“Here, you can speak to her.”
1 See “A Million Reasons” - John Hayes #2
25
The phone rang, and John switched it to video, then passed it over to Amira. She took it excitedly and waited for the picture to appear.
“Papa,” she exclaimed as happy tears flowed down her cheeks.
John looked over at Adriana and smiled. They were doing the right thing.
John let Amira talk for a couple of minutes in rapid-fire Bengali which he couldn’t follow. Some words he recognized as being similar to Hindi, but she spoke too fast for him to make any sense. Once he felt she had brought her parents up to date with her news, he interrupted her.
“Amira, please explain to your parents our plans, and that you will be able to return home safely. It’s important they follow our instructions closely.”
“Yes, Sir, of course.” Amira turned her attention back to the phone and spoke in Bengali. When she finished, she turned back to John. “What else should I say?”
“Ask them to give the phone to Thapa.”
Thapa came on the screen, and John took the phone back from Amira.
“Thanks, mate. You made it.”
Thapa grinned. “Anything for a friend, John.”
“Thapa, I really appreciate it. Are you all set for the next part of the plan?”
“Yes. I have made all the arrangements.”
“Great. Let me know as soon as they are safe.”
“Will do.”
“Oh, and Thapa…”
“Yes?”
“Keep a note of expenses and send me the bill.”
Thapa grinned, his face lighting up with his smile.
“Don’t worry John. I trust you. Speak soon.”
“Thanks, Thapa.”
John ended the call and looked up at Amira and Adriana, who were watching him expectantly, Amira still wiping the tears from her cheeks.
“Good. We are all set for Phase two.”
26
Parveen, Nazir, and Zaara were hesitant at first, but after Thapa explained what could happen to them, they agreed, albeit reluctantly. Thapa understood. It would be difficult to leave their home, however humble, and vanish in the middle of the night, leaving their friends and community behind, but the alternative was much worse.
So, at three a.m., Thapa was back at their hut. The slum was quiet, and he had chosen the time for that reason. He was sure his earlier visit would already have been noticed and discussed. The slums were a tight-knit community, everyone knew what everyone else was doing. It was imperative they leave when the slum was the quietest, when no-one would notice and word wouldn’t make its way back to Karim Chacha.
Amira’s family was ready when he arrived, nervously squatting inside the hut, a small bundle of possessions beside each one. Parveen looked like she had been crying, and Zaara clung to her arm.
“All ready?”
Nazir nodded.
“Okay, let’s go.”
Thapa stood and stepped out through the doorway. He looked both ways, up and down the alleyway, and apart from a rat scurrying along the gutter, there was no sign of movement. He waved Nazir, Parveen, and Zaara out, and they headed off toward the main road. As they reached the first turn, Parveen looked back toward the hut, and a silent tear ran down her face.
Thapa had woken a rickshaw wallah two blocks from the hotel and paid him a large sum of money in advance, with the promise of more, to bring him to the slum and wait for him. He hoped he was still there.
They made their way along the alleyways, turning left and right until they reached the main road. Thapa breathed a sigh of relief—the rickshaw was still there although the driver had fallen back asleep. Thapa shook him awake, and the three of them climbed into the back while Thapa squeezed onto the single front seat with the driver. Thapa guided the rickshaw to an area near the hotel, then told him to stop.
He didn’t know how far the reach of Karim Abdul spread, but he wasn’t prepared to take any chances. They climbed out, and he paid the driver, who, happy with his lucrative night's work, sped off, no doubt in search of the nearest illegal liquor supplier where he could escape the drudgery of his life by drinking himself into oblivion.
Thapa waited until the rickshaw had turned the corner before turning to Nazir and his family.
“Come. Follow me.”
He led them two blocks to the hotel and up the steps to the entrance. The door was closed, and the night-watchman was lying on the floor inside, across the entranceway, fast asleep. Thapa kicked the door with his foot.
“Utho, wake up.”
The watchman stirred and rubbed his face. He sat up and stared blankly at Thapa for a moment before he recognized him, then stood, slid his bedding out of the way, opening the door just wide enough for them to enter.
“Dhanyawad, thank you,” said Thapa as he led Amira’s family inside.
The watchman looked at them quizzically, but too tired to protest, closed the door, spread his bedding out again, and went straight back to sleep.
Parveen, Nazir, and Zaara huddled together, looking nervously around the hotel lobby. Thapa smiled and patted Nazir on the arm.
“It’s okay. Come with me, I have a room for you.”
They rode the lift to the third floor and got out. Thapa walked along the corridor, stopped outside a room, and unlocked it. Stepping inside, he held the door open for them.
The three of them walked slowly inside and looked around, their mouths hanging open. It was a modest room but twice the size of their hut in the slum and had a separate bathroom and a tv, luxuries they had never experienced in their lives.
“This is your room.” He waved at a door to the side. “I am in the next room. If you need anything, just knock.”
“But, Sir, we cannot afford this.”
“It’s okay. Everything is taken care of,” Thapa smiled. “Don’t worry. John Sir is a very kind man. He will look after everything. The important thing is you are safe, and Amira can come back home.”
“Thank you, thank you.” Nazir clasped Thapa’s hands in his.
“It’s okay. Now, get some rest, and I’ll see you later in the morning.”
27
Hassan rubbed his temples. His head was throbbing, his mouth dry, his throat scratchy and sore. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Pausing, he shook his head clear, then stood up. Last night had been fun, but he was suffering this morning. He glanced over at the digital clock on the bedside table… this afternoon.
He couldn’t remember what time he got in, but he had slept most of the day away, so it must have been late. Thank God for blackout curtains. He shuffled to the bathroom, flipped up the toilet seat, and took a long pee while he stared at himself in the mirror. His eyes were ringed with dark circles, the whites of his eyes bloodshot.
Walking back out into the bedroom he bellowed, “Amira!”
There was no response. He opened his bedroom door and poked his head out.
“Amira! Chai!”
Silence. Where was the little bitch? He screwed up his face in irritation and crossed the living room and dining room, pushing open the door to the kitchen.
“Amira!”
She was nowhere to be seen. Stupid maagi. She must have gone to the market. He had got up later than usual, but she was supposed to wait until he got up before going out. How many times had he told her? He would sort her out when he got back. She needed a good slapping to put her in her place, but right now, he needed caffeine.
He opened the cupboard doors looking for chai patti, tea leaves, but he didn’t know where anything was kept. That’s what she was for. His irritation grew into anger the more he searched until finally, in one of the cupboards, he found what he was looking for. He banged the tin of tea leaves on the countertop, then with difficulty, bent down to look for a pot in one of the lower cupboards. As he did, he noticed the open waste bin in the corner of the kitchen, empty but for a piece of paper. It was the sketch on
the paper that had caught his attention.
He reached into the bin and removed the paper, flattening out the creases on the countertop. He looked closer at what appeared to be a hand-drawn map. Frowning, he turned it around until the words written beside the map were the right-side-up. He read… Road No. 8… Adeal Road. His frown grew. With his finger, he traced down to the next line of words. Korail Basti.
“Behin chod!” he exclaimed. What the fuck was the little bitch doing drawing maps of her home in Dhaka? He slammed the side of his fist down on the kitchen countertop. What was she up to? He picked up the tin of tea leaves and threw it across the kitchen. It hit the opposite wall, the lid coming off, spilling the leaves in a brown shower all over the floor. Where was the little bitch? He would find out what she was planning, then teach her a lesson she wouldn’t forget.
28
It was ten o’clock the next morning when John’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen, the 880 dialing code showing it was from Bangladesh.
“Thapa.”
“Good morning John.”
“All okay?”
“Yes, they are safe. Scared, but safe.”
“Good. Thank you, Thapa. I’ll be in touch soon.”
John disconnected and looked out the window. Everything was going to plan. Let’s hope it continued that way. He dialed Adriana.
“Hi, John, good morning.” Just hearing her voice sent shivers down his spine.
“Good morning. They are safe.”
“Oh, thank God. Thank you, John. Now we can get her out of there. When should we do it?”
John looked out over the city, mentally weighing up the options.
“Well, there’s no point in hanging around. Let’s do it tonight when Hassan goes to the restaurant.”
“Okay. I’ll send Amira a message. Eight o’clock?”
“Yes, that sounds good. See you tonight.”
“Yes, and thank you again, John. I’m lucky to have met a man like you.”
John blushed and couldn’t think of an appropriate reply.
“It’s nothing. See you tonight.”
As he stood staring out across the city, he wondered. Would he be helping the girl if he hadn’t met Adriana? Was he only trying to appear a good guy in her eyes? He wasn’t good. He had done a lot of bad things... John clenched his fists…. No. There was no way he could stand by and let a young girl be trapped in slavery when he had the ability and the means to do something about it. Adriana was just the bonus. He was doing the right thing. He turned away from the window. Time for some coffee, he had a long day ahead of him.
The day passed slowly. John spent the time reading and thinking. Getting Amira out of Hassan’s clutches was just the beginning. He somehow had to get her back to Bangladesh without travel documents and without alerting the police. He was sure there was a way. However, in the long run, Amira’s situation wouldn’t have changed. Her family would still be poor, the whole reason she had left home in the first place. There had to be a longer-term solution, but by the time his phone rang again at four p.m., John still hadn’t thought of anything.
He saw Adriana’s name on the screen, and he smiled.
“Hi.”
“John, Amira’s in trouble, what do we do? Hassan has beaten her and locked her in her room.”
“Wait, wait, slow down. What happened?”
“Amira called me. She was sobbing. Apparently, Hassan found the map of the slum she had drawn for you. He wanted to know what it was for, and she told him she was homesick, so she drew a picture of her home. He didn’t believe her. He beat her up, threw her in her room, and locked the door. She can’t get out.”
“Shit. Okay, where are you now?”
“I’m at home. John, what do we do? We have to rescue her. She sounded terrified.”
“We’ll sort it out. Text me your address, I’m coming over.”
John disconnected the call and gritted his teeth. He could feel the anger growing inside him. He hated bullies, and more than anything, he hated men who preyed on women. It brought back memories of what had happened to Charlotte, and it made his blood boil1. He could feel the bile rising in his throat, and his hands trembled with adrenaline. Hassan was twice the size of Amira. She was a scared young girl in the country illegally, just trying to support her parents. He would not let the bastard get away with this, no matter how rich or connected he was.
1 See “Vengeance” - John Hayes #1
29
John checked his phone as he stepped out onto the street and looked for Adriana’s text. He read the address, thought about the quickest way, then waved down a passing motor-cy.
“Soi ha sip ha, Soi fifty-five.”
The motor-cy rubjang nodded, and handed him a helmet as John climbed on the back. The motorcycle sped off before he fastened the helmet strap, weaving between the traffic. John gripped his legs tight to the motorbike and reminded himself the handlebars were wider than his knees as they passed just inches from the queued traffic on the left and the oncoming traffic on the right.
They reached the junction with Sukhumvit Road, just as the light turned green, and joined the busy thoroughfare. The traffic was snarled up as usual, but the motorbike maneuvered between the lanes of stalled cars and buses, heading toward the Thonglor district. John pulled out his phone and entered Adriana’s building address into the map function. The building was located in one of the minor Sois. Once they reached Soi Fifty-Five, he guided the rubjang with hand signals until they pulled up outside her building. He paid him, handed back the helmet, then jogged into the lobby, his heart still racing from the breakneck ride across town. Adriana buzzed him in, and he rode the lift to the twenty-fifth floor where Adriana was already waiting with the door open.
“John, what do we do?”
“It’s okay,” he said, hugging her. “We'll work something out.” He let go of her, holding her at arm’s length and looked into her eyes. “Don’t worry. Trust me. There is always a solution.”
She nodded, her face set in a worried frown.
“Come in.” She took him by the arm and guided him inside, closing the door behind her.
John looked around the apartment as she walked past him. It was a one-bedroom apartment, small but elegantly furnished, no clutter. The white walls, light-colored furnishings, and full-height windows made it seem larger than it was.
Adriana waved to the sofa. “Make yourself at home.” She walked over to the open kitchen, poured a glass of water, and brought it over, setting it down on the coffee table in front of John before joining him on the sofa.
“Okay.” John sat forward and looked at her. “So, tell me what happened.”
Adriana sighed and wrung her hands together.
“Amira called me. She was crying. She said Hassan had found the map and asked her what it was. She told him she was homesick and wanted to remember her home, but he didn’t believe her.” Adriana paused, swallowing. “He punched her in the face, John. Then he locked her in the room. She can’t get out.”
“Bastard,” John muttered. He checked his watch. “Okay, Hassan should be at his restaurant by now. Let’s call her up.”
Adriana nodded and reached for her phone.
“Make it a video call. It will help if we see her and may give her some comfort to see us.”
Adriana dialed and waited while the call connected. Amira’s face came on the screen, and Adriana slid along the sofa beside John so they both could see her. She was still crying, the left side of her face around the eye and the cheekbone mottled in shades of blue and black, and a line of dried blood ran down from the corner of her mouth.
“Amira, it’s John.”
She sniffed and wiped her cheeks with her spare hand.
“Amira, we’ll get you out of there, okay?”
She nodded and started sobbing again.
“Amira, listen to me. Is Hassan there now?”
“I don’t think so. I think I heard him leave. He usually goes to work at this time.”
“Okay, what time does he come back?”
“Very late, Sir. Usually after midnight, one or two in the morning.”
“Okay, good. I’ll figure something out. Don’t worry.”
Amira nodded and sniffed again.
“Amira, is there anyone else in the house with you?”
“No, only me.”
“Where is your room?”
“It’s off the kitchen.”
“The maid’s room?”
“Yes.”
John frowned, puzzled. He looked at Adriana.
“Those doors usually just have a privacy lock, like a toilet door.” He looked back at the screen. “Why can’t you unlock it from the inside?”
“He has bolted it from the outside, Sir. My door has extra bolts on it.”
“Damn.” John exhaled loudly. “Okay, Amira, I’ll call you back in a while. But don’t worry, we’ll help you.”
Amira started crying again.
“Please, Sir. I’m scared. He hit me and kicked me so many times. Please help me.”
John gritted his teeth. “Amira, look at me.” He waited until her sobs subsided. “Amira, I promise, I’ll get you out. But you have to trust me, okay?”
She nodded.
“Okay. I’ll call you back soon. Don’t be scared. You’ll be out of there before he comes home.”
“Thank you, Sir, Ma’am.”
Adriana disconnected the call and looked at John.
“How could you promise that, John? How will you get her out?”
John sat back in the chair, stared up at the ceiling and exhaled slowly through pursed lips.
“I don’t know, but I had to tell her something.” He jumped up and started pacing around the living room while Adriana watched him from the sofa.
A New Beginning Page 7
