The Blue Bar (Blue Mumbai #1)(78)

To add to the mess, Rasool might now be tracking Pia, thanks to Zoya. If Vijayan was the one behind Pia’s kidnapping, with or without Shetty’s involvement, the whole situation didn’t bear thinking about. Little Pia would be at the center of a tug-of-war between Rasool and Vijayan. She was now missing for more than twenty-four hours, and her father, a policeman, couldn’t file a complaint or use the formidable resources of Mumbai Police to locate her. Would Arnav fail her just as his father, Constable Rajput, had failed Asha?

His stance went wrong, landing his foot on the ground too hard, jarring his shoulder. He sank down with a grunt and breathed through the cramping agony. Slumping on the floor, he reached out to check his phone. No message from either Ali or Naik.

Arnav entered the kitchen to find Tara clearing up after a late lunch, wiping a plate as if her life depended on it. He eased the dishrag from her hand.

“Why can’t you ask your team to step down?” Tara’s lips trembled, her hair wild. “Get them to search for Pia, instead.”

“They’re keeping a low profile, and I’ve given every appearance of backing off. Tukaram will be here soon—we are working on getting Pia back.”

If Arnav made the search official, that would only increase her peril. Tara wanted him to be a father, but Pia needed him to analyze and weigh risks like a police officer.

Tell her how you feel. About her, about Pia. He could do that to set Tara at ease, without compromising Pia’s safety.

“I was trying,” he began, “to recall what my last words to Shinde were.”

She touched his jaw, her gaze turning soft. “You were with him when he died.”

“Yes. All day, I’d been pissed at him. Raving mad. About everything he’d done. And he was gone. One moment to another. I didn’t get to speak with him before . . . so I’m telling you, in case I don’t come back when—”

“Shut up.” Tara’s words were flat, but her eyes blazed. She cupped his face in her hands. She wasn’t as uncaring as she liked him to believe.

“I’ve spent so many years being upset with you for leaving out of the blue but, truth is, it was my fault. I failed to remember you were a girl yourself. I’m so sorry. I can’t say this without sounding like some dumb Bollywood movie, but I couldn’t see beyond you then, Tara. Still can’t. I wanted you to know.”

Her eyes were red and swollen. Similar to his in the mirror a while ago. He watched the fire of emotions in Tara’s eyes, but before she could reply, his phone rang, flashing an unknown number. Maybe Ali had traced Pia.

“Good evening, sir.”

It was Naik, not Ali. Arnav returned the greeting and waited.

“We have new information on the shoot-out, sir. Upon further questioning, one of the history-sheeters has given us a name.”

“Shetty?”

“No, sir. They had heard the name Rahul Taneja.”





CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT


Blood washes away all thought: watching blood flow, first with a gush and then a trickle and a drip. It needs to leave the body, wash out all its sins, the memories it has carried in arteries and veins. The body remembers all assaults, big and small, and blood keeps it moving, from joint to joint, organ to organ. Before they go, they must be cleansed so their filth doesn’t touch anyone.

Last night I dreamed of bathing in a bathtub of blood, and it was warm and thick. Nourishing. Not unpleasant. The good thing about blood is that everyone’s is the same, mine and theirs. Smell and taste and look—all the same. Each cut I make, blood wells up on my skin, and theirs. No difference.

I’m told I need help, but I don’t. I’ve helped myself. I’m sovereign. No one can hold my arm and twist it, no one can pull my head down against my will, to lick and suck and fuck what I don’t want to. I’m not a boy anymore. I don’t have to shower anyone with rose petals. If she insists on a shower of petals, she’ll get one. Dried petals, rough and crawling, like insects.

The roses in my garden would put a flower contest to shame. They bloom on a diet of blood and faces and hair. They make the ugly, beautiful. When I walk amid them, I step on all that is rancid and dark, but my soul is filled with colors and a muted fragrance.





CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE


ARNAV

Arnav’s world had turned into a cacophony of squealing phones. He anticipated and dreaded each in equal measure.

Ali had called back. Someone had recruited one of his Mumbai contacts to pick up a girl being driven down from Lucknow. He didn’t know the child’s age, but she was a young girl. This gave Arnav hope. Pia’s abductors would use a car, and hire a new crew when entering Mumbai.

He stared once more at the board taped up with pictures and scribbled all over with names and arrows, and began jotting down his conclusions in his notebook.

Rasool

Owned the black van used to dump Neha Chaubey’s body—his man identified as suspect of dumping body—suspect’s DNA in van.

May have taken a contract for body disposal, as per Ali.

Kittu Virani

Taneja’s fiancée—phone number in the contact list of Rasool’s men.

Knows Vijayan, as per Shinde’s pictures.

Her son Rehaan Virani (sunglasses sent for DNA) or

Taneja, her fiancé, might be suspects—she could be helping them hide their crimes.