Authors: Flo Fitzpatrick
Hot Stuff (19 page)
Chapter 24
Midnight. Brig, Jake, and I were still in the kitchen, still sipping coffee, and still trying to finish the food we'd been pushing around our plates for three hours.
Jake had used the time to give us a nice lecture on the history of Bombay. He started with the century it was home to Koli fishermen, then took his audience of two through various Hindu dynasties. He explained that Muslim sultans, then Portuguese conquerors had been next up in the we-want-this-city parade. He talked about the British naming the city Bombay, and then Gandhi and the move for independence, and finally the renaming or reclaiming of the name Mumbai in 1995.
It was all interesting and informative and I was damn glad there wouldn't be a test because I hadn't retained one word of it.
The phone rang. Jake picked it up and punched the speaker button. “Yes?”
“Roshan?”
Déjà vu.
“Yes, Mr. Patel.”
Silence.
“I did not tell you my name. Where you hear name? I do not like you know my name.”
Jake, though a drama major, had never quite mastered the art of deception. Perhaps he'd always just directed others and so he'd skipped Improv 101 himself.
He now glanced in terror at Brig and me. “Uh. Brig O'Brien thought you might be the one who had Asha? So I figured it was you?”
Brig rolled his eyes. Jake panicked and stared at the phone like a man seeing such a device for the first time.
I grabbed it from him. “Mr. Patel! Seymour. Do you mind if I call you
Seymour
? We're such old pals now. Listen, Seymour, Jake is coughing in the corner right now and can't speak. Too much curry in the, uh, curry.”
Seymour
? We're such old pals now. Listen, Seymour, Jake is coughing in the corner right now and can't speak. Too much curry in the, uh, curry.”
Brig tried to take the phone from me, but I wouldn't let him.
“Seymour? I'm authorized to take instructions. âOrders' as you so badly termed it. But before I do, I really think you need to put Asha on the line. And don't even start any business of telling me she's fine and assuming I'm going to take your stinking lying word for it. Understand this, you filthy squid. The Saraswati statue is currently sitting no more than two feet from me at this very moment, and if Asha Kumar's lilting tones aren't sailing over the wire in ten seconds, I will personally toss the statue into the nearest, deepest, most polluted lake and let her swim with Ganesh elephants. Got that,
Seymour?”
Seymour?”
I didn't wait for a response. “Now put her on the phone, you scumbag. Five seconds have passed.”
I took a deep breath. Jake and Brig were both staring at me with a mixture of horror and admiration. I hoped my bravado would warrant the latter. Where it came from in the first place I had no idea.
“Yo! Tempe!”
“Asha! Hey, girl. Where are you?”
“Good question. One I don't have an answer for. But do let Jake and Brig know that I'll be fine as long as that statue gets delivered per ol' Seymour's instructions.”
A cry sounded as the phone must have been twisted from her hand. We heard one more word from Asha. “Shit!”
Patel came back on the line. “You being satisfied?”
“Well, that's not quite the best description of my feelings at the moment but at least I'm a bit more reassured that Asha is okay. A condition that had better remain just that.”
“Put man I know is still in room back to phone.”
Jake hadn't recovered enough to be coherent, so I handed the phone to Brig. He grunted, “Patel.”
“O'Brien. So nice hear voice. Now you stay silent while I be telling you where you bring Saraswati.”
Jake and I listened as Patel ran through a complicated set of directions that ended up at some place called The Fort.
“One hour meet,” was Patel's good-bye phrase.
I pursed my lips. “Male chauvinist.”
“What? Who? Me?” Brig asked.
“No. Seymour Patel. Grabbing a girl and keeping her hostage like she's some weak floozy in a melodrama. And then not giving
me
the directions to The Fort. Like I'm too stupid to understand them.”
me
the directions to The Fort. Like I'm too stupid to understand them.”
Brig hugged me. “Darlin' Tempe, we admire your talent with words in all languages, and you're a damn terrific dancer and you make a wonderful cup of coffee. You also kiss divinely. Something to explore further when we get home tonight. Or, just a bit now.”
He kissed me, then casually continued his monologue.
“Where was I? Ah. Mr. Patel is indeed a rotten chauvinist of the worse sort. But no matter how brilliant and independent you are, you've been in Bombay less than a week. I'm sure Patel believes, as do Jake and I, that you can rescue Asha single-handedly while singing disco tunes and dancing a fine gig at the same time. But your navigational skills are not quite the ticket just now.”
He had me there. He could have me in a few other places if he set his mind and body to it, but dwelling on that thought seemed inappropriate just now.
“Okay. Fine, I think. So, The Fort. Is this some military encampment? How do we break in?”
Brig and Jake exchanged a look. I intercepted, immediately set my mug on the table, then headed for the den to hunt for my shoes.
I paused in the doorway for a moment to state, “I know that look. It's the women-and-children-into-the-lifeboats-and-letthe-brave-men-fight look. Forget it, guys. I'm going.”
Brig scooped up his own boots and began pulling them on. “Never said you weren't. And looks to the contrary, never intended for you to stay here. The Fort is what the general area is called. We're actually making the exchange at the Flora Fountain.”
Eerie. I remembered talking to Ray Decore back at Hot Harry's Saloon, telling him that I wanted to visit Flora Fountain. I had intended for that trip to be part of a nice afternoon tour of an older area of Bombay. Rescuing a friend at Flora Fountain had not been part of the original itinerary.
I nodded at Brig. “Good. Grand. Okay. I'm dressed and ready. You're dressed and ready. Jake's been ready for the last three hours. So. How do we get there?”
Jake had finally snapped out of the fog he'd been sucked into upon hearing his beloved's voice over the speakerphone. He grabbed Asha's extra car keys and growled, “We drive. We might as well take Asha's car. Once we hand over the statue, Asha will be spitting mad if she doesn't get to work off some steam by tearing around town running over curbs and dodging carts.”
I tactfully refrained from mentioning that, if we got Asha back and Shiva's Diva delivered, there would be no room for anyone but Asha and Jake to do that tearing.
I glanced at Brig. He whispered, “We'll get back by means of public transportation. I doubt the engaged couple will want the pair of us trailing them about all night anyway.”
Shiva's Diva again rested inside a tote bag. This was one of Jake's he used to lug tons of notes and sketches to and from the studio lot. Pictures from
Pirate Princess
had been plastered all over it.
Pirate Princess
had been plastered all over it.
The goddess herself had been wrapped in a T-shirt with a picture of one of Jake's older movies silk-screened on the front. I shuddered every time I looked at it. The film had a Hindi title that, when translated, meant
Fountain of Death
. I doubted whether either Brig or Jake had noticed in their haste to dress Shiva's Diva.
Fountain of Death
. I doubted whether either Brig or Jake had noticed in their haste to dress Shiva's Diva.
Taking Asha's two seater meant I got to sit on Brig's lap. A location that would have proved enjoyable had not both of us been so worried about Asha. Even so, I found it difficult to keep my mind focused on anything beyond the feeling of Brig's thighs under mine or his strong arms encircling my waist. I smiled, knowing Asha would understand and approve.
I turned as best I could and asked Brig, “Think we'll get to see Asha, before we hand over the statue?”
“You mean will Patel let us, or is there a spot for viewing the prisoner? Since he said to go to the top of the fountain, no doubt he'll have her up there with him, though how is a mystery. There are no stairs leading to goddess Flora. Anyway, I'm sure Seymour has Asha bound, gagged, and trussed up tight.”
Brig winked at me before continuing. “But if you're worried Jake and I will just deposit Shiva's Diva on the ground without bringing Asha safely back with us, forget it. First her, then the statue. Those are the rules and I made them quite clear to Patel.”
The Bombaby Fort area had begun its existence as a British military stronghold built in the 1700s. Fires and natural decay had ruined most of the actual fort, but according to Jake, who acted as tour guide and chauffeur, a few of the walls still stood. The Flora Fountain had been built on the site of one of the former entrances of the fort itself and was the center of a Y-intersection.
On various sides opposite the fountain were the offices of American Express, the Bombay High Court, and St. Thomas's Cathedral. Doubtless Patel's goons now occupied the bell tower at St. Thomas (if there was one) and had pots of oil boiling and ready to dump over the heads of Asha's brave rescuers.
Patel had set the time for the exchange at three
A.M
. No tourists would be lingering to listen to political radicals expounding their views from the base of Flora Fountain. No taxis would be circling the area waiting to take those tourists off to the National Park or the beach or a quiet museum.
A.M
. No tourists would be lingering to listen to political radicals expounding their views from the base of Flora Fountain. No taxis would be circling the area waiting to take those tourists off to the National Park or the beach or a quiet museum.
I wondered if the ghosts of soldiers from centuries ago still haunted the place. If so, would they look more kindly on Patel or on the three desperate people about to invade their privacy at such a late hour?
I still didn't like the Tempe-stay-in-the-car-and-wait scenario, but Brig claimed we'd look like an amateur religious revivalist singing trio if all of us went barging around the fountain with our hands waving in the air screaming Asha's name. The man had a unique way with words. I knew he simply wanted to keep me safe. I would listen to him this one time and not grouse.
We parked in the street by a vegetable market, opened the doors to the convertible, then stood outside for a few moments, waiting until the precise hour.
I took the opportunity to stretch. Half my day had been spent riding on the back of an elephant and a quarter of it riding in Asha's car. Neither mode of transportation had done my rear end any good.
Three o' clock in the morning. Time to let go of Shiva's Diva and bring Asha back to the safety of friends and fiancé. Brig and Jake grabbed the tote bag, then began the three-block walk toward Flora Fountain. I stayed.
In our haste to get there on time with Shiva's Diva securely wrapped and ready to become part of Patel's personal art collection (or immediately sold by the creep for a large sum of rupees), we'd forgotten something. Two things, actually. Well, not things if one wanted to be literal.
I'm getting to the point. Really. What had slipped our minds were the other two players. One of whom now approached from a limousine a block south from where I stood. The second headed in from the north. Kirk Mahindra and Ray Decore. It was another three dog night.
Chapter 25
I dropped to the ground next to Asha's car.
Brig and Jake were close to the fountain now. I wanted to try to whistle to get their attention, but that particular sound technique has never been listed in my arsenal of talents.
To hell with it. I stood and started walking toward a cluster of vendor stands at the edge of Flora Fountain's park. Kirk, Ray, and I all reached the fruit-seller's cart at the same time from different directions. Kirk and Ray stared at me. Then at each other.
After a good thirty seconds of silence, I couldn't stand the tense quiet.
I coughed politely, then said, “So. What's the plan, guys? You both came out for an early morning stroll to check historic sights? Just like me? Nice here, don't you think? Quiet, peaceful. The way fountains and parks should be.”
Mahindra smiled. “I am sorry, Miss Walsh. I had not imagined I would run into either you or this man tonight. I do not know what your plans are. And frankly I do not care what Decore has in mind. I intend to cross to the base of the fountain where Mr. O'Brien is now standing with a bag I presume holds my statue. I shall retrieve it, then leave.”
“Right. Ray?”
“About the same, except that bag is going to end up in my hands, not his.”
“Can we talk about this for just a second?”
Ray sighed. “What's there to talk about? I want the Saraswati statue. Brig O'Brien has it. I don't really give a damn if a few bodies get tossed through that archway over there next to the plaster clown with the torch. Especially Brig's body. I owe him for the black eye.”
Mahindra grabbed my arm and faced me back toward the street. “Miss Walsh, in less than two minutes, there will be guns firing and knives being thrown and fists flying. I say this to give you the chance to turn and run before any blood is shed this night. Most particularly yours. You are a pretty girl. I would not like for you to be a dead girl. I cannot say the same about your male companions. Either of them. I despise Briggan O'Brien. And quite honestly, I do not care for Jake Roshan's films. Too violent.”
“Oh.”
Ray pulled a large gun out of a brown bag. “I'm not as accommodating as Mr. Mahindra. Enough chatter. Now, shut up, both of you.”
He grabbed me, then held me in front of him. He pushed me closer to the fountain. I could see Brig and Jake standing in an empty archway. But as yet, there was no sign of Asha or Patel.
I had to let Brig know we were here before one or the other of my escorts shot him.
“Three dog night!
He got it. Not that he could do a heck of a lot about it. Brig nudged Jake and both men turned. All five of us stared at each other.
From up above, standing by the statue of Miss Flora herself, stood Asha. She was yelling, “Martyrs!” I thought she might be telling me it was time to die for the cause, but then I remembered the statues of the patriots on either side of Flora Fountain. They gaze upon tourists in an area known as the Martyrs Memorial.
Patel stood beside one of those martyrs shouting at Brig, “Drop it! You must drop statue now and be leaving or girl dies! You hear? She dies, I swear. She dies!”
The next thing I knew, a volley of knives came flying into the park from every direction. They were followed by the sound of gunfire, also from all sides.
Patel's raspy commands had created a diversion, albeit unintentionally. Mahindra dodged several knife attacks from the area of the High Court as he struggled to get his gun out of his breast pocket. Since Ray already had his pistol in front of him, he simply started shooting in all directions. Then he screamed. One of the knives had made its way into his thigh. Or maybe it had been a bullet.
I didn't stop to ask which one or to offer assistance. I dropped to the ground and did a low somersault that landed me by Brig's feet.
I looked up. Brig looked down. Jake looked at us both, then pointed to Asha who was hanging on to Miss Flora herself looking out over Bombay.
Asha leaned over the edge of a railing and waved her bound hands. She kept yelling, “Cherry picker!”
It had never occurred to me back when I played
Sweet Charity
that the experience could ultimately save my, or someone else's, life. Besides having a great time performing that summer, I'd learned the names given to the hydraulic lift the tech crew used to hang lights or place railings at the top of our set. “Cherry picker” is another term for that particular piece of construction machinery.
Sweet Charity
that the experience could ultimately save my, or someone else's, life. Besides having a great time performing that summer, I'd learned the names given to the hydraulic lift the tech crew used to hang lights or place railings at the top of our set. “Cherry picker” is another term for that particular piece of construction machinery.
I turned and saw the vehicle behind the fountain. Patel must have stolen this particular lift from a hapless worshipper at the Ganesh festival, since cherry pickers with cranes and grappling hooks hoist the elephant statues in preparation for dunking. I headed directly for it.
Either the goddess was on our side or the various felons shooting and tossing knives were afraid to get too close to Saraswati in the tote bag, because all the weaponry was currently aimed at villains and not at me.
Patel was throwing knives at Mahindra. Mahindra was shooting at Patel. Ray was shooting at a collection of thugs surrounding the perimeter.
I glanced over at Brig and Jake who had taken shelter from the battle behind a vending cart. Brig shouted “Churchgate” and I nodded. I assumed this meant it was everyone for his or herself, and we'd meet up at the Churchgate train station if we lived.
No one was manning the cherry picker. I hopped aboard and nearly jumped right back off when I looked around the cab and saw the array of gearshifts and pedals. This wasn't like the smaller vehicles I'd watched the techies drive around the theater with the ease of small golf carts.
I turned the key Patel had stupidly left in the ignition, then started pulling levers and sticks and mashing pedals. Within seconds I'd destroyed two fruit stands and an herb cart. I finally figured out which lever aimed the lift in the direction I needed it to go, which one took me in reverse, and which pedal sent me careening into another cart. This vendor advertised cell phones and computer gadgets. I hoped the dealer had taken his unsold wares home for the night.
Asha spotted me (how could she not?) and began waving her arms trying to guide me toward her position next to the top statue.
I glanced down at the activity continuing around the fountain. Goons of all sizes were sliding and slithering in the stagnant water that surrounded the bottom tier, intent on keeping their footing while trying to kill each other. They hadn't noticed the cherry picker lurching its way toward the actress emoting above them. They didn't even see Asha grab the grappling hook at the end of the crane lift, then sway twenty feet in the air while her buddy, the unlicensed driver, struggled to hold the machinery in place for this rescue.
I sideswiped three more stands but finally managed to drive that piece of machinery away from the fountain. In reverse. Asha continued to cling to the hook. The thought struck me that it was a shame Jake was trying to escape the battleground with Brig. If he'd had his camera, this would make a great scene for
Carnival of Lust
.
Carnival of Lust
.
I couldn't figure out how to bring the cherry picker to a halt, so I crashed into a garage near the offices of American Express. There was no damage done except for a few paint chips flying. The American Express folks would assume some drunken festivalgoer had been out joyriding in a construction vehicle. I stayed in the cab and fiddled with a few more pedals and levers until I was able to lower the crane to the ground without flinging Asha into the street.
Once down, we stood and grinned at each other.
“Nice drivin' there, Manhattan girl.”
“Thanks. My first attempt. I may even have to get a license if we're ever back in the States. So, how you doin'?”
“Not bad. You?”
Enough. We hugged each other, then ran toward Asha's car before either of us actually burst into tears. Jake and Brig met us about a block from the convertible.
“Is the war still raging?” I asked Brig.
“Oh yeah. It's almost scary. I haven't seen any casualties. Either they're all incredibly inept or they just want to wound each other to keep the cops from snooping because they found dead bodies in the fountain.”
Asha and Jake ignored this exchange. They were too busy reuniting. After three minutes watching the lovers display very public affection, Brig leaned over and tapped Jake on the shoulder.
“Time to go, crew. Kisses later. You and Asha take the car. Tempe and I will hop the train.”
Jake didn't even hear him. He hadn't stopped staring at his beloved. Asha nodded, then waved at Brig and me with an air of casual disinterest.
I tugged at Brig. “Come on. If we're going, we'd better go fast.”
With another wave of hands and Brig's cry of “Back at Jake's!” we took off, headed for Churchgate Rail Station.
Since it was now almost four in the morning, we found a seat without difficulty.
For the next twenty minutes we stayed silent. For good reason.
I couldn't stand it any longer. I squeezed Brig's hand and looked into those blue eyes. Eyes that mirrored my own expression of stupefaction and anger.
“Brig? She's still there, isn't she? Shiva's Diva. Somewhere at the Flora Fountain?”
He nodded. “She got dropped when the shooting started. Probably somewhere behind a cart or in the fountain. Damn, damn, and damn. And the worst part is that we have no idea who ended up with her.”
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