The Blue Bar (Blue Mumbai #1)(86)

Things hadn’t all gone as planned. That pandu was still around, but not for much longer. Uhnna suspected that his plans had leaked—he was taking a detour via Andheri. If the pandu didn’t fall for it, he would follow the little girl and her mother right into the trap here—pay for all the trouble he’d caused.

With Uhnna’s men guarding the farmhouse and the fireworks arranged for tomorrow, his soul was ready for its cleansing. It had better be worth it because it had taken all his savings. Gone. To Uhnna. He didn’t mind—everything had a price, and he was willing to pay. This far, Uhnna had proven himself as good as his word, unlike that other don, Bilal’s man. He scoffed to himself, setting his cap at a jaunty angle. Happy Diwali to you and your family, he crooned.

Bhoot Chaturdashi was here. Time to welcome the Item Number.

His phone tinkled, a merry, merry sound he’d set as his ringtone today on his special phone, and he called out a cheery hello. The man at the other end would never know him, but would obey.

“The kid is being brought in. Where do you want her?”

“Below the theater room. Make sure she can’t move or speak.”

“She won’t last long.”

A twinge: he had no quarrel with the child. Maybe he did? She would grow up into a woman, wouldn’t she? Best she disappeared, along with her mother.

Her mother.

He would take his time with that one, after the Item Number was gone. She didn’t know how much she resembled the Item Number. Could have been her body double. Well, she was, at that. Not even a shadow of the Item Number could be allowed to remain in this world, especially not one who thought she was smart enough to catch him.

Tomorrow. She would be the last one, the one to bring him freedom, on Diwali night proper, the festival ending in flames and those sparklers Uhnna had sent him.





CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT


ARNAV

Arnav punched his seat, forgetting himself in his frustration. Pain coursed through his shoulder, but he didn’t care.

“Can we call the bomb squad?” He spoke into his Bluetooth.

What if Pia was in there and Zoya was wrong? If she was right, though, he would be risking lives. Arnav made rapid decisions at work, but he’d never been in operations involving family.

“Not without alerting certain people.” Naik meant Joshi.

“What now?” Tara tugged her hand from Arnav’s grip. “If she isn’t here . . .”

Arnav waited for Tukaram to return to the driver’s seat. The abductors had prepared the warehouse; they were watching it. Now they knew Tara wasn’t alone.

Tukaram returned to the car. Tara’s ringtone sang, the sound Arnav dreaded and anticipated. Tara switched the call to speaker, and Arnav pinged Naik to locate the caller.

“Come to Borivali Station. Ten p.m.”

“Where’s Pia?”

“Don’t be late.”

“What exit? Where?”

“The Indraprastha Shopping Center Gate. Come alone or you won’t see her.” The line beeped.

Naik wasn’t able to trace their location. They had chosen the sprawling Borivali Station again, with its multiple exits. That meeting point would be jam-packed with commuters and last-minute Diwali shoppers.

“We don’t have time,” Tara said. “You’ve given me the watch. You can follow me.”

The watch contained a GPS tracker, but it was no guarantee for Tara’s safety.

“She’s right.” Tukaram started the car. “If we don’t leave now, we won’t make it to Borivali Station by ten p.m.”

“OK.” Arnav made up his mind, dialing Ali.

“Ji, saab.”

“Where’s your friend now?”

“Outside main Mumbai. Got cut off before he could say where. They have the girl.”

“We need to know where she is. Now.”

“Give me a few minutes, saab. I’ll call you. I’ll forward his live location if he manages to send it.”

Arnav checked his watch. It showed 9:43 p.m. Seventeen minutes to Tara’s appointment with the abductors.

“You have ten.”

Tukaram revved the car. His face grim, gray mustache drooping over pursed lips, Arnav’s old friend steered the vehicle through impossibly small gaps. Arnav tried to calm Tara, who alternately whispered, closed her eyes, and urged them to go faster—couldn’t they see it was already late? She could not, would not be late.

Arnav had forever been enchanted by Tara’s eyes, large, long-lashed, hiding nothing. When he’d first seen her so many years ago, she was on a raised stage—the most graceful of the bunch of women in gaudy clothes under flashing strobe lights. He’d been drawn to her gaze, which was so far removed from the lewd gestures her hips and breasts made. Eyes that had seen suffering, that called for help, but knew none would come.

He glanced into those eyes now as often as he could in the half-light of the car racing through the by-lanes of Borivali, weaving around stray firecrackers and children playing with lit sparklers.

Stuck behind an open truck filled with Diwali revelers and a tangle of bicycles at a crossing that would lead them to the main road, Tukaram stepped out to clear the way.

“If anything goes wrong,” Tara whispered, “promise me you’ll take care of Pia.”