Authors: Anita Nair
A Cut-Like Wound (35 page)
‘I’ve had a strange feeling since morning,’ the corporator said, scratching Tiger’s head.
‘What kind of strange feeling?’ Chikka asked, looking up from the statement of accounts Anna had asked him to check.
‘I have this feeling that someone is watching me. I had my men check, but they said the street was clear.’ The corporator stood up and went to the window. He peered out and then pulled the heavy curtains back in place.
‘Are you sure you are not imagining it?’ Chikka asked slowly.
‘I don’t imagine things,’ the corporator said, rubbing his chin with the heel of his palm.
He looked at Chikka for a long moment and said quietly, ‘There are days when I wonder if all this is worth it. There
are days when I want to escape and start life again as someone else.’
The corporator stared at the man in dismay. He ran his fingers through his hair and asked slowly, ‘You are sure? You are really sure?’
The man nodded. ‘My source is reliable, Anna. He wouldn’t lie about a thing like this.’
He watched Anna pace. He had never seen him look so agitated, so out of control. You couldn’t flap Anna, no matter what. If you were to tell him that the sky was falling, he would merely smile that slow smile of his and say, ‘So, let it fall. I’ll find someone up there who’ll know how to stop it falling! Everyone has a price, you see!’
But not this morning. Anna was behaving just like anyone else would if they knew they were being watched by the police.
‘I’m cleaning up the whole business, you know that, don’t you?’ The corporator stopped near the window, parted the drapes and looked outside. There was nothing on the street. What had he expected anyway? They were getting better and better at it and now they could access mobile phone records as well.
The man cleared his throat. ‘I heard.’
‘It’s not worth the risk. But I still have one last consignment to take to Kerala. What happened to the man you were going to bring?’ The corporator drew the drapes and picked up the tumbler of coffee he had been drinking when Ibrahim had arrived, asking to speak to him urgently. The coffee was tepid and a skin had formed on its top. The corporator made a face and slammed the tumbler down.
‘Since morning, it’s been one thing or the other. Whose face did I see when I woke up?’
Ibrahim looked at the floor as if to say ‘not mine! Who did you sleep with last night?’ There were all kinds of rumours about Anna but none of them paid any attention to what they heard. Anna was their big brother, and sometimes when one’s big brother does something strange, you look away.
‘Have you found someone suitable yet?’ Anna asked again. He leaned towards the wall and pressed a switch. Somewhere within the house a bell rang.
‘There’s a boy,’ Ibrahim began.
‘No children. I told you that.’
A woman slid into the room. Ibrahim looked at her in surprise. So it was true after all, what he had heard. Anna had a bunch of chhakkas in his house.
‘Akka,’ the corporator said, ‘I need some coffee. And some tea for him.’ He gestured at Ibrahim. ‘And if there’s any naastha left, bring it over.’
The eunuch’s eyes raked Ibrahim. Anna didn’t extend hospitality to any of his minions. What had brought this on? Tea and tiffin! What next?
Ibrahim licked his lips. What had come over Anna? In all these years, not once had he offered him a glass of water and suddenly he was being given tea and nibbles.
Anna wasn’t a kanjoos. In fact, he was generous to a fault. New clothes, sweets and an envelope of cash for the Hindus for Diwali, and for the Muslims at Eid. Sometimes a gift box would arrive at their homes for no real reason. Anna had an open palm, but he didn’t open his home to anyone who worked for him or with him. So why was he suddenly being so hospitable? He really must be perturbed.
‘No, Anna, I’m fasting,’ Ibrahim burst out. ‘Thanks very much, Anna, but no, no, please, I don’t need anything.’
He saw the eunuch try and hide a smile. The eunuch had seemed as surprised by Anna’s sudden burst of hospitality.
Anna made a sweeping move of his arm. Whatever.
‘He’s not a child, Anna,’ Ibrahim said. ‘A young man in his late twenties. Looks like the son everyone would want to have. Well-built, soft-spoken. No one will suspect him at all.’
‘Where did you find him?’
Ibrahim flushed. Then, with an almost coy grin, he said, ‘At Boobi ma’s.’
Anna’s eyebrows rose. Boobi ma ran a whorehouse in Tannery Road area. Or used to. He thought she had retired. ‘She’s still around?’
‘Boobi ma’s too old. Though some of her old customers still come to her. But her daughter’s young and there are a few other young women.’ Ibrahim’s expression softened at the thought of the pretty girl with her turned-up nose. He was going to ask for her the next time. ‘Boobi ma’s son introduced him to me. The new boy and I got talking and he seemed perfect for what we had in mind.’
‘You trust him?’ The corporator rubbed his left temple with his index finger to relieve the pressure building up there.
‘I handpicked him myself. He is trustworthy. But is anyone fully trustworthy? I don’t know … but we have to take our chances.’
The corporator pressed one nostril shut and drew in air noisily. ‘My sinuses are all clogged,’ he said in explanation.
‘Steam inhalation helps,’ Ibrahim said.
The corporator nodded. ‘And you have briefed him already.’
‘I have told him what is expected of him. Not the details. We’ll keep that for the last minute.’ Ibrahim lowered his voice. ‘Especially as the police seem to be moving in.’
The eunuch appeared with a tumbler of coffee on a tray. Silver, Ibrahim noticed. The gossip was Anna’s dog had a silver water bowl and Anna shat in a gold pan.
‘Akka, your phone…’ The corporator stretched his hand out. The eunuch looked nonplussed. Then, from deep inside her blouse, she pulled out a phone.
‘I’m going to have to use your number for a while, Akka. Here, Ibrahim, take this down. You call me on this to inform me about anything confidential. But don’t forget to call once in a while on my number. I don’t want them to know I know.’
Ibrahim grinned.
‘I’ll call you later this evening or tomorrow. I need to meet this boy. See for myself if he is all that you say he is.’ Anna sipped his coffee with a loud slurp.
Ibrahim turned to go.
‘One more thing,’ Anna called. ‘I don’t want anyone coming here for a few days. Pass the word around.’
The eunuch watched Ibrahim leave. She licked her lips, unable to make up her mind. ‘Ruku called this morning.’
The corporator waited for her to continue.
‘The police were at the mother house, wanting to know about me and what my role in your home is. Do you think I should go away for a few days?’
‘You are not going anywhere, Akka,’ the corporator said. ‘Besides, the police have set up shop outside our gate anyway. We just have to be careful.’
The eunuch stared. ‘What are we going to do?’ A whisper.
‘Nothing. As long as we do nothing, we’ll be safe. It’ll give me time to plan how to go forward. For now, we just sit on our arses and wait.’
‘M
y boys just called in with their report,’ Stanley said. ‘They didn’t see any unusual comings and goings. The phone calls too haven’t revealed anything that would interest you.’
‘Tell me,’ Gowda whispered into the phone. ‘Has the surveillance thrown up anything that has anything to do with the counterfeit currency?’
‘Hmmm…’ Stanley mumbled. ‘Early evening, a man called Ibrahim arrived. We’ve had our eyes on him for a while. After he left, the corporator’s phone went significantly slow.’
‘So?’
‘So, I think one of ours is on the corporator’s payroll and he’s passed the word on about the surveillance.’
‘Can you get Ibrahim?’ Gowda asked.
‘What?’
‘I said, can you get Ibrahim picked up?’
‘Listen, Borei, these fellows won’t squeal no matter what. And they come in mouthing the Human Right Commission’s guidelines. I don’t want trouble.’
Gowda laughed. ‘We can make him talk without inflicting a single bruise on him. Or, at least, Gajendra will. He’s the expert. I am still learning from him…’
‘What do you mean?’ Stanley couldn’t hide his curiosity.
‘You’ll see. Trust me. But we have to grab Ibrahim asap. Once Ramzan’s over, it will be difficult…’
‘What’s the connection with Ramzan?’ Stanley asked.
‘I can’t explain now but Ramzan is part of the process … it will make everything that much easier. Trust me, Stanley, he will talk.’
The factory was in the middle of a field. On the other side of the road they were driving down was a quarry. A thin veil of grey dust hung over it as stone was cut and crushed to form gravel. Gowda’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the ravaged landscape. Deep gouges, mountains of gravel and the constant whirr of the crusher as it reduced sheets of rock into pea-sized bits.
‘The factory stopped functioning almost fifteen years ago,’ Santosh said, as they turned towards the building. ‘The woman told the auto driver that her house was at the end of this alley and the road is all dug up.’
The road was dug up. In fact, it was a sea of mud. It had rained the night before and the road had turned into a stretch of puddles and slippery slopes. Beyond it was nothing but an abandoned vineyard with cement posts standing in sentinel rows under the open skies. Further away was a row of gnarled trees, a few broken-down buildings and a derelict temple. But no houses of any sort.
‘What is this place?’ Gowda asked curiously.
‘The owner was a bit of a nut case, I heard. I’ve been making some enquiries. He ran a garment factory here. Long before the IT companies started doing it, he would bring the
employees in a bus. Alongside the factory was this vineyard. All of this, thirty acres in all, was his and he came here every day till he died. The family put an end to everything after his death and the corporator bought it off them,’ Santosh replied, waiting for the man lurking outside the gate to open the padlock and chain.
The police vehicle drove up the gravelled pathway towards the main door.
The man pushed the gates back in place and ran to open the door. ‘Anna said you would be coming. I have been waiting here for you all morning,’ he said in explanation for his presence.
Gowda raised an eyebrow. Santosh leaned forward. ‘Anna?’
‘Corporator Ravikumar. We call him Anna! He is our big brother…’
He turned back to the door and slid a key into the giant lock. He pushed the bolt back and the door swung back quickly and easily.
‘So Anna comes here often?’ Gowda’s tone was bland.
The man cocked his head. ‘Hardly. There’s nothing here but some broken bits and pieces of old sewing machines. Anna’s going to turn this into a dairy farm. And there will also be an orphanage and old-age home…’
‘Did you say your Anna’s name is Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi?’ Gowda asked carefully. Santosh muffled a laugh.
The man shook his head, refusing to take umbrage. ‘He could very well be another Gandhi.’
Santosh decided to step in before the man clammed up. ‘Tell me, Manjunath, that’s your name, right? Tell me, Manjunath, what about the quarry? Won’t it be a nuisance? The noise, the dust…’
