The Blue Bar (Blue Mumbai #1)(35)

Mithi’s eyes lit up. “So you and Zoya are all right.”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Shetty went crazy on us after the two of you ran off. He looked scary, and I thought, off kara diya.”

Tara had heard that underworld slang, about getting someone murdered, whispered around the bar a lifetime ago. She waited for Mithi to continue.

“After we couldn’t find you that night or the next day, Shetty talked to all of us. Yelled. The next week he asked us to line up and get our pictures taken. Nothing changed for a while, but then Gauri, you remember her, right?”

Tara nodded.

“Well, he gave Gauri some work.”

“What?” Tara said, though she already knew.

“Whatever you used to do on the side. That’s all she ever told me. One day, I saw her wearing a shawl and stepping into an auto. Strange it was to see her wrapped in that shawl in the afternoon. Last time I set eyes on her. She never returned.”

This sent a chill through Tara, though they stood in the sun, across from a road with traffic, people. A shawl, as she had once worn.

“What did Shetty say?”

“He told us Gauri had gone to her village, like you two. Her things were gone. Soon after that, the bar shut down. So who knows, maybe Shetty was telling the truth. He was right about you guys.”

Tara could not bring herself to speak. The terror she had escaped fourteen years ago clawed its way back in. Shetty, and his assignments to the railway station. And worse still, the temptation and dread of his “night work.”

Tara had entered Shetty’s office to return the saree and get her pay. The difference in Shetty’s tone had put her on alert when he said, “Will you do night work?”

Night work meant selling her body. No shame in that, Zoya had said, as long as the woman was safe, and fine with the man she had to service. A woman owned her body. Zoya did it often enough, as did the other women. Tara knew the going rate: ?5,000 a night. Full service—the client could get whatever he wanted, no questions. Tara had avoided it thus far. The thought of touching anyone other than Arnav made her gag.

“Safety guaranteed.” Shetty’s face was stern. “The pay will be sixty thousand. You’ll have to do what you’re told, but it will be a different kind of night work. No one will lay a hand on you. No touching at all.”

Sixty thousand rupees for a night. She made that in six months of dancing, shaking her body from 7:00 p.m. to 3:00 a.m. six days a week, with only a few short breaks in between. She’d never seen ?60,000 in one place.

Who paid that much for a private dance? And the client would not touch her? Even at the bar, men angled to grope or pinch her when they could. Logically, Shetty gave her a small cut of any money she received for the assignments, and pocketed the rest. Her head spun to think how much Shetty must have been paid for him to offer her ?60,000.

That was money she’d needed for her career then, and money she must earn for her Pia now.

“I have children at home,” Mithi said, “or I wouldn’t be here.”

Same here, Tara wanted to say. She tried to swallow the fear and bile in her throat, but after Mithi’s story about another bar girl who had disappeared, it wouldn’t go away. If not for Pia in her womb and Tara’s escape in order to protect her, Tara might have vanished, too.

“Tara?” Mithi’s eyes widened in concern.

Tara reached for her voice, but failed. She cleared her throat and nodded instead.

Mithi smiled. “Well, I’m happy you’re back.”

“I’m glad to see you, too,” Tara found herself mumbling, though this wasn’t true. She hated reminders of her earlier life in the city of broken dreams.

“I don’t know any of the other girls. They are a little different, aren’t they?”

They were. They seemed less harried, as if they’d decided to enjoy their sordid days and capture themselves on their phones. They spent a lot of time scrolling, typing, and smiling away. No one who looked at their pictures would get their torment.

Tara checked her watch—the break would end soon. She didn’t tell Mithi she would leave after a week. Once was bad enough. Twice would be a betrayal.





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT


ARNAV

Arnav arrived at Nandini’s building a little past 11:00 p.m., a tad late because his meeting with Mhatre had gone on for longer than expected. Leaning back in his seat, he considered their exchange.

“Take the promotion, Rajput,” Mhatre had said. “That’s your best option. Shinde asked me whether you could help, from one senior inspector to another, but when I said yes I didn’t expect you to give an interview about the Versova case without consulting me or him. Joshi sir instructed you to lay off. Your serial killer theory sounds like reaching for what isn’t there. Clear out your desk by Diwali and hand over your cases. Report to Joshi sir in Bandra.”

This was Arnav’s first proper conflict with Mhatre, who hadn’t been his usual self of late—hitching a ride in Arnav’s car when he could easily have used an app, and baldly denying facts. Any civilian who read a few crime novels could understand that targeting women of a similar height and age range, and killing them in the same way, indicated a serial killer.

Gawde had made a cryptic, puzzling statement about Mhatre. Arnav had looked up Gawde’s station postings, and he had indeed worked with Mhatre for extended periods. Mhatre had also signed off on Bendre’s suspicious traffic accident. A chat with Tukaram might help. Arnav was about to dial his gregarious friend when the car door opened.