The Bandit Queens (53)

“Suicide trees.”

Saloni clicked her tongue and fired a finger gun at Geeta. “Tubelight.”

Geeta was too busy cursing herself to continue arguing that they shouldn’t murder a man. She thought of all the unnecessary pains she’d taken to help Farah with Samir. Pawing through trash, hitchhiking to Kohra, breaking into a school. When the perfect poison was in Farah’s goddamn backyard the entire time. Typically a quick study, she’d really bungled it this time. Her pride smarted louder than her morals.

“I can’t believe I was screwing around with tharra and mosquito coils when it was right there. Unbelievable. Goddammit!”

Saloni examined her cuticles. “?‘A single blow of a blacksmith is equal to a hundred blows of a goldsmith.’?”

“But wait.” Geeta’s brow furrowed. “Farah lives there, she must know about the pong pong. Why wouldn’t she just handle it? Why bother coming to me, and risk someone else knowing?”

“You know,” Saloni said, “I’ve been wondering that exact same thing since you told me. Something’s black in those lentils. She’s either fantastically stupid or smarter than the rest of us combined. Either way, we can’t trust her.”

“Yeah, I pieced that together when she tried to poison me.” Geeta’s breathing quickened and she felt light-headed. “I can’t do this, Saloni. I really, really can’t. Not again. You talk about facilitating karma, but what about mine if I kill Darshan? He’s not like Samir; he hasn’t threatened me. Or anyone! Lately, I mean. I’ll have to find some other way to prove Ramesh is alive.” She lowered her head between her knees. “Kabaddi, kabaddi, kabaddi.”

“What’re you doing?”

“It calms me.”

“Listen.” Saloni sighed. “I’ll help you with Darshan. Your karma won’t have to bear it alone, okay?”

Geeta looked up with hope. “But why?”

“I’m not saying you were right about Runi. Ram knows you’re wrong about most everything—you have bogus instincts, always have. And you’re also wrong that I don’t feel bad about what happened. It wasn’t my fault; she made a choice. But. I’m human. I have regrets. So I’ll help you. Like your bonobo or whatever.”

“How are you not afraid? What if the police find out? We could go to jail!”

“No one is going to jail, Geeta. Me and Preity and Priya and even Farah aren’t afraid because we know that.”

“How?”

“Because we’re middle-aged housewives. Who’s more invisible than us? We can get away with murder. Literally. Once you realize that, you’ll stop whimpering like an incontinent baby raccoon.”

That, Geeta felt, was uncalled-for. “Kit,” she said absently.

“Eh?” Saloni rummaged through the kitchen and helped herself to some biscuits.

“Baby raccoons are called kits.”

“O-kay. And while all your fun nature facts are super fascinating, do you have anything to drink?”

“There’s water in the pot.”

Saloni grimaced. “No, I mean something more…you know.”

Surprise lifted Geeta’s brows. “You drink?”

“You don’t?”

“No. Can we focus? What’s your plan?”

“We need to get into Farah’s yard. That’s the only tricky part. After that, we’re set. I’ll cook the seed in some dish for him.”

“How do we get the seed?”

“Well, I think it’d be suspicious if I visited her; we’re definitely not friends. But you two have a weird bond now, so tomorrow you’ll visit, play nice, tell her you’ve got no plans to turn her in, that your little freak-out or whatever has passed and you’re on the same side. Be convincing. She’s not an idiot, but I do think she’s lonely. And while you’re inside distracting her, I’ll get the fruit outside.”

“That’s a rubbish plan.”

“You don’t have to be rude, Geeta.” Saloni snapped a biscuit in two with her front teeth. “Manners don’t cost anything, you know.”

The power returned. They blinked as their eyes adjusted. Saloni flicked on the radio and lowered the volume.

“The fruit part is first-class, absolutely. But the other part sounds…not great. Like, how are you going to sneak into the back without the mukkabaaz noticing?”

“They’ll be at school.”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday, and anyway the mukkabaaz stopped going to school so she could help Farah at home.”

Even as she said it, Geeta had a solution as to how to distract Farah’s daughter, but she was reluctant to pull Raees, and thereby Karem, into their crime, even tangentially. On the radio, a film song ended and an advertisement began. Geeta immediately recognized the Nirma washing detergent jingle.

“The boy the mukkabaaz was fighting tonight, he’s a good kid. We could have him get her out of the house while you get the pong pong.”

Saloni hummed quietly. “?‘Washing powder Nirma, washing powder Nirma.’ Who?”

While Geeta thought, she absently joined the tune. “?‘Turns whites like milk.’ Raees. Karem’s son.”

“?‘Even colors glow!’ Since when are you friends with children? You hate children.”