The Blue Bar (Blue Mumbai #1)(68)

Shinde had stuck an old print from the movie Sholay on his locker door. Arnav traced his finger over the square-jawed Veeru riding a bike and the lanky Jai in the sidecar, both their arms spread out, smiles wide, swearing eternal friendship.

Jai saw no problem with sabotaging Veeru’s relationships, but in the end sacrificed his life to save his pal. Shinde had played the role to the hilt.

Arnav laid his hand on the cold metal door and made himself open it with a quick twist of the key. A backpack sat inside, a file and a diary visible from the top. Arnav flipped open the diary and found records of transactions in Shinde’s neat hand. One name jumped out at him: Moringa Consultants. The company that Nandini said was possibly being employed to launder money for Vijayan.





CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN


At the farmhouse terrace, he sank back into the swing, pressing a cushion over his face, and didn’t breathe. This cleared his head, filling it with a pleasant darkness, not unlike the times when he tore apart a new saree with blue sequins, shiny midnight blue, turning darker still with blood.

He smiled and let go of his breath. Bilal was back. Thank all that’s good and holy. Bilal didn’t know the plans for the coming weekend, but he’d be OK with them—only music and dance, even though she had failed. Uhnna said he had run into delays, but he would deliver the package, using whatever leverage possible.

Of the two targets, one had died. The other, with the lives of a cat, had survived again. No matter. Soon, he would either move to Bandra station or be out of a job. Maybe he was scared. He sure had good reason.

Bilal wouldn’t be happy with the amount spent on this one weekend. The man looked the very picture of disapproval ever since his return. Bilal wanted him away from this farmhouse, from Mumbai.

But he loved these spread-out acres, the backyard stretching into wilderness, and the cherished rose garden, his best revenge, the one only Bilal knew about. He also adored this terrace where he could lie back, swing a little, watch the stars twinkle on, one after the other. His mother had assured him that all loved ones turned into stars.

He drew in a deep breath of the tepid air steeped in a million insect songs. Each insect a voice, a life. Some days he wished he were one of them, an anonymous little creature with a life brief enough to have no past, nor future. Only the now, singing in the darkness, a call to another.

Bilal was back, but he was no more than one of those insects. Easily squashed, his annoying song stopped forever. He was back because he was stupid. He’d never leave again.





CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT


ARNAV

Morning sun filtered in through the curtains at Nandini’s apartment and lit up the tastefully furnished living room. Arnav sat on the sofa, Shinde’s diary in hand, gathering the courage to look inside once again. When he opened it this time, there was no going back.

“I still can’t believe it. Shinde dined with us just the other day,” Nandini said from the balcony. She was arranging earthen lamps for Choti Diwali two days later. Arnav had clean forgotten.

“Are you doing all right?”

Arnav nodded.

Tara had remained in the guest bathroom for the half hour he’d spent in the other one, freshening up the best he could with one arm. When stressed out, she often lingered in a shower for hours, cleaning each square inch. She’d sounded worried yesterday; had asked to talk. He must speak with her at the first opportunity—ask if Shetty had made any attempts to contact her.

He’d ordered Naik and the constable to go home so they could change and get a meal, but Naik had sent in replacements in plain clothes, who awaited instructions right outside Nandini’s condominium.

“We can’t take risks, sir,” Naik had said. “This was a brazen attack on a police station.”

Arnav could set the men to work only after he looked at the papers. He half expected Shinde to enter the apartment, swear words at the ready—challenging him, asking how Arnav dared steal the documents from the locker. Arnav rubbed his unshaven cheek, letting the pain in his arm distract him.

In Shinde’s diary, a lot of the writing was shortened names, numbers, and dates. Sums added up. Bribes: hafta. This was his best friend’s other life, one Arnav had known nothing about. Arnav took pictures of the pages and uploaded them to a private cloud backup as he worked. This was unstable dynamite that called for delicate handling, a record with the potential to bring down the whole racket.

Arnav flipped open the bulky file. Pictures and newspaper cuttings. As he clicked snapshots on his phone, he recognized some of the faces from police photographs, others from the news.

“Interesting pictures.” Nandini peered over his shoulder.

“We need to talk.”

“Sure.” Nandini sat down.

“I have no words to thank you. I’ve already made a transfer to your account for the hospital bills.” Arnav raised his hand in a pleading gesture at Nandini, who looked like she was about to protest. “Please don’t decline it.”

“All right.”

Arnav turned to glance at the closed door of the guest room. “And you didn’t need to do this. I could have arranged a safe house for her.”

Nandini smiled. “I didn’t do it for you.”

“I’m so sorry. I should have told you earlier.”

“I’m not thrilled. But I don’t blame you, either. You’ve been calling her name in your sleep for years.”