The Bandit Queens (22)

“What?”

A yawp of outrage rose from the house.

“Like, now. Run.”

They scurried to the end of the street, neither of them remotely spry, and turned the corner into the busy bazaar. Geeta wove through rather than around the most crowded portions, hoping to lose anyone in pursuit. She worried the jostling was further harming the dog, but she didn’t dare slow down. Karem kept pace behind her; he likely thought her mad. Lackadaisical vendors sat cross-legged on tarps, swatting flies with desultory flicks of handkerchiefs tied to sticks. The more aggressive peddlers stood, thrusting everything from shoes to bouquets of fennel seeds into passing faces. The end of the bazaar deposited them on a street lined with brick-and-mortar establishments. By tacit agreement, they stopped running.

“What—?” Karem gasped before bending over, hands cupping his kneecaps. “Just—what was that about?”

“I released the dogs. I had to.”

“You what?” But he wasn’t angry. Geeta knew anger; Karem was bewildered.

They inched back as a truck, its windshield smothered in marigold garlands, wove through the market toward the temple on the other end. Mounted on the vehicle’s roof were two horns and some political banners. The horns squawked, but Geeta’s heart was pounding too loudly to hear.

After a moment, Karem straightened and said, “Well, good.”

“You’re not mad? What if Bada-Bhai comes after you?”

Karem shrugged. “He already took away his business. That’s plenty. Hit me right in the belly.”

Geeta swallowed. It occurred to her then that she and Farah had been planning on letting Samir’s tab die with him. They’d planned on essentially robbing Karem and, until this moment, it’d seemed a victimless crime. “You’ll find another.”

“Not here, I won’t.”

Geeta’s fear of retaliation returned. Now she’d have two men gunning for her blood. “Is Bada-Bhai really that big of a don?”

Karem laughed through his nose. “He’s not a don at all, he just wants to be. He gave himself that name to seem tough, but he’s mostly just stuck between his wife and…” He coughed and quieted.

“Lakha? The Rabari woman?”

Karem nodded. “You’re observant. Took me a few trips to figure out she’s his son’s mother.”

“Bastard?”

“Yup, but his only son, so Bada-Bhai would never disclaim him. Plus, Bada-Bhai’s…I wouldn’t call it love, but he’s a bit, I don’t know, obsessed with her. Hard to say which pisses his wife off more.”

Geeta had far more questions, but instead she asked, “If he’s not dangerous, why can’t you find another vendor here?”

“This place is too small. He’s the only game in Kohra. I’ll have to start from square one somewhere else. Make contacts, let them sample the tharra, build a reputation. Until then…” He shrugged.

“We can get you help. The loan officer can—”

“Geetaben,” he said, “you know the loans are only for women. Besides which, I doubt they’ll be queuing up to fund a liquor business in a dry state.”

“You’re just doing what other states do. A random map line decides if you’re a criminal or not? Nonsense.” When he squinted at her, she asked, “What?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Your support is surprising, is all. Given what happened with Ramesh.”

“Well.” Geeta paused. After what she’d said to him in his shop last night, she had to be damn sure any retraction was sincere. She decided that she didn’t know who he’d been before, but the man she was with now, the one who’d refused to poison people for profit, deserved a second chance. “Ramesh made choices.”

“Yes,” Karem agreed. “That he did.”

Their eye contact flustered her. Geeta pulled on her earlobe, her arm brushing her bag. The dog whimpered from within. Karem blinked. “Is that—”

“Oh!” She’d forgotten. Guilt softened her touch as she extracted the dog. His fox ears were the only perky part of him. His mottled tail sagged; his own vomit had dried on his fur. “This one was sick. He couldn’t run. I don’t think he can even see.”

Karem petted him. “Let’s get him some water.”

“What about a doctor?”

“For dogs? Kohra isn’t exactly Bombay.”

They found a public tap. The dog sniffed before drinking, his black nostrils fluttering. He drank for a good two minutes before stopping to pant.

“He looks a little better,” Karem said.

Geeta assessed the dog in her arms with doubt; he trembled from the exertion of lapping. The fur around his paws was white but dirty. The remainder of him was light brown save a dark stripe wrapping his long torso like a belt and one black ear. “You think?”

“Not really, no.”

“Do you think he could die?”

“If he keeps the water and some food down, I think it’ll be a good sign.”

“What do dogs eat?” The Gyan Vani radio segment talked about the wild; they didn’t offer tips on domesticating strays. Geeta set him down, but he cried out so she held him again. His warmth and weight, minimal though it was, was reassuring against her midsection. She felt maternal and needed; the feeling was not wholly repugnant.