Doosra (26 page)

But ponder he couldn't.

The glug of the first sip, he had in his mouth, whooshed out without a warning. He shook his head. He blinked, closed his eyes tightly till it hurt for a good five seconds before reopening them to focus. Was he in some trance? Was the tea vendor mixing some other leaves into his tea? His brain couldn't register or process what his optics signalled. Standing a few hundred metres from where Handlebar Raja sat was Honey Singh in the blue T-shirt.

Honey came out of the building as cautiously as he had entered only some minutes back; he didn't seem comfortable, which was a surprise as this was his own office building. He appeared scared, nervous like he didn't want to be where he was. But how could he be here when Handlebar had seen him drive away merely minutes ago wearing a red shirt? Handlebar had been watching the building gate and Honey Singh's car hadn't returned. Neither had Handlebar seen his target walk back, which would have been equally impossible to miss.

How could...?

Handlebar quickly took out his phone again, zoomed in as best as he could and took a picture before he saw the blue T-shirt donning Honey Singh flag down a taxi and sit down. The car took a U turn and sped in the opposite direction.

How could... and then his brain warmed up a bit.

He acknowledged why he had been hired months back. His client suspected it all along, but required a confirmation. It wasn't puzzling after what he had witnessed.

Honey Singh had a double.

The surprise was that Handlebar had been watching Honey Singh for months now and he hadn't spotted the dead ringer earlier. And he would not have spotted the other guy even today if the other guy hadn't visited Honey's office.

Wrong.

He wouldn't have spotted him even today if he hadn't seen the two together. One taxiing in, the other driving out; both wearing different coloured tops. Did that mean he had seen both of them before? It could well be. It was a case of him not knowing that he had. Fuck! The guy in blue could be… but how could Handlebar or anyone distinguish who the other guy was between the two? What if the other guy visited Kitty at night? Would she be able to discern the right guy between the sheets? However lucidly he could visualise the raunchy thought — Kitty sleeping with Honey Singh one or Honey Singh two or both — he was aware it couldn't pay his bills. There would always be time for them later.

He realised, in his anxiety, he had put his half-smoked cigarette in the remaining tea in his cup and trashed both. He ordered another tea. Lit up a new stick and sat down without camouflaging himself behind a newspaper. He needed full visibility of events as they occurred. It struck him that this had to be a significant development for his client. His client had paid him in advance and what had he tendered till now that could be of as much importance as this? Hitherto, he had sometimes wondered why his client was even paying him to keep a tab on Honey Singh. He reckoned his client's motive had always been to confirm there was a Honey Singh two. He couldn't and wouldn't keep his client in the dark regarding this even if that policewoman asked him to. Did he even need to disclose this little secret to her? He knew he had to in light of the promise he had made when he had asked the police not to follow him following Honey. If he screened this, the police — if and when they came to know — would come down heavily on him, wouldn't they? He had to get his weekly report checked and censured by the police before he left it for his client in the
DRAFTS
folder. The only way further for him was to come up with a convincing argument that the police would suck up and let him send the info forward. How, he did not know.

His concern — who was Honey Singh two? — did not live long. He assumed his client, too, would want to know that, and that could translate to an extension of his initial contract. More money. Perhaps, that dumbass policewoman might also get this into her thick head that private investigator Joginder Raja was, after all, the best person to flush out who Honey Singh two was. Yes, that is how he would have to convince her.

He was still going up and down the meandering lanes of his mind when he saw the car in the distance. White Honda Accord. He saw the registration plate before he caught a glimpse of the driver. Honey Singh — the one in the red check shirt — was returning to his office. Kitty was with him. Translation: If Kitty was in the car, this was Honey Singh one. He zoomed and clicked again. The time was 3:14
PM.
Handlebar noted that too.

Kitty left Honey Singh at the office and drove out at 4:03
PM.
in the Accord.

Nothing eventful happened for the rest of the day. Handlebar had had eight teas, two packets of cigarettes and noshed two sandwiches through the day. Kitty returned to pick her beau up at 6:54. Handlebar followed the two to Kitty's place and left for the day. He had been long enough on the job to know that it being Friday night, Honey Singh would, in all probability, stay over. The raunchy omnibus he had left imagining midway in the afternoon boomeranged. He wished his client had asked him to watch them at close quarters. The first camera he would have installed would have been in Kitty's bedroom. His voyeur thoughts, his soliloquy of cheesy Bollywood B-movie dialogues and
item-number
humming concluded only when he had plied from Versova to Lokhandwala and turned into his own building

***

Later that night, at dinner, Mr Raja animatedly discussed his despair with Mrs Raja. He explicated the discovery of two Honey Singhs and his dilemma of what to conceal and what to relay to his client and the police. Without illuminating the graveness of the threat his covert client had issued, he told her that the client had already warned him about missing the other surveillance that the crafty policewoman had placed. Another mistake and the best case was that he'd be fired; worst case wasn't a pleasant thought. On the contrary if he let the cat out for the client the police would also have to know.

'You should tell the police about the threat Joginder-
jee
...'

'Why?'

'The police need to know everything to help you. Actually if you ask me, you should not hide anything from either one because there is a possibility that your client might come to know this at some point, in some way. I cannot let you take the risk of upsetting the client. And to be fair to him if he's been paying our bills for so long it's only fair that you report what you've learnt. I think if you explain this to DCP Ferreira she will understand your position. She seemed a smart woman.'

'She's a dumb woman! What if she does not follow what we tell her?'

'Ask her, don't tell her.'

'Ask her...'
he snorted. 'What if I make amends to the client's report after I show it to the police? How would the police know?'

'What is the point of hiding it from the police?'

'Because if I am loyal to my client we can get more business, my sweet darling.'

'But what if the other Honey Singh is the suspect who your client and the police are both looking for?'

'So?'

'So how is it beneficial to give him away to your client who you do not even know and not to the police?' Handlebar remained silent.

'What if you ignore what you saw today?' Mrs Raja asked.

'The risk is that if the client had another team somewhere and they tell him, we're doomed. We can't do that.'

'When do you have to decide on this?' Mrs Raja chimed another question.

'Well, we don't have to take a decision right now. It's not like I have to write the report tonight. Let me sleep on it. I'm sure I'll get some more ideas by the morning.' Handlebar happily concluded the verbal exchange knowing his wife had another two hundred possible questions. He was also well aware that the demons wouldn't let him sleep a single wink tonight. If the nausea of the threat from his client, the damned policewoman and her schmuck, and the two Honey Singhs even excused him for a few moments, the spicy Kitty Varghese would definitely keep him up in more ways than one.

S
aturday. August 15th: Happy Birthday India.

Rita was cheerful when she woke up. Ash was travelling back from Delhi tonight. Unlike his last visit to Mumbai he planned to stay with Rita over the weekend and leave for London on Monday afternoon. Not that her house was dirty or disorderly, but she still did a check if all was in order. She took out a set of towels and smiled, wondering if she should put them in the guest bathroom but decided against that. Despite his subtle lewd one-liners at times —
Sexy
would have certainly used the opposite of euphemism:
dysphemism,
she mused — Ash was a great friend. Rita liked him because his company was good, the sex was amazing and the relationship was totally unconditional. No expectations. No jealousy. He never once asked if she had seen somebody in his absence. That didn't mean he didn't care but such trivial things didn't seem to bother him like some other guys.

She took extra time in the shower conscious that she would still collect soot through the day before she met Ash, but what the heck! She spritzed more than normal Clinique Happy on herself, then dressed in her usual jeans and shirt with the Smith & Wesson in the holster and a
bundi
on top to cover the gun. Before she left the house she had decided on a black dress for the evening, took it out and said “hello” to it as if not having worn it for a while might have upset the poor thing. And she didn't forget the stilettos: wasn't their sole purpose to complement God's design of making Eve a smidgen shorter than Adam? She beamed.

Vikram had called ahead, and was already waiting outside the building gate when Rita walked out.

The team had decided the day before that it was time to pay a visit to Miss Kitty Varghese. Köln to Brussels was around 225 kilometres. Taking into consideration the good motorways in Europe and high-speed cars available in Germany the distance could be comfortably covered in a little over three hours if one drove nonstop. Back and forth, say seven hours. Certainly feasible, but they didn't have to deliberate long, as Jatin had checked that Kitty Varghese hadn't gone AWOL on any of the days she had been in Köln. Obviously she didn't share a room with someone — not someone in her capacity, she was a model not some junior make-up assistant — but she was with someone or the other throughout the day during rehearsals and fashion shows. No one recollected Kitty getting away for seven hours at a stretch. To corroborate, Jatin had liaised with Victor in Brussels who, in turn, checked all car rentals in and around the city. No car had been rented to any person called Kitty Varghese or any single Indian lady. He had checked if any hotel taxi was hired for an unusual out of country trip and back but nothing turned up. Trains and buses plying the route had been asked to submit passenger records for the period. They drew a blank there too.

With nothing new uncovered meeting Kitty Varghese if only to get her side of the story on Veer Singh was necessary as some loose ends needed lacing up.

***

The lookout at the gate didn't contest when Vikram flashed the police badge as they walked in after parking the car outside the apartment building in Versova.

Kitty Varghese was even better in the flesh than in her pictures. Her glowing skin, a shade of bronze, big eyes like limpid pools, long lashes and a slight but near-natural pout. Hair carelessly coiffured in a French bun held together with a barrette. Long toned legs. She wore a light pink silky-satiny shirt — epaulets on shoulders, patched pockets with buttons — that was some inches higher than her knees and she was absolutely comfortable in it. The woman exuded inimitable sexuality. And this was without any make-up. Yes, Kitty Varghese was a model: a catwalk and a close up model.

'Hello, how may I help you?' she asked opening the door when she saw Rita and Vikram who had come unannounced. She had a husky voice. Check that. Kitty Varghese had a sultry voice. If some poor guy managed to escape her looks and body the voice would get him. In God's kingdom even the visually impaired weren't devoid of the femme fatale.

Poor Vikram.

Rita introduced Vikram before herself. Explained there wasn't any reason to be alarmed as it was a routine enquiry.

'Are you the one who met Honey yesterday?'

Rita had fully expected that she would have heard about their visit to Honey Singh the day before. Thankfully, Kitty had the brains to not feign ignorance. 'Come in,' she said and held the door open for them to walk in.

It seemed like Kitty had done a lot of clothes shopping recently. That, or some show organisers had sent her loads of clothes to try on. They were strewn about everywhere. Dresses. Lingerie. Shoes. Stockings. Garters. Scarves. Some of it was as fetching as Kitty herself.

Kitty was barefoot. She slumped on the sofa and folded her legs beneath her in one swift motion — lithe and flexible— showing off a bit more of her flawless model skin while Rita and Vikram sat on the sofa opposite.

'We are here merely to ask some questions Miss Varghese... is it OK if I call you Kitty?'