Rising Tiger: A Thriller (74)
If Vijay didn’t mean it, they were about to saunter into a shit storm of epic proportions.
CHAPTER 46
Harvath hadn’t thought it possible to hate Vijay’s plan any more than he already did, but as soon as they got within spitting distance of Paharganj, that’s exactly what happened.
Paharganj was the worst neighborhood in New Delhi. It made Jaipur’s Sanganer look like Beverly Hills. When people talked about how terrible parts of India could be, this was the poster child for it. All of it.
Muggers, rapists, pickpockets, drug dealers, beggars… all slithering through a maze of dark alleyways and crumbling buildings. Harvath and Vijay were headed into a snake pit surrounded by an even bigger snake pit.
Known as New Delhi’s “backpacker ghetto” because of its cheap hotels and even cheaper hostels, there was plenty of fresh, young tourist meat for local thugs to feed upon.
The main street was jam-packed with vehicles and the sidewalks were overflowing with humanity. Food vendors cooked over open fires. Stalls selling T-shirts and sandals sat cheek by jowl with travel agencies, which offered scooter and car rentals, as well as budget train and plane tickets.
Vijay found a place to park and pulled over.
After a quick chat with an incense vendor sitting in a plastic chair outside his shop, the ex-cop smiled at Harvath.
“Let me guess,” Harvath replied. “Another hundred bucks?”
After paying off Vijay’s new valet cum security guard, they pushed deeper into the neighborhood, where the congestion only became worse. It would have been impossible to get the Jaguar through. He had been smart to leave it out on the main road.
In addition to the crush of people, honking motorbikes threaded their way through the crowds. Stray dogs, some terribly skinny and riddled with mange, roamed everywhere.
As a dog lover, Harvath hated to see it. According to Vijay there were upwards of four hundred thousand of them in New Delhi alone.
They passed a one-chair barbershop that was so narrow, if you stepped inside and held your arms out, you could span its width and touch both walls at the same time.
The barber was giving his customer a very unique, very kinetic head massage. At first, Harvath thought he was beating the customer. But as he watched the barber shuffle around the chair like a boxer and exhale large gusts of air, he realized something quite different was happening.
He looked at Vijay, who shrugged and said, “Many find it invigorating. Some barbers will even adjust your neck and spine for you. Do you want to try it?”
“Maybe later,” Harvath lied. He had no desire to remain in Paharganj any longer than they had to.
The labyrinthine passageways grew slimmer the farther they went. So much wiring was strung from building to building that looking up in places it appeared as if you were walking under a thick, black net.
They passed a tiny bakery, a medical clinic, and countless other small shops selling everything from chips and sodas, to eggs, lightbulbs, and cleaning supplies. It was like an endless grimy bazaar.
Up ahead, Vijay spotted their destination and pointed it out to Harvath. The exterior of the Laid Back Lounge & Social Club looked every bit the dump that Harvath had expected it to be.
A third of the lights in its sign were either broken or burned out, half of the stained stoop in front was missing, and one of its two glass doors had a long crack that had been covered over with clear packing tape. The entire place just screamed “class.”
Per the plan, Harvath had kept walking and had entered first, while Vijay had hung back. They didn’t want anyone to know that they were working together.
The fa?ade of the Laid Back barely hinted at how seedy things were inside. Harvath could feel the soles of his shoes sticking to the floor as he walked to the end of the bar and grabbed a stool.
He had passed a pair of bored, beefy bouncers on his way in. They were seated and both had been scrolling through their phones. They barely paid him any attention, which was fine by him. So far, the place was only a pit. No snakes. Yet.
Harvath had been fascinated to learn that only about a third of India’s population drank on a regular basis. Those who abstained normally did so for religious or cultural reasons. Those who did drink, did so to get buzzed.
Spirits, especially whiskey, were the preferred libation, followed by beer. And if you were drinking beer to get buzzed, you wanted your beer to be strong. That was why “strong” beer, with an alcohol content ranging anywhere from five to eight percent, was the most popular.
Harvath looked at the list of bottled beers. There was one called Bad Monkey and another called Simba Strong. The fact that he was in some crime figure’s bar, however, made the next beer on the list the one he had to try.
Godfather, like the two others, hovered right around eight percent. Harvath wasn’t in the market to get buzzed; he just wanted to blend into the wallpaper, keep an eye on things, and not draw any attention. His plan was to take it slow.
When the barman brought it over, he politely declined a glass, paid the man with some of the rupees he had exchanged at the hotel, and told the man to keep the change.
Even in India, Thursday night was a popular night to party. The Laid Back had a good crowd, despite it not yet being even ten o’clock. It was a cross section of people.
Though largely Indian, the clientele also included a mix of young, Western backpacker types.
The beer wasn’t expensive, but it wasn’t exactly cheap, either. So, he figured there had to be another reason such a diverse crowd would be drawn to the Laid Back. It soon became obvious. The Laid Back was a bar that specialized in classic rock.