The Blue Bar (Blue Mumbai #1)(52)

I’ll wear a uniform someday. Maybe the khaki—good camouflage, more power. We’ll see. When I told Dad about choosing the khaki uniform of a policeman, he called me a fattu, a pussy. I’m not man enough.

I didn’t say it, but I’m not the pussy in this household, the one who can’t control his wife.

He doesn’t notice that even when I stay away, when I act like I have a headache and stay in bed, she brings me soup. She touches my forehead to check for fever, then my throat and chest, and lower and lower, stroking me all over, all the while crooning straightforward advice, like I should eat well. I’m growing too weak, she says, I should go for workouts. I’m fifteen. She’s twenty-three. Dad is forty-seven. Who should know better?





CHAPTER FORTY-THREE


ARNAV

Hospitals were not new for Arnav. As a boy, he’d waited for the release of his sister’s body into his family’s custody. A few years later, he’d sat by his father’s bedside as the man wasted away with liver cirrhosis. Then his mother, through her chemotherapies. In his experience, he was the only member of his family to have returned home from a hospital bed.

The doctor said Arnav had a fractured but nondisplaced left shoulder, bruised ribs, and some concussion. Given proper rest and care, he should recover. Arnav grimaced once he was alone. He didn’t need the injuries on top of the pile already on his plate—the Aksa cases, the transfer he aimed to fight, and whatever it was he had brewing with Tara. Not to mention someone wanted him dead.

He heard the door open. Footsteps. This wasn’t Shinde’s brisk, confident footfall. Had they found him here? He peered through his lashes. A woman.

“Tara?”

She rushed up to him. “Nandini said you’d woken up, so I came in.”

“Nandini?”

Tara was here, and had met his girlfriend. Why hadn’t he broken up with Nandini yet?

“I kept calling your phone and she picked up.”

Her shirt was crumpled, hair a mess, her eyes swollen. Had she been crying?

“When did you come here? Isn’t it time for your performance soon?”

“I was worried. I thought . . .”

Arnav moved to rise, but his shoulder hurt too much. A nurse walked in, and Tara shut up while the woman in uniform checked the machines, the drip, and scribbled notes on his chart.

“I’m fine,” Arnav said.

“Sure.” She smiled, but it looked wobbly. “You look like someone gave you a sound beating.”

Arnav reached out with his good hand, and she held it.

“I’m so glad you’ll be fine. I need to tell you—should have told you long ago, but—”

Before she could finish, Shinde strode in.

“This is Tara,” Arnav said, his pain receding. His thoughts regained clarity. He turned to Tara. “This is Hemant Shinde.”

“What’s she doing here?” Shinde said.

Tara drew herself up to her full height. She was a lot shorter than Shinde, but her posture, rigid and straight, made her appear taller than she was. “You’re Shetty’s man, aren’t you? Did he ask you to check on me?”

Arnav stared at the two of them. This was his day of mysteries and adventure. Tara and Shinde knew each other, and weren’t on good terms. He addressed her, the saner of the two, and the one likely to give proper answers.

“Tara?”

“Well, ask him.” Tara’s voice was low, but heavy with accusation.

Shinde glanced away. Arnav’s left arm had turned into a mass of aches. He must corner Shinde, figure out what was going on.

“Give us a few minutes, Tara.” He put the sum of his feelings into his gaze. “Don’t go far.”

When she nodded, looking unsure, he added, “This won’t take long. Please.”

When Tara had closed the door behind her, he scowled at Shinde. “You’d better explain.”





CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR


Bilal had gone missing. Not for a few hours, which was normal, not the entire day, which was unusual but acceptable, but for two days. He might actually have left for good, like he said.

He tried Bilal’s number for the hundredth time. The rings tapered off into a voice message. “Hello. I’ll call you back.”

Last week, seeing no point in keeping it to himself, he’d mentioned in passing to Bilal that he’d received a delivery at the railway station.

“If you revert to your old ways, I’m leaving.” Bilal looked up from loading his bag into the car. “I’ve handpicked and trained the staff. You can choose a housekeeper from among them.”

“She’ll come to the farmhouse. For a dance. I promised you—nothing else.”

“You’ve made promises before.” Bilal had stormed off.

That day was packed with meetings, so he hadn’t taken Bilal at his word. In his free moments, he’d pictured only the one who flew away, the dead ringer for Item Number. He wanted to watch her tremble in a blue-sequined saree, sobbing and terrified, yet gyrating to each item song he remembered.

Uhnna had been difficult. At first, he’d remained set on his earlier stance of no deliveries. A while later, he relented, but insisted on guarantees. No spillage, no damage. As if Uhnna cared about the woman. To add to the insult, he’d demanded five times the previously agreed amount and extra favors, which didn’t bear thinking about.