“Worse, now that he’s become an SP. There’s not a single paisa that he can bear to see go anywhere but his own pocket. What happened to your neck?”
“When they heard I got back, some wardia madarchods attempted to send me a welcome-home present. But they’ll have to work a lot harder if they want to kill me. Come, I want you to meet some friends.” The men had still not resumed their drinking and eyed Constantine with considerable suspicion. They all had flowing beards, and their shalwars were hitched up above their ankles. Sensing their hesitation, Akbar waved to them. “Don’t worry, Consendine’s one of my oldest friends. You don’t have to hide anything from him.”
Visibly relieved, the men immediately reached for their glasses and downed them in unison. Constantine recognized one of them, the fattest one of the lot. He had been a small-time cheater whom Akbar had once arrested in Orangi.
“Nomi?”
The man broke into a sheepish grin. Droplets of whisky ran down his matted beard. Before he could answer, Akbar thumped him on his back. “Not Nomi anymore. It’s Sheikh Noman now. Our friend is going into a new business—the business of religious education. He has just come back from a pilgrimage. Pilgrimage to where, I don’t know, but he brought back a madrasa certificate proving that he is a religious scholar equivalent to an English Masters level. And he miraculously got all this education in two weeks. Heh heh.”
The fat sheikh’s grin became even more sheepish. “Akbar bhai, come now. You know I’ve always been a spiritual sort of person. I want to help the impoverished youth of this country follow the true path of God. Inshallah, by God’s Grace, Consendine sahib, we are close to concluding a deal that will establish a madrasa for boys, where everything will be free for them.”
Akbar laughed raucously. “Concluding a deal. Nomi? You’ve even begun to talk like some respectable white-collar person. What he means, Consendine, is that they have almost completed the successful illegal occupation of the land where this madrasa will be built. And it’s conveniently located right next door to Nomi’s, sorry, the sheikh’s gambling den. That works out well, doesn’t it? That’s the beauty of this city. Respectability is just one step removed from outright criminality. A bookie who makes a little money transforms himself into a ‘stockbroker.’ And a street-smart fraudster who used to cheat people by creating fake religious charities now calls himself a sheikh. He wears fine clothes, dabs his body with expensive perfume when just a few years ago he didn’t know the difference between a bar of soap and a biscuit, and is now acknowledged as a scholar of Islam. And all of this in such a short span of time! Now that’s what I call a genuine Karachi success story.”
The sheikh smiled benevolently at Akbar’s ribbing and cast a spiritual glance towards the heavens. Then he interlocked the fingers of both hands, as if explaining some profound metaphysical concept. “Din and duniya, Akbar Khan. Din and duniya. The material world and the spiritual world must exist side by side. Does not the Quran teach us not to neglect matters of trade and business? Why, the Holy Prophet himself was a trader, and a successful one at that.” The three other mullahs nodded enthusiastically at the sheikh’s mantra.
“Perhaps, sheikh, but I’m pretty sure the Quran’s definition of business didn’t include land grabbing and gambling. Anyway, to each his own, as long as you don’t stop sending me my cut.”
“But of course, Akbar bhai. This project of ours could not have taken off if it hadn’t been for your support. And I pray that Allah should always keep you protected from those that wish to harm you, like these United Front haramkhors.”
All the men said amen and then another one of them, a short, stout fellow, piped up. “Waise, Akbar Khan, you should take extra precaution now, especially after this last attack on you. These UF bastards will never let you go. You really gave it to them back in the day. I have some boys who fought along with Mullah Omar in Afghanistan. They are tough, trained commandos. They can do anything. If you want to cut somebody’s line, I can arrange it. Very precise, very professional. Just two of them are enough to take on an entire ward. At the very least, you should keep them with you for your personal protection.”
“I appreciate your offer, but after this thing that just happened in New York, if anyone were to find out about your boys, they would probably hand us all over to the Americans. I suggest you hide them somewhere for the time being.”
A third mullah, obviously sufficiently inebriated by now, roused himself up from his reclining position. “The Americans will run when they see us coming, ji! They will become petrified just by hearing my name! Maulvi Ali! We saw off the Russians in battle, what are these Americans?”
The man was trying very hard to balance himself and the overflowing glass in his hand on the narrow charpoy, but, with his last vigorous gesture, he tipped over and fell off the bed to hoots of derision from his fellow drinkers.
“The only battle that one will be fighting will be the battle to get sober in time for the dawn prayers.” Akbar gestured to Constantine to follow him to a dark corner of the roof. The volume of the gathering around the table increased as the quantity of the Chivas decreased, with each individual fighting his own imaginary battles in the Panjshir Valley and Kandahar. Akbar lit another cigarette and offered one to Constantine.
“What’s the matter, Akbar? Is the problem with the UF really serious? I thought things would have gotten sorted out, with you returning to the city and Dr. Death being made the IG again. He got you your promotion in a big hurry, didn’t he?”
“He felt bad that I got screwed when the operation against the UF ended abruptly. The kidnapper was a one-off. Dr. Death has been posted back here with a specific agenda. They want to start an operation against the jihadis. That’s all anyone is interested in these days. I had information about the boys who put a hit on me, but nobody wanted to hear about the UF. The party is now a partner in this War on Terror, and so all their sins are forgiven and forgotten. Colonel Tarkeen also wants me to start working on the jihadis.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“I don’t want to get involved in that. These people do God’s work. Besides, I already have an enmity with the UF, I can’t afford to create one with these jihadis. If they manage to defeat the Americans, they’ll hang us.”
“You’ve got to be joking, Akbar. You think they can defeat the Americans? Have you seen CNN? The Americans have a bomb called the bunker buster that can destroy an entire mountain, and you think these whisky-guzzling idiots can defeat them? You think these morons are doing God’s work?”
“Not these chutiyas. Of course not. But there are others who are genuinely committed to their cause. The truth is, Consendine, I’m scared. How do you intimidate someone who is willing to give his life up for God? How do you fight that? It’s like setting yourself up for failure.”
“Okay, so you don’t want to work on the jihadis, and you can’t work on the UF. So what are you going to do?”
“The Bleak House wallahs are doing some work on this Nawaz Chandio fellow. He returned from his exile when his brother became Chief Minister last year. The government dropped all the criminal cases against him as part of an amnesty, but the Agencies suspect that he has been setting up an underworld organization in the city to use as an independent power base.”
“I heard something about that. In fact, Colonel Tarkeen mentioned him as a potential threat a while back.”
“Yes. But Tarkeen is singing a different tune now. He wants to use Chandio’s thugs against the jihadis because they are all old leftist sorts. The Bleak House wallahs aren’t willing to compromise, because they say he committed treason when he was in exile.”
“He was never serious. He ran a half-baked ‘insurgency’ from a hotel suite in Geneva. How could he be a threat to the state? And now his brother is Chief Minister, so what’s the big deal? They can’t touch him anyway. They should forgive and forget; otherwise they will make him into something bigger than he is.”
“They say treason is treaso
n and that’s unpardonable. They don’t want him to become another Don. And if they can’t touch him yet, at least his friends can be neutralized. Chandio’s front man is Shashlik Khan, the drug dealer and gunrunner. They’ve asked me to bring him in. That’s where I need your help.”
“I don’t know Shashlik, nor do I have any information on him.”
“But you are friendly with that fellow Rodrigues. You introduced me to him once, remember? He’s a clearing agent at the port.”
“Yes, I know Rodrigues, but what does he have to do with this?”
“Rodrigues is Shashlik’s liquor supplier. When the Agencies started making a fuss over Chandio’s associates, Shashlik went underground. Disappeared completely. He hasn’t been in contact with any of his people. But the thing about Shashlik is, he can’t live without his booze. And Rodrigues is an extremely resourceful fellow. He has a small but very elite client list, and they say he can get any kind of liquor, from anywhere in the world, at twenty-four hours’ notice. So I’m pretty sure that if Shashlik is talking to anybody, he’s talking to Rodrigues. He must know where Shashlik is, and that’s how we can get to him.”
“Akbar, there’s no ‘we’ in this. I don’t want to get involved. Do you actually think that we’ll be able to arrest the CM’s brother’s best friend, who is himself connected to half the officials in this city, without having a ton of shit land on our heads? No way. I don’t want to hear any more.”
“Arre, yaar, you have to help me. I’m desperate. I have to find a target. If I manage to do this, the UF won’t be able to have me thrown out of the city again because I’ll be too useful. I need this, Consendine. Please.”
“Why don’t you try being a normal cop? Look, you got promoted again, you’ve bought yourself this lovely house, this is the perfect opportunity for you. Find a nice side posting and enjoy the rest of your career, rather than running around at the behest of Dr. Death and the Agencies.”
“I have to do this. Dr. Death says he brought me back from the boonies to do big work, not just to sit around. I’m only useful to the Agencies and our bosses if I keep hitting the big targets. If I stop doing that, they’ll have no more utility for me and then I’ll be at the mercy of the UF.”
Constantine stared hard at Akbar. “You’re lying. That’s not the only reason you keep doing this. It’s an ego thing for you. You tell yourself that you’re Akbar Khan, and no target is impossible for you. The harder the challenge, the more you enjoy it, because it gives you a chance to prove to everyone once again how tough you are.”
Akbar was silent for so long that Constantine thought he may have gone too far. Then, without warning, he broke into a childish grin. “Okay, okay, so what if I do enjoy it? I can’t work like a normal cop. So kill me. But please, please, help me to get to Rodrigues. Who else can I turn to but you? You are the only one I can trust, Consendine.”
Constantine sighed, but he knew in his heart he could not say no to Akbar. “All right. I’ll go with you to see Rodrigues.”
“Thanks.”
Constantine arranged a meeting with Rodrigues near the docks the following evening. Rodrigues was a regular churchgoer, present every Sunday at St. Andrews Church in Saddar, and Constantine had contacted him through their common pastor to arrange this meeting. Akbar and Constantine waited in a police pickup on the side of the road that led to the main docks. The spot where they were standing reeked of that peculiar smell of the dockyards—a mixture of sea salt, rotting fish, and gasoline, a bizarre blend of nature and industry. It was close to quitting time, and a long train of trucks and tankers crawled past them, carrying their wares out of the port towards the city. The vehicles emerged out of a massive gate, which had several levels of checks to ensure that no contraband items got out of the port area. Dozens of security guards in shiny new uniforms were deployed all over the place, all of them attempting to look useful. In addition to the gate, a high wall with barbed wire and corner turrets had been constructed to completely seal off the port.
The sight of these elaborate security measures brought a smile to Constantine’s face. A long time ago, when Akbar and he had joined the force, there never used to be any walls around the port area. The SHO of the Docks Police Station was the richest police officer in the city, because he had direct access to every ship that used to dock at the port. Every time a ship docked, he would be informed, and he would walk over, take his pick of whatever contraband there was on offer, and then trudge off. After years of this practice, some bright individual got the idea that this was facilitating corruption, and that the problem could be solved if only the police were shut out. As if the police were the problem. The corruption hadn’t stopped, only the rates went up. The number of palms to be greased increased. As for the local SHO, he didn’t mind. For, as he put it, it didn’t matter if they put up a wall around the docks area. He just set up a police check post five meters up the road from the main gate. All those trucks laden with goods had to come out onto the main road eventually. And the road was still in the police station’s jurisdiction.
“You know, these dockyards are the heart of this city. They keep the city alive and vibrant. And these tankers and trucks are like arteries, taking the supply of blood to wherever the body requires.” Akbar, who had been serenely smoking his cigarette and staring out towards the sea, seemed to have awakened from a trance.
“It sure keeps the blood circulating in the local police’s bodies. Tell me—is the story about Maqsood Mahr and his wife true? You know, the one about how, when he was posted at Docks, he left her funeral when he heard a new ship had docked?”
“Yes. He told the mourners that he could get a new wife any time he wanted, but ships laden with luxury goods didn’t roll into the port every day of the week. He told me the story himself when I used to work with him.”
Constantine chuckled. Just then his mobile phone started ringing. “It’s him. He must be getting out. I’ll call him over.”
Constantine spoke into his phone, and presently they saw a short, dark man cross the busy road, hopping to and fro to avoid the heavy traffic, and walking towards their pickup. The man wore several gold chains around his neck and had a paunch that signalled a significant level of prosperity. Constantine and Akbar got out of the pickup to meet him.
“Hey man, Constantine man, how are you and ya’lls’ family?” The man spoke in the sing-song accent common in Goanese Christians.
“I’m good, Rodrigues. Meet my friend, DSP Akbar Khan.”
“Man, I have heard of this fellow. Didn’t you kill a whole lot of ward bosses a few years back? Man, you must be a dangerous fellow.”
“Trust me, Rodrigues, he’s as meek as a kitten. But I called you here because Akbar and I have a proposition for you.”
Rodrigues looked at them suspiciously. “What kind of proposition, man? Look, Constantine, I’m running a little late and I have a delivery for a very important client, so maybe we could meet up another time. Maybe we can have brunch together with our families after church this Sunday?”
“Why are you in such a hurry, Rodrigues? Who’s your very important client? Not Shashlik Khan, by any chance?”
Beads of nervous sweat started streaming down Rodrigues’ face. “Look man, Constantine, tell your friend I don’t know about any such matters, okay? I don’t know any Shashlik Khan.”
Akbar put a gentle hand on the bootlegger’s shoulder. “Look Rodrigues, we know that you’re Shashlik’s supplier. He uses you because you’re the best, and I also know for a fact that he’s still using your services. They say you can deliver any brand or type at very short notice. That’s very impressive. We’re not interested in your booze clients or where you get your stash from. But, as Consendine said, we have a proposition for you that might be mutually beneficial to us all.”
“What’s that?”
“Tell me where he is. Don’t try and deny it. I know that you know the location. After all, you go personally to deliver his booze to him. I’m willing to remunerate
you handsomely for your information. I have one peti for you lying in the dashboard. You can have it right now, if you want.”
That got Rodrigues’ attention, and he stared at the car’s dashboard like a hungry dog after a bone. But he was still hesitant. “Look, it’s not that simple. His and Chandio’s people are everywhere. If they find out I talked to you, they’ll kill me.”
Akbar sighed. “All right Rodrigues, how much do you want?”
“Five petis. Up front.”
“Five lakh! Are you joking? For information that isn’t even verified? No way! Come Consendine, we’ll get Shashlik some other way.”
“I can give him to you right now. I’ll take the one peti you have as an advance, so long as the rest is paid no later than tomorrow. Constantine can stand as a guarantor for me.”
“How will you give him to us right now?”
“I have to make a delivery to him at 7:00 p.m. It’s 5:30 now. He had asked for a rare liqueur, something they call absinthe. Very expensive, one bottle worth 75,000 rupees, very hard to get as well. I’ll deliver it personally. He’s living in a rented villa in Defence. There’ll be no one there at this time, because he’s planning to have a party later in the evening. That’s why he told me to come at this time, because he said we would be able to talk and settle accounts without any interruptions. But my price is non-negotiable, man. And the deal is that you have to do it now. They have people everywhere, and if it leaks out that I was talking to you people, then man, I’ll be in serious trouble. If you come with me now, I will slip away and it will look spontaneous, like you found his place on your own information.”
Akbar looked quizzically at Constantine, as if looking for his approval. Constantine nodded his head slowly. “He’s reliable, Akbar. He wouldn’t cross me. I don’t think he would set a trap for us. And he’s got a fair point. You know how the department is. No one can keep a secret. If it got out that we were meeting with him, he would get burned. But we will have to pick up some additional force.”
The Prisoner Page 15