‘Yes. I didn’t like him, and I told him that, and I didn’t agree with his way of doing things, but I loved him.’
‘For better or worse, he was a force in the city, and in all of our lives.’
‘He used me,’ she said. ‘And I let him. And I used people that he asked me to use. I used you, for him. But I don’t feel anything but . . . love . . . for him, when I think of him. Is it the same for you?’
‘It is.’
‘I still feel him sometimes, standing beside me, when things get bad.’
‘Me, too,’ I said. ‘Me, too.’
Karla and I enjoyed the time on the holy mountain, but we still liked to stay in touch with the unholy city. A newspaper made its way up the mountain once a week, and occasional visitors brought news of friends and foes, but our best updates came from the young Ronin, Jagat, who was running my bing for me while I was on the mountain.
Jagat met us in the car park beneath the caves, every two weeks. The news that he brought from the city always made us feel good about the steep climb back to the peak.
Politicians and other fanatics, Jagat reported, were doing their best to ensure that cooperation was impossible, especially among friends. In some areas, plastic barricades had begun to segregate neighbours and neighbourhoods, sometimes on nothing more than food preferences, breaking the shell of tolerance.
In streets and slums and working places across the city, people of every inclination got along well, and did good work. But in political party offices, those elected to represent the people put up fences between the people wherever friendship threatened political war. And people rallied blindly on both sides of the line, forgetting that barricades only ever separate armies of the poor.
Vishnu completed his purge, and the fully Hindu 307 Company was blessed by holy men, in Vishnu’s new mansion on Carmichael Road, not far from the art gallery that Karla had abandoned to Taj, but much deeper in the deep-pocket belt of Bombay’s elite.
A lavish housewarming party warmed the frosty noses of local snobs, Jagat said, and some of the movie star guests remained regular visitors to Vishnu’s excess.
‘Vishnu put up the money for a really big Hindi picture,’ Jagat said. ‘They’re shooting it in Bulgaria, or Australia. One of those foreign places. His photo was in all the papers, at the big shot party, when they announced the new movie.’
‘And nobody moved to arrest him for killing the Afghan guards, killing Nazeer and Tariq, and starting the fire that ate Khaderbhai’s house, and a portion of the city?’
‘No witnesses, baba-dude. Charges dropped. The Assistant Commissioner was at the party to announce the new movie. The hero of the movie is a rough and ready cop, based on the Assistant Commissioner dude himself, and how tough he was on crime and criminals, and how many of them he killed in encounters. And Vishnu is paying for it. I don’t get it, man. It’s like robbing your own bank, somehow.’
‘I hear you,’ I said.
‘Funny guys,’ Karla laughed. ‘How many bodyguards did Vishnu have with him?’
‘Four, I think,’ Jagat said. ‘About the same as the Assistant Commissioner.’
‘Why the bodyguard question?’ I asked her.
‘It’s the Inverse Fair Law. The more bodyguards, the less integrity.’
‘And the Cycle Killers have totally changed their image,’ Jagat replied, shaking his head. ‘They got a complete new look.’
‘Recycled Killers,’ Karla said. ‘How’s the new look?’
‘Well, I guess you can say it’s better than the old look. They wear white slacks, and peppermint-coloured shirts.’
‘All of them?’
‘Yeah. They’re heroes, now.’
‘Heroes?’ I doubted.
‘I’m not kidding. People love those guys. Even my girlfriend bought me a peppermint shirt.’
‘Cycle Killers in Jeeps, huh?’
‘In Jeeps, with chrome bicycles attached on the roll bars.’
‘And they don’t kill people any more?’
‘No. They’re called No Problem now.’
‘No Problem?’ Karla asked, intrigued.
‘Yeah.’
‘That’s like calling yourself Okay,’ I said. ‘Everybody says no problem every three minutes, in India. People say no problem even when there is a problem.’
‘Exactly,’ Jagat replied. ‘It’s brilliant. No problem too big, or too small. No Problem.’
‘You’re kidding me, Jagat.’
‘No way, baba-dude,’ he insisted. ‘I swear. And it’s working. People are asking them to negotiate for the release of kidnap victims, and such. They got a kidnapped millionaire free last week, and the only fingers he had left were on his left hand. Those fingers were on the line, too, until No Problem got on the case. People are asking them to fix building and construction problems that have tied up crores of rupees for years, man. They’re working shit out, for anyone who pays them.’
‘Nice,’ Karla said.
‘Uh-huh,’ I said, not easy with what I’d heard.
Back Street, Main Street and Wall Street are the three big streets in every city, and none of them play well together on the shallower edges of tangled banks.
The streets are apart, and false distinctions keep them apart, because whenever they intersect eyes find love, and minds see injustice, and the truth sets them free. Power, in any street, has a lot to lose from free minds and hearts, because power is the opposite of freedom. As one of the powerless, I prefer the Back Street guys to stay out of Main Street, the cops to fund their own movies, and the Wall Street guys to stay out of everything, until all the streets become One Street.
I had to pull my thoughts away: I knew that every hour Jagat spent with us added traffic to his ride back to the city. Karla, thinking with me perhaps, brought me back.
‘Have you been checking on Didier for us?’ Karla asked the young Ronin.
‘Jarur,’ the young street soldier said, spitting. ‘He still hangs out at Leopold’s, and he’s fine.
‘Hey, those Zodiac guys,’ he said, ‘the millionaires, they’re back in town.’
‘Where?’
‘The Mahesh, man,’ he said. ‘I can’t check on anyone inside that place. Not born with the right barcode to get past that scanner, you know.’
‘If you find anything out, let me know.’
‘Sure. Hey, you know why people looked after those two foreigners so much when they lived on the street?’ he asked thoughtfully.
‘They’re very nice guys?’ I suggested.
‘Apart from that,’ he said, his foot making a pattern of swirls in the dust at our feet.
‘Please, tell us,’ Karla urged, always drawn to the sun inside.
‘They were called the Zodiac Georges,’ he said. ‘That’s why. In India, I mean, it’s like a really big deal, you know? It’s like calling yourself Karma, or something. Everywhere they went, they carried the Zodiac with them, in their names. When you fed them, you fed the Zodiac. When you offered them a safe place, you offered safety
to the Zodiac. When you protected them from bullies, you protected the Zodiac from negative energies. And making offerings to the planets that guide us and mess us up is, like, really important. There’s a lotta people out there, baba-dude, who miss the chance to offer something to the Zodiac guys, now that they’re so rich they don’t need it.’
India. Time measured in coincidence, and the logic of contradiction. Jagat pushed me off a perch of equilibrium I thought I’d claimed in India. But that shock happened almost every day, and shook the branch every time. The world I was living in, and not born into, rained strange flowers from every tree that gave me shelter.
‘That’s a lovely story, Jagat,’ Karla said.
‘It is?’ he asked, shyness hiding in a frown.
‘Yes. Thank you for sharing it.’
‘Hey, listen, man,’ he said, turning back to me, his scarred young face telling the same stories every time someone looked at him. ‘I don’t feel right, taking all the money from your operation.’
‘You’re doing all the work,’ I said. ‘Why shouldn’t you take all the money? I’m the one who’s in your debt, for keeping it running. I owe you significant on this, Jagat-dude.’
‘Fuck you, man,’ he laughed. ‘I’m putting twenty-five per cent aside for you, every week, whether you like it or not, okay?’
‘Cool, jawan,’ I said, using the Hindi word for soldier. ‘I accept.’
‘When you get back from this spooky place full of tigers and holy men, there’ll be something there for you.’
‘When I get back to your spooky place full of businessmen and cops,’ I said. ‘I’ll be damn glad to get it.’
‘Let’s ride with Jagat to the highway and back,’ Karla suggested.
‘Good idea. Want some company, Jagat, or you wanna go fast?’
‘Let’s glide all the way down, baba-dude.’
‘Kruto!’ Karla said.
‘What’s this? Has Oleg been teaching you Russian?’ I asked, taking my bike off the stand.
‘Sprosite yego,’ she laughed.
‘Which means?’
‘Ask him.’
‘I will,’ I said, and she laughed harder.
A motorcycle is jealous metal. A motorcycle that loves you always knows when you even think about another motorcycle. And when she knows, she won’t start. And because I’d looked at Jagat’s bike, my bike didn’t start for me, even after three kicks.
Jagat thumped his bike into slow staccato motorcycle music, the 350cc single-piston engine like a drum that gets you from place to place, so long as you let it play its own tune.
I tried the kick-starter again, but all I got was a derisory cough.
Karla leaned over, hugging the tank of my bike, her arms around one of the handlebars.
‘A trip down the mountain and back again will be so good for you, baby,’ she said to the bike. ‘Let’s go for a ride.’
I kicked, and she started, jamming the throttle for a second, showing off.
We rode with Jagat, coasting downhill side by side on the deserted forest road, to the beginning of the fiercely determined highway. We waved him away, and turned back.
We rode through an evening forest, shifting from daytime daring to nighttime cunning. Birds were returning to roosts, insects were rising from slumber and bats as wide as eagles were waking for the feast.
We rode the long road to the caves as slowly as the bike would allow. We rode through soft wind in shadows, hiding and revealing the sky. The young night was clear. The first stars woke, rubbing their eyes. A leaf-fire somewhere sent earth perfumes into the air. And we were two happy fugitives, together and free.
Chapter Eighty-Two
We reached the summit car park, happy and free, and found Concannon waiting for us. He was sitting on the trunk of the red Pontiac Laurentian, and wearing a white shirt. I wanted it to match the car.
‘Hold on, baby,’ I said to Karla, sloping the bike to a stop.
I spun the bike around, and sped down the hill a few hundred metres before stopping again.
‘What are you doing?’
‘There’s a hollow tree just through there,’ I said. ‘Wait for me.’
‘Hide?’ she asked, as if I’d asked her to give blood to Madame Zhou.
‘Just wait. Until I get back.’
‘Are you crazy?’
‘That’s Concannon, back there.’
‘That’s Concannon?’ she said, intrigued by intriguing people.
‘Wait here, Karla,’ I said. ‘I’ll be back soon.’
‘I repeat, are you crazy? I’m the one with the gun, remember? And I’m a better shot. And I thought you said we were in this together, never apart.’
It was a tough call. When your enemy is ruthless, losing begins where mercy ends. But she was brave, and probably be the last woman standing in any fight.
‘Alright,’ I said reluctantly. ‘But don’t take any chances with this guy. He talks as good as he fights.’
‘Now I have to meet him,’ she said. ‘Let’s make an entrance, Shantaram.’
We rode back to the car park, and I slugged the bike onto the side-stand. Karla and I walked away while the bike was still breathing, the steps between Concannon and me shrinking at a motivated clip. I ran the last step hard, and hit him on the jump.
‘What the fuck?’ he said, holding the side of his head.
He rolled off the back of the car, and danced around me, feigning a few jabs. I rolled with him, but he covered up, breaking away fast.
He was dancing me away from Karla. He might’ve had friends somewhere. I stepped back slowly until I was beside her.
‘What are you doing up here, Concannon? Where are your goons?’
‘I came here alone, boyo,’ he said. ‘Which is more than I can say for you.’
He grinned at Karla, waving a hand.
‘Hello,’ he said.
Karla slid the gun from her bag, and pointed it at him.
‘If you’re carrying a gun,’ she said, ‘throw it away.’
‘I never carry a gun, miss,’ Concannon replied.
‘Good, because I always do. If you make a move, I’ll hit you twice before you get halfway.’
‘Understood,’ he grinned.
‘It’s not very smart, coming up here,’ she said. ‘There are tigers in this forest. That’s a good way to get rid of a body.’
‘If I thought I could bend my knee,’ Concannon grinned, ‘without your boyfriend kickin’ me in the undefended head, I’d do it, Miss Karla. It’s an honour. Concannon’s the name.’
‘My boyfriend got pretty upset,’ she said, ‘when I burned your letter, and I wouldn’t tell him what it said. I’ve been waiting for this chance, and I’m glad you gave it to me. Say it out loud, now, in front of him, if you’ve got the guts.’
‘Well, so it’s the letter that’s got you so upset, is it? No, no, I’ll decline your invitation to repeat my indecent proposals in front of this convict. I don’t think that would be wise.’
‘Like I thought,’ she smiled. ‘You wrote it, but you haven’t got the guts to say it.’
‘Did you not enjoy my little innuendos, then?’ Concannon asked. ‘I thought they were quite inventive, myself.’
‘Shut up,’ I said.
‘You see what I have to deal with?’ Concannon appealed to Karla.
‘Shut up,’ Karla replied. ‘Right now, you’re dealing with both of us. And not doing so good. What do you want here?’
‘I came to tell your boyfriend somethin’,’ Concannon said. ‘If I sit up there on the car, like I was before, will you not let me speak?’
‘I’d prefer you in the trunk, Concannon,’ I said. ‘With the car going over the cliff.’
Concannon smiled, and shook his head.
‘Hostility is ageing, you know,’ he said. ‘It adds years to your face. Can I sit peacefully on the fuckin’ car and talk to you like a fellow Christian, or can’t I?’
‘Sit,’ Karla said. ‘Christian hands where I can see them.’
Concannon sat on the trunk of the car, his feet resting on the bumper.
‘This would be a good time to talk your way out of this,’ Karla said.
Concannon laughed, looking Karla up and down, and then looked at me, blue eyes still bright in the faint light of the car park.
‘I didn’t have nothin’ to do with Lisa,’ he said quickly. ‘I never touched her. I only met her the once, well, the twice, I suppose you could say, but I liked her. She wa
s a sweet thing. I’d never do anything like that. I only said it to get a rise out of you. I never touched her. And I never would’ve. It’s not my way.’
I wanted to stop him. I wanted to lift the curse that someone had put on me with the mention of his name. It was bad: everything connected to him was bad.
‘Keep talking,’ Karla said.
‘If I’d known what a sick thing Ranjit was, I’d have stopped him,’ Concannon said. ‘I swear it. I would’ve killed him myself, if I’d known what he was.’
His head was down. His guard was down. I wanted to run at him, and push him backwards through whatever malevolent window he’d jemmied open. But Karla wanted to know everything.
‘Keep talking,’ Karla continued. ‘Tell us everything you know.’
‘I didn’t find out until later,’ Concannon said. ‘If I’d known before, there wouldn’t have been any later.’
‘We got that. Go on,’ Karla said.
‘I met that maniac, Ranjit, through the drugs. The high and mighty don’t hesitate to come callin’ on my kind, when they need drugs. When he told me he was buying stuff to put Lisa to sleep, that night, I wanted to come along.’
‘Ranjit wanted the stuff, so he could put her to sleep?’ Karla asked, too gently, it seemed to me.
‘He did. Rohypnol tablets, he bought. I thought it was just a prank. He told me they were friends, and they were havin’ a private party.’
‘But why did you tag along with him?’
‘To torment your boyfriend,’ Concannon said, pointing at me. ‘That’s why I sent the dirty little letter to you, and put my filthy mind in yours for a while, to torment this berserk convict motherfucker.’
‘Shut up,’ we both said.
‘Well, you’re a fine pair of holy hooligans. A perfect match.’
‘Why were you there, Concannon?’ Karla asked, the mention of his name pulling his blue eyes to her.
‘I told you,’ he smiled. ‘I knew that if Lin, here, knew that I’d been in his home with his girl, while he was away, he’d be wilder than a stallion.’
‘Why did you want him wild?’
‘I did it to hurt him, because I knew that it would hurt that Iranian.’
The Mountain Shadow Page 87