees prostrating himself in front of a visibly embarrassed Sunil, who would not have liked anything better then to just disappear.

  “Well now, you see...” Sunil said to his disciples, “how about we go and look for that foreigner, shall we?”

  Taken into consideration what short time they had had to get acquainted with each other Hermann, an ex-SS-officer and owner of an efficient private army, as well as Bábaa, former Sikh warrior and head of a flourishing, on the most part illegal, family business, they both had discovered they shared quite a lot in common, even going as far as having taken up quite a liking for each other, given the rather peculiar circumstances of their encounter.

  At first when Hermann, to his utter bewilderment, had discovered a naked man instead of the tied up girl he was absolutely stunned. At once he had sent out his troupes to search for the girl. But they had come back empty handed. He remained clueless as to what had happened until an elderly Indian with a big turban approached him and with a dignified air informed him that the naked man in the back of the truck belonged to him and how much Hermann would want for his release.

 
Hermann, who had no interest in the naked man handed him over to the moustachioed man, but in exchange demanded the girl`s whereabouts. This again seemed to surprise the old Indian who had been under the assumption that she was actually still in Hermann’s power.

  Hermann and Báaba introduced each other only to find out pretty soon that apparently, Sherie had evaded them both. Hermann, surprised by the fact that someone else was also interested in the girl and the foreigners, was very excited by the opportunity to find an ‘ally’.

  Báaba told him about Shaki, Babu, Willie and the things that had happened in Bombay.

  Hermann, quite intrigued by this story then suggested that they should combine forces. Báaba looking at Hermann’s fighting unit agreed only too eagerly.

  They stepped into Báaba’s limousine and leading the way drove in the direction of the concert hall.

  “That’s strange, were have they all gone?” Báaba wondered, after he had tried for the eighth time to contact one of his informants within the concert hall, without success. Shaking his head he put his phone back into his pocket.

  “Most likely they don`t hear it ringing!” Hermann answered, “those new-fangled concerts are rather loud, I’ve heard!”

  Nervously Báaba drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Without my network we’ll never find Sherie! I think she will try to get in touch with her new friends. Shaki together with the others should have finished those three Germans by now!”

  “I only hope zey did not shoot a bullet hole through my autograph. It is very precious to me, you see...”

  “...very, very precious, yes, you mentioned it before”. Bábaa cut him short. “But tell me one thing. I really do know Sherie for quite some time now; she’s a tough broad. How did you get her to tell you that her friends were going to Delhi?”

  Herman gave a malicious smile. “You must know, vee hef vays to make her talk...”

  Bábaa looked at him in surprise. “You have tortured her?”

  “Zat was not necessary! I just burned her damned drugs zat she carried wiz her, right before her eyes! You should hef seen her face zen!”

  Bábaa almost lost control of the car and nearly smashed into row of parking cars. “You have done what? Burnt it? All of it? That was my dope??? Finest Golden Biker! You know how much that was worth?”

  Hermann faced with this verbal assault did not bat an eyelid. “Of course, I know. I even know ze scumbag who’s growing it!”

  Instantly Bábaa regained his self-control, “You... you know the Golden Biker, I mean personally?”

  “Zat is correct, many many years ago I had the dubious pleasure to meet him, and I tell you somezink, next time I’ll see him, he won’t be happy to see me again!”

  “Do you mean, you know where to find him?”

  Hermann smiled. “Me personally no, not exactly. But Sherie does! This Bear fellow has told her. Now look, what is happening zere in front of us?”

  By now they had reached Connaught Place, a gigantic traffic hub in the middle of Delhi from which numerous streets ran off, like spokes on a wheel. From the street leading to the concert hall, there was a mass of people running and shouting moving towards them. From within their midst a barking mad elephant came stomping along on whose back Sherie and Gerd were desperately trying to hold onto a strapped wooden chair.

  Bábaa vehemently hit the brakes; the limousine came to a halt in the middle of the square.

  Bear, keeping the pedal to the metal tried his best to steer the stolen tuc-tuc around cars that had been left standing diagonally, straying people as well as cows, monkeys and elephants.

  Arthur was holding on to the roof railing for dear life, his face ashen, trying not to loose sight of their pursuers. He was wielding his carjack like a maniac and seemed to possess super human strength. Howling wildly, he was sprinting after them, jumping onto car roofs and pushing everybody aside. He could however not keep up with the dashing tempo of the tuc-tuc and fell behind, getting smaller and smaller in the distance.

  If Rajnesh’s brain had been a motor one would have diagnosed it as ‘overheated’. His body’s own cocktail of chemicals gushing through his system empowered him with extraordinary strength. Screaming wildly he ran after the tuc-tuc, which, despite his perseverance was putting more and more distance between them. “I—must—catch—them!” it echoed inside his head again and again. His gaze fell upon a motorcycle rider who was sitting on his bike at the curbside, watching the scene with amazement.

  I’ve got you now, you imbecile! Number One thought, who had finally spotted crazedRajnesh in front of him. He obviously was loosing his steam, because he had slowed down and was heading for the curbside. Number one grinned. Shaki would tear his nephew‘s head off... But what was he doing? Even before Number One could get to him, Rajnesh had whacked the driver off of his bike with the car jack, had jumped onto the bike and was giving hell for leather.

  “The car keys, you have... oh, dammit!!!!” Number One yelled and went rattling after him.

  All right, you might as well go after the madman, Number Two thought to himself, one tuc-tuc behind; I’ll get those two foreigners! He slowed down, feverishly wrecking his brain.

  “Hey there!” he called out to an old man who, wearing nothing but a soiled rag around his groin, was standing balanced on one leg the other bent in an angle, yoga-like fashion, thereby holding one arm outstretched, pointing towards the sky. “Where does this road lead to?”

  Number Two asked. The old man gave a silent head wiggle, pointing at a cardboard sign lying in front of him. ‘Sadhu Sitharam—does not speak since thirty years upholding his arm and leg in the air. Thank you for your alms!’ it read in perfect legible Hindi. Number Two sighed, looking around hectically. There ought to be some... there! A big traffic sign hanging across the street told him he was heading towards Connaught Place. Well, this made his plan simpler! He jerked the tuc-tuc around and went straight over the curbside and right into the maze of surrounding lanes and back yards.

  With every curve the top laden truck belonging to the gypsies was swinging dangerously from side to side, but regardless, Shaki was putting the pedal to the metal. He was furious!

  Furious at his demented employee, at his nephew and most of all at himself that he had not yet managed to give Bear and his friends their long overdue bashing. But now he would put an end to it, even if he had to thrash half of Delhi to do so! Cursing under his breath, he honked the pedestrians off the street, who themselves in a last second attempt were trying to avoid getting run over by the truck barrelling down the street. One car managed to dodge the truck at hairbreadth, only to smash right into a parked wheelbarrow. Another was forced by Shaki to slam on the brakes with the result that the following car went straight into the back, folding up its boot quite nicely.

  Shaki looked up at the street sign over spanning the broad avenue. He was heading for Connaught Place. At the same instant he spotted the tuc-tuc directly in front of him, steered by Number Two. What’s this idiot doing here? Shaki watched him as he veered off the street disappearing into one of the little alleyways. He stopped and pondered. Of course! Number Two wanted to intercept them on their way to Connaught Place. Excellent idea! Maybe he should try to approach him from the other side, that way they could trap them like between a pair of tongs. Shaki rolled down his window.

  “Hey, there!” he was calling out to the old man standing on the side of the street, “Is there any other way to Connaught Place?”

  But the old Sadhu only jerked his head up disgustedly, clicked his tongue in disapproval and pointed to his cardboard sign.

  “Oh, just forget it!” Shaki answered curtly, decided his next move and under full speed headed for the small park, almost grazing the Sadhu. Sadhu Sitharam, who after all has been standing on one leg for 30 years now, started to wobble precariously, paddling with his free arm trying to
keep his balance. Yet, thanks to his experience gained over the years he somehow managed not to topple over. He bit his lips, sealed shut anyhow due to his vows of silence. He really would have liked to send some oaths after that miscreant.

  “Oh shit! The madman has snitched himself a motorbike! Step on the gas!” Arthur yelled at Bear. “What do you think, I’m doing?” Bear shouted back against the noise of the engine. He yanked the bike around, narrowly missing a handcart loaded up to the hilt with chicken cages.

  “I’ve—got—to catch—them!” Rajnesh repeated to himself like a mantra. He only saw the handcart at the very last second, hit the brakes, swerved the bike around, but touched the cart with his back wheel. The cart slowly tipped and toppled over. One cage after the other slid to the ground the latches breaking open. Rajnesh gave full throttle.

  Chicken everywhere. Suddenly all that Number One could make out were feathers and excited cackle as he came chasing down the bend. One of the animals hit him straight in the face. Without giving up any speed he was fighting away the hysterical fowl.

  “Whaaaatch out!” Number Two yelled, as he was chasing through the narrow back alleys. People jumped out of his way at the last second, hurling abuse behind him.

  WHAM!!! He had crashed into one of the bamboo support poles, which were part of the bamboo scaffolding leant against the wall of a two story building. It shook precariously and the workers higher up were hanging on for dear life, but it somehow did not collapse.

  WHAAAAAMM! Intrigued by the noise a curious widow in the first floor had swung open her window shutters thereby hitting the second bamboo support pole. With an infernal bang and clutter the whole bamboo scaffolding collapsed. The workers who had quick wittily grabbed onto the shutters, were dangling in free air.