The Bandit Queens (106)

BB’s squeal of disgusted shock rivaled Saloni’s, whose revulsion was vicarious as she watched from her chair, mouth agape. He jerked and wheeled, shaking the creature to the ground, where Bandit eagerly awaited, but not before BB’s right hand seized, at long last pulling the trigger he’d been nervously caressing since this night began.

The gunshot was, at least to Geeta’s ears, deafening. Surely someone would hear the ruckus and burst in. But even as she allowed herself hope, several other resonate cracks interrupted the night, and she knew the celebratory fireworks were still going full tilt.

Everyone froze, shocked and silent. The women’s eyes darted between each other, sharing variant expressions of the same panicked fuck. Farah stopped crying. Bada-Bhai stared at his hand as though someone had presented him with a disgusting delicacy and he wasn’t sure how to extract himself from the situation diplomatically. Ramesh remained on the floor, sweating and moaning from Bandit’s bite as though he’d been amputated. Geeta’s loathing for him amplified, even as she conceded that there was an awful lot of blood pooling near him. But Bandit had lost his puppy teeth; his bite wasn’t as fierce as all that. It wasn’t until Farah gasped and Saloni cackled her joy that Geeta realized that BB’s errant bullet had found its way into Ramesh’s calf.

“You shot me,” Ramesh said. Rather than accusatory, he sounded dazed. “Why did you shoot me?”

But BB was far too consumed with his own recent trauma to indulge Ramesh’s. “Where did it go?” he demanded of the women, who shook their heads. It was a question of utmost importance to Bandit as well, who had taken to sniffing the floor and air with the sudden disciplined investment of a security dog. “I hate lizards! But at least they’re good luck.” He extracted the gold ? pendant from under his collar to kiss it. “Where were—”

Someone thumped on the front door so hard, it shuddered. “Geeta, you sneaky little bitch! I know you’re in there. Come out now!”

“Oh, what the fuck now?” BB groaned. “Someone answer it.” Upon realizing he was the most mobile, BB huffed his annoyance and walked to the door, gun behind this back.

“I know what you did, Geeta! A guest at my party congratulated me on the ballots. Did you think I’d just go along with it? We had a deal, you—oh.” Khushi balked as the door opened. Bandit ran outside. “Who are you?”

“Who are you? Never mind, I don’t care. Get inside.”

Khushi faltered at the threshold, holding a box of sweets in one hand and a ballot paper in the other. She displayed more ornamentation than Geeta had ever seen her wear: bangles and jhumkas and a large red bindi. If Geeta had to guess, Khushi was also wearing a Farah design. The taut energy, as discernible as a foul odor, set her at unease. “Er—no, I can’t. If I could just speak with Geetaben?”

“Geeta’s indisposed at the moment. And now, so are you.” BB brandished his gun with one hand and reached for Khushi’s forearm with the other. She tried to avoid his touch, but he yanked her inside and locked the door behind them. “No, no,” he told her. “Forget your shoes. It’s fine.”

Khushi removed them anyway.

“Tie her up,” he instructed Ramesh, who rolled up his pant leg. From her chair, Geeta saw that it was a flesh wound, the bullet wasn’t even in his calf. Ramesh rolled his eyes. “Fuck you.”

“Fuck me? Fuck you! You said she was a sad spinster with no friends. That no one would miss her. Look at this—it’s a goddamn kitty party!”

“You shot me!”

“It was,” BB said by way of apology, “a regrettable mistarget.”

“Look on the bright side,” Saloni taunted Ramesh. “At least you already have a cane.”

“Listen,” Khushi said slowly, standing in the middle of the room with her hands up. Geeta tried to make eye contact, but Khushi was absorbed by the revolver. “I don’t want any trouble. I just came over because I was upset with Geeta—”

“Get in line. Hey, are those sweets?”

“Er—yes, but—”

BB relieved her of the box before she could finish. “Are they homemade? Never mind, I don’t care. I’m too damn hungry.” He pushed a large sphered sweet in his mouth and gestured to Geeta’s bed. “Sit down,” he mumbled.

Khushi made to sit on the floor, but Geeta shook her head while BB reached for another yellow boondi ladoo. “On my cot,” she whispered.

“But—”

“Trust me!”

Khushi lowered herself slowly to the cot, buttocks tense, as if it might bite. She sat facing Farah, Saloni and Geeta flanking either side of the cot.

“Don’t be mad at Geeta,” Saloni whispered. “The ballots were my fault.”

Khushi’s teeth were clenched. “Not really my highest concern anymore.”

“These are good,” BB said, crumbs spraying. “Better than Mummy’s even, but don’t tell her.”

“I won’t,” Khushi promised slowly. “Er—who are you?”

“This is Chintu,” Saloni said. “He’s here to get revenge on Geeta.”

“And the rest of us?” Khushi asked.

Farah’s sigh was morose. “We are what is known on C.I.D. as ‘collateral damage.’ Basically, we’re fucked.”