Rising Tiger: A Thriller (51)

“Yes,” Mrs. Ali said, “I am asking you as a parent.”

The ex-cop shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

The old woman’s shoulders dropped, as if there was no longer a weight there she had to carry. “I think it would be better for everyone if he came to you.”

“Excuse me?”

“It wouldn’t be a good idea to go to his work. Not for you and definitely not for him.”

Vijay looked at her warily. “What are you proposing?”

“A reason for him to leave and come home. A medical emergency.”



* * *



Twenty-four minutes later, Pinaki Ali burst through the front door calling for his mother. He found her, not lying on her bed suffering from heart palpitations, but rather at the stove cooking.

“What are you doing?” he demanded. “You shouldn’t be on your feet! I told you to call the doctor. To call an ambulance. You know how serious this can—”

Before he could finish his sentence, the old woman had turned from the stove, was yelling in Hindi, and beating him with a wooden spoon.

She might have succeeded in injuring the man had Vijay and Harvath not stepped into the room.

Vijay flashed his credentials, identified himself as being with the national police, and then put them away. He didn’t bother introducing Harvath. Better to let the man wonder who the foreigner was.

“Just over a week ago, you reported a motorcycle stolen,” said the ex-cop.

Pinaki looked at his mother and Vijay barked at him, “Don’t look at her. Look at me. What happened to it?”

“I don’t know,” the man said.

He would have made the world’s worst poker player. “He’s lying,” said Harvath.

“What happened to the motorbike,” Vijay repeated.

“I told you, I don’t know. It was stolen.”

“Stolen from where?”

“Outside one of the warehouses at work.”

Harvath nodded. While not much, that was at least true.

“Who stole it?” Vijay demanded.

“I have no idea. No idea,” the man claimed. The micro-expressions were erupting off the man like a handful of corn kernels thrown into a pan of hot oil.

“Lie,” said Harvath. “Big lie.”

Pinaki had no idea what the hell was going on, but he knew whatever this was, it was no good. His eyes darted back and forth between the two men. Occasionally he glanced toward his mother, who only glared angrily back at him.

“Mr. Ali,” said Vijay. “We know you’re lying. However, I’m going to give you one last chance to do the right thing. So, I want you to listen very carefully to me. Your motorbike was used in the—”

“My stolen motorbike,” the man interjected.

The ex-cop looked at Mrs. Ali, who drew her hand back and cracked her son in the mouth with the wooden spoon. “Don’t talk,” she admonished him. “Listen.”

It was a pretty good whack. Vijay waited for the man to wipe the blood from the corner of his mouth before continuing. “Who stole your motorbike?”

“Who specifically? I am telling you the truth. I don’t know.”

The ex-cop had been at the game long enough not to need Harvath’s feedback on that answer. “So, if not specifically, who in general do you believe stole your motorbike?”

Pinaki’s pupils were dilated. His eyes darted from side to side. Harvath sensed the man was ready to bolt, and he moved slightly to his left to block the door in case he charged.

“I’m a dead man if I tell you,” Pinaki said.

“You may very well be a dead man if you don’t,” Vijay replied, casting a subtle glance at Harvath.

“They will come after my mother.”

“Depending on what you give us, we are more than capable of protecting you both. But this is up to you, Pinaki. You can do the right thing, or you can disappoint all of us, particularly your mother, and you can continue to be an asshole.”

“It was the Kumars,” the man said, needing no further time for reflection. “They told me where to park the motorbike and to leave the key in it. I don’t know who took it. Once it was gone, I was told to go to the police and report it stolen.”

“You never asked why you were being told to do this?” asked Vijay.

Pinaki Ali looked at the ex-cop like he was crazy. “Question them? Ask them to justify themselves to me? You obviously have no idea who the Kumars are or what they’re capable of.”





CHAPTER 32


Harvath didn’t care who the Kumars were and neither did Vijay. They were a family of criminals and, judging by Pinaki Ali’s fear, prone to violence. So was Harvath for that matter. And, Harvath suspected, so was Vijay.

The key to dealing with the Kumars was understanding what they feared and then to push on that, hard.

Like most gangs, it wasn’t getting caught—it was getting cut out—losing territory, money, influence, or all three.

A conviction, even doing time in prison, was a stain on the conscience and standing only of decent members of society. Criminals wore those as badges of honor. If incarcerated, they used their time to develop deeper networks and further their criminal education by learning from other prisoners. It was like being sent to some kind of underworld graduate school.