Predator (8 page)

Lionel Ritchie was crooning softly in the car stereo. ‘Look at that skinny railway track, Derek, is that for toy trains, they’ve gotta be kidding?! Surely, it can’t be the mainline. You’d have to be plain loco to drive a locomotive down that track,’ said Chief, pointing to the railway tracks in the crossing. Derek kept Motormouth’s engine running as they waited for the train to cross.

‘I’m sure you’re right, Chief. It doesn’t look like a mainline. It must be one of those made by the Chinese. Probably the “Chow Mein” line. A narrow-gauge track in which they bring in all that awesome Chinese takeaway we keep having from time to time,’ replied Derek, hands on the steering wheel, nodding and looking immensely sagacious.

Chief snorted. ‘So, are you thrilled to bits about the reunion party in that fool’s paradise?’ said Chief, hurriedly changing the topic and ducking any further bullets of wisdom from Derek. He knew the only way to deflect the trajectory of Derek’s crazy train of thought was to derail it completely.

‘Screw that! I’m really excited about seeing Grace again. I wonder what she looks like now. She was gorgeous then, I hope she hasn’t bloated up into a Zeppelin by now,’ said Derek, a faraway look in his eyes as the train chugged into view. ‘See! I told you! It had to be a narrow gauge Chow Mein line! The train looks so flimsy,’ said Derek beaming with pride.

‘Yeah, she and her sexy friend Salmonella’, said Chief, ignoring the train talk. ‘I remember Salmonella’s nose; so sharp that it could even pierce the heart of a bureaucrat. And her eyes, like bristling thorns. I guess she and her poof of a brother always hated me,’ said Chief, and Derek smiled. The train rattled by noisily in front of them, the din vying in vain with the snoring in the backseat.

Derek slid down the window at the sight of a petite woman selling fresh strawberries. Strangely beautiful, she was probably in her late twenties. Her toned body looked perfect in the sky blue sari that hugged her tight. She reminded Derek of Grace, he couldn’t wait to see her again.

The berries were as red as roses. Derek haggled adeptly and took them off her at a price that would have made him a mugger in a big city. The water drops sprinkled over them to keep them fresh looked like tiny pearls. The sweet smell of fresh berries filled Motormouth.

‘Ah! For a bowl of cornflakes with fresh strawberries and bananas! And a glass of fresh fruit juice, for pity’s sakes!’ exclaimed Chief, wishing out loud as he remembered their staple diet of momos for the past month.

‘You bet, Chief! We must have devoured half of the yaks and sheep in the mountains,’ chuckled Derek as he handed over loose change to the woman, who graciously accepted it, smiled and left. He passed the strawberries to Chief. ‘Wake up, you bitches in the back! We’re just an hour away from Joe’s Vineyard’.

‘Just a couple of mouths to feed. This should wake up the sleeping beauties. Rise and shine! We can smell the wine already!’ hollered Chief cheerfully, and Derek stuffed a handful of strawberries inside the two half-open, snoring mouths in the backseat. It seemed to do the trick.

‘Huh? Wha … ! Did somebody mention wine?’ said Hound, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, as he sleepily nudged Goose who was still fast asleep. ‘Holy Cow! What’s this in my mouth? Is it strawberry? Derek! Bastard! Did you do anything kinky with me last night while I was asleep?’ thundered Hound, deeply worried that he’d now be scarred for life.

Derek and Chief guffawed as Goose grinned and said, ‘Sweet God, Hound, Pipe down! You snore like a locomotive! I could barely catch 69 winks.’ Goose yawned prodigiously and stretched, still trying to wake up.

‘That was a real locomotive train, you fool!’ growled Hound, wiping his face with a cold towel, ‘We were at a railway crossing. Now freshen up, we’re almost there.’

‘Huh? Lionel Ritchie in the stereo, and strawberries? Sheesh!! What’s going on here, you morons? Somebody please yank that soppy guy out of the stereo now! And pass me a can of beer, for pity’s sakes!’ Goose lowered the side window and spat out the remains of the offending strawberry.

Chief fiddled with the stereo and Metallica came to life.

‘I can’t wait to see Grace again. My baby sister, she grew up so fast! Almost four years now since we last met. Drive faster!’ commanded Hound. He slid the windows down and let in the cool, morning breeze.

‘Bro, I’m more excited to meet her than you are. You know, I’ve always had a crush on her. I hope she’s still the same person I knew back then; unpretentious, nice and elegant,’ said Derek, manoeuvring Motormouth into the narrow lanes and winding roads towards the vineyard. ‘Sometimes I wonder if I’m in love with her … ’

‘You touch Grace and I’ll smash your face, asshole. Stay away from her. Go for that Salmonella chick instead!’ snarled Hound. But he couldn’t help smiling. The natural beauty that surrounded them was breathtaking. ‘My little sister hates you!’

‘He means it in a nice way, Hound, you know it. Who knows how it’ll all work out? By the way, I know for a fact that that wimpy dude, Chris – Salmonella’s brother, has the hots for her too,’ quipped Goose as he emptied out a bottle of water.

‘Dude, don’t you dare mess with Chris, bro, after all, he is our host. You’ve had your share of fun with Salmonella before, and we know it. Stay away from both of them and spare us embarrassment just this once!’ said Chief, trying to set the record straight. Derek’s glad eye had always gotten all of them into all sorts of trouble.

Derek didn’t react. Grace was different, and they all knew that and Derek did love her truly, madly, and deeply. She was probably the only woman he’d ever fallen selflessly in love with, hopelessly too. But even when they were in college, Grace had been too sensible to fall for Derek.

He secretly hoped she was still sensible enough to stay away from him.

‘Hey, guys, do you know about the legend that haunts this one-stoplight town?’ asked Goose, his eyes lighting up like two zero-watt bulbs.

‘Aw! Don’t tell me you believe that sorry-ass old wives’ tale, bro,’ sniggered Hound and lit up a cigarette.

They were by now cruising down narrow, winding roads. The roads were lined on either side by big Gulmohar trees. Lush, green fields lay comfortably ensconced between picturesque hillocks. The scenic drive through the long, winding roads was accentuated by the perfect weather. ‘No, seriously, bro, what’s the legend?’ asked Derek.

‘OK, legend has it that once every six years the devil comes to visit this town. It preys upon six hot, young chicks and drinks their blood for six days! I once saw it on Discovery Channel,’ said Goose excitedly. Chief and Derek listened to him in silence.

‘No shit! What a horny, bloodthirsty beast! Anyways, tell us more … ’ chortled Chief.

Goose continued with morbid relish, ‘Now, hold your breath, folks! It happens only once in six years and always ends on the 18 October. They say that six days after they were reported missing, the bodies of the victims were found at the graveyard, the bodies completely drained of blood. The graveyard is right next to the vineyard … Add the digits one and eight and you get nine. Divide eighteen by three and you get a six. That makes it a combination of 3 sixes which is the symbol of the devil … 666!’ said Goose in a hushed whisper, as Derek and Chief pretended to swallow the urban legend.

‘Hogwash! That’s what comes of watching too much television,’ exclaimed Hound, as Chief, Goose and Derek seemed lost in their thoughts.

‘Well, 18 October is just a week away. Cool, eh?’ said Goose grinning from ear to ear, ‘although, I’m not sure if it’s been six years. Anyway, it could be an exaggeration, but … as they say … there’s no smoke without fire, and you never know.’

Metallica pounded on the stereo with no vocal accompaniment from the four friends, as they were each lost in their own introspection.

Chief desperately hoped that this wouldn’t be the beginning of yet another massive misadventure. Goose and Derek exchanged knowing glances as they thought of yet another exciting trail of clues.

Hound continued to gaze out of the window, taking in the beauty of the scenery. He seemed wary of their disastrous adventures. To him, the reunion party was just a convenient excuse to see Grace again.

The Grand Arrival

Dressed in smart casuals and neat leather sandals, Chris waited for them at the gates to receive them. Motormouth reversed into a space in the parking lot outside the vineyard. The parking lot was essentially a lawn with lush green grass, and it seemed perfectly reprehensible to drive all over it.

The vineyard was at the outskirts of the city. As far as the eye could see, the place shone with millions of shiny black or green bead-like grapes. The vine tendrils lovingly wrapped themselves around the iron telephone and electric poles, and seemed to be whispering secrets to them about their roots in the caverns underground, and the furtive activities that took place in the dark bowels of the earth.

The almost translucent carpet of grass seemed unbroken. The landscape had been deliberately designed to filter the sunlight and encourage the Shiraz output, in terms of both quality and quantity.

The periphery of the vineyard was stitched together with a dense bamboo border. Joe’s vineyard was his citadel; it was entirely private; entry by invitation only, to an exclusive and privileged few. A herd of deer quietly feasted on the abundance of grass that flanked the pathway into the grounds. The silence was broken by the chirping of an assortment of birds.

The live plumage wrestled hard with images, in Derek’s mind, of roasted buffalo wings marinated in honey and dipped in mustard sauce, as he wondered what these other birds would taste like.

‘Hola! My friends! So happy to have you here! Mind you walk softly, keep to the grass, and don’t make too much noise. Or else you’ll scare the deer away,’ said Chris beckoning to them. Chris stepped out noiselessly on to the stretch of dry grass that led to the massive, wrought iron gates of the vineyard while the concrete-footed morons crunched noisily on the gravel.

As they entered the vineyard gates, Goose noticed that the deer had stopped their breakfast and were debating on whether it was time to make themselves scarce. Derek seemed smitten by the marble water fountain at the centre of the driveway in the courtyard. It was the statue of a busty, naked woman holding an urn overflowing with water on her hip. Derek was drooling with his mouth hanging open.

Goose let out a shrill wolf whistle through his fingers to call his team to order and behave themselves. The deer staged a semi-stampede and retreated to a safe distance.

Chief and Goose looked apologetically at the animals, but they maintained their aloof distance much like the protagonists of a just concluded cold-war treaty.

‘It must’ve been your yak-meat burps, Goose’, said Chief as he patted a distraught Goose on the back and led him inside the vineyard to the guest quarters.

Hound and Derek were chatting with Chris, who was obviously out to impress. He waved excitedly to hail Chief and Goose.

‘I see you haven’t really changed much, have you? Look at you, bro! Hasn’t evolution arrived here yet? Talking about lousy genes and bad eggs, where’s your hot sister, Salmonella?’ said Chief.

‘True that! I see you haven’t changed at all either! Anyway, I had no choice but to invite you as well, Chief. Like buy three, get one free,’ said Chris.

‘But of course! Ha! Ha! Ha! Somebody please tickle me. I suppose it’s only polite to laugh at stupid jokes seeing as you are my sorry-ass host,’ said Chief wryly.

‘Cut it out, guys!’ said Salmonella, emerging from the guest quarters. She was dressed in her customary white tee-shirt and blue jeans. The slanting beams of the morning sunshine through the tall trees lit her up and she looked gorgeous. Her light hazel eyes danced with mischief and she eyed Derek fondly.

‘You look ravishing, Salmonella!’ said Hound as they hugged. ‘Hey, where’s my little sister?’

‘I’ll be picking her up in the evening, so why don’t you guys go and freshen up? You look like Yetis. Mind you, dress code is formals. Since you are classless bastards, you’ll find suits of your shapes and sizes in the closet. Pick what you want. Salmonella … er … Florence will help you. Just make sure you look good at my party,’ said Chris.

‘He’s still an asshole. Not yet perfect, but he’s getting there,’ said Derek, and turned to Florence.

‘Like father, like son. Well, sob story of my life. Anyway, forget him! It’s fabulous to see you guys again!’ said Salmonella cheerfully, as she led the four morons down the red-brick pathway, bordered by blood-red carnations, to the guest quarters. The guesthouse was a European-style bungalow nestling in the shade of the dense carefully manicured jungle.

Hedges grew thickly around the dwelling filling every nook and corner.

‘Psst! Chief! Are you sure we’re guests here or prisoners?’ whispered Goose, clearly intimidated by the sheer grandeur of the place.

‘Shut up, you idiot! Of course we are guests, bro. Did you see a bullwhip on that weed head?’ replied Chief.

Goose let out a sigh of relief as they entered the living room of the ostentatious bungalow. The window overlooking the open-to-sky fishpond told an altogether different story. The coral blue tiling in the pond exuded prosperity. The fireplace in their room was flanked by teak wardrobes decorated with innumerable bottle corks. It reflected the owner’s passion.

Empty wine bottles were stacked against one wall as part of the décor

Salmonella introduced them to the caretaker, Ram Singh.

‘Freshen up now. I checked out your pictures on Facebook and I know exactly what’ll suit you guys. Now get a good snooze and I’ll see you in the evening. Anything you need, just holler and Ram Singh will be here at your service,’ said Salmonella. A hefty guy in some sort of major domo outfit had mysteriously materialized beside her. He cleared his throat and looked shifty-eyed.

‘Him? This creep? He looks like a thug!’ muttered Goose.

‘Oh, shut up, Goose! He’s a very loyal servant. He’s dedicated to you already. Aren’t you, Ram Singh?’ said Salmonella as though she were speaking to a puppy.

‘Mmm…mm,’ replied Ram Singh, and nodded his head vigorously.