by JC Ryan
Then he wished them Godspeed, told them again to be extremely careful, and left them sitting at the table to plan their first move.
Chapter Seven
REX WAS NO stranger to Mumbai, though on his previous visit, in December of 2008, he’d been focused on terrorists and not money lenders. At the time, he didn’t care who had financed the previous terrorist bombing in 1993 when the city was called Bombay, and the Indian Mafia, as some called it, was involved. For what reason, when that organization was busy corrupting Bollywood, the Indian version of Hollywood with the cutesy name, no one ever knew. Maybe it was simply a money transaction.
In 2008, it had happened again. This time, the terrorists had targeted victims with American or British passports. The price for their return without further harm was for all mujahedeen in India to be released. Following the lead of the US, the Indian government had refused to negotiate, leading to a bloodbath. One-hundred and sixty-four victims had lost their lives in the initial attack and what followed.
In any case, someone above Rex’s pay grade – in the CIA, he assumed — had a lead on some Pakistanis who were involved, via a journalist who’d had some exclusive facts. Rex had questioned him, killed him and then led the mission to hunt the Pakistanis down across the border and mete out justice more expeditiously.
As he drove away from Gyan’s house, burdened with Akshara’s sorrow and his own assessment of where he’d find Rehka, he mentally reviewed what he’d learned when he’d last been in Mumbai, in 2008. Though it turned out that the Indian Mafia wasn’t mentioned in conjunction with that attack, he’d still made a study of the organization. Like the Camorra in Italy, it was more loosely organized than the American version of La Cosa Nostra. And like the American version, there was strife among the various branches.
If he could somehow locate where Dhruv had been incarcerated, he’d start there. He could tell him who to contact in D-Company, the oddly-named cartel originally controlled by Dawood Ibrahim. Some argued that it wasn’t a stereotypical organized crime cartel, but rather a collusion of criminal and Islamic terrorist groups. Rex knew it to be a hotbed of criminals that included specialists in extortion, murder, smuggling, and drug trafficking, in addition to finance of terrorist operations. All covered in the seemingly-legal involvement in film financing. The link was moneylending. Unless he missed his guess, Dhruv was connected to D-Company somehow. And if he wasn’t, he’d still be able to tell Rex what happened to Rehka. Given her extraordinary beauty, it was probably to someone in the film industry.
Rex was troubled by the thought that he’d find Rehka being forced to act in the seedier side of the film business – porn. Rex didn’t mind if he had to mess the guy up, break an arm or two, whatever it took, to get his answer. In fact, he was inclined to do that even if Dhruv cooperated. While he was at it, he intended to get the name of Rehka’s supervisor who’d driven her to borrow money. He’d like to mess that guy up, too.
Rex used his laptop to search for Dhruv’s name, in the hope they’d say where he was jailed. By a lucky happenstance, the guy was incarcerated in New Delhi, which was on a direct route to Mumbai, only about a four-hour drive from Bilaspur. He’d get there around dinner time, and it would be a good place to stop for a quick meal and to let Digger out to relieve himself. While he was on the way, Rex would think of some way to get immediate access to the former moneylender.
“Let’s go, Digger,” Rex said, looking at the clock on the dashboard.
Digger turned at the sound of his name and tilted his head.
“Right,” Rex said, “Of course. What am I waiting for?” He started the engine and drove away with no evident haste. But as soon as he was out of Akshara’s sight, he stepped on the pedal and sped to the highway.
According to his GPS, the trip to Mumbai would take twenty-seven hours. A six-week-old trail wasn’t really an emergency, but it felt that way to Rex. An extra hour might just mean another degradation for that poor girl.
Not if I can prevent it.
In his mind, the speculations about how her masters would use her had first morphed into assumptions and then became truth. The best of the images in his mind were grave, but not as ominous as the ones where, in his mind’s eye, he saw her being injected with drugs to make her compliant and then sent her out to walk the streets as a prostitute. He could only hope they’d see her beauty and conclude she was too valuable for that.
Even so, in some corner of his mind, he knew there was virtually no difference. He’d make it to Mumbai in twenty-four hours, tops, counting the stop in New Delhi.
***
BY THE TIME he reached the first destination, the Tihar prison system in Delhi, he knew he’d been too optimistic. When he pulled up at the prison he still hadn’t been able to formulate a plan to quickly gain access to Dhruv. He was going to wing it.
As prisons went, especially in South Asia, Tihar was not the worst. It could even be called progressive, in that its declared aim was to convert the inmates to model citizens, by equipping them with marketable skills, education, and respect for the law as well as improved self-esteem.
Rex was a bit cynical about the chances of success to achieve those noble goals. Maybe for some, one or two percent, if they’re lucky. For the rest of them? Not a chance.
Naturally, like everywhere else in India, the prisons comprising Tihar’s complex were seriously overcrowded. It took too much of his self-allotted twenty-four hours just to find Dhruv in the nine prison buildings. He was finally located at a venue where he was attending a concert, part of the music therapy designed to rehabilitate the inmates.
Yeah right. Tell me about the kind of music that could turn a low-life like Dhruv into a model citizen.
With no legitimate reason to get an interview outside visiting hours, Rex resorted to the universal currency — bribery. For the princely sum of three-thousand rupees, not quite fifty US dollars, Rex gained an interview.
Dhruv sat in an interview room when Rex entered and was surprised to discover he had no restraints – no shackles or handcuffs – and the room was not locked. This must be a progressive prison after all, or the money shark was not considered an escape risk. Rex wasn’t too worried about that. It would be with great pleasure that he would help the Indian prison authorities to keep this scumbag behind bars if he would make Rex's day and try to escape during the meeting.
When Rex walked in, the moneylender’s face showed surprise, but he quickly composed himself. His expression became neutral, and he waited for Rex to speak first.
“You were expecting someone else,” Rex stated.
“Yes.”
Oh okay, so that’s how it’s going to be. Good let’s do it that way then.
“To whom did you sell Rehka Gyan and when?”
“I can’t remember.” The smallest ghost of a smile twitched Dhruv’s lips.
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Yes.” Dhruv replied, obviously thinking that was a very smart answer.
Rex didn’t respond, he just looked the man in the eyes and suddenly Dhruv's macho demeanor changed. He must have seen in Rex's eyes what so many bad guys had seen in those eyes shortly before exchanging the temporary for the eternal.
Dhruv's face was pallid. He started talking. “I’ll tell you what I do remember. I remember that policemen came to my door, frightened my wife and my elderly mother, and took me away. I remember wondering how my wife would support herself and my mother, as was her duty.”
Rex said nothing. There was nothing to say. He had no sympathy with this guy.
Dhruv spoke again. “My wife got a good job after my former associates framed me and put me here, but it does not pay enough to hire someone to watch my mother, whose mind has become weak as she nears death. My wife is torn between her duty to my mother and keeping her job.”
“Okay, let me see if I understand you correctly. You are worried about your wife and mother. Right?”
Dhruv nodded.
“Good. Seems to me your t
ime in here has already taught you some compassion for humans.
“I’m also a compassionate man. I’ll lend your wife the money every month until your mother dies. At a very modest interest rate of say twenty percent per month. Then, when she can’t pay, I’ll take her indenture and sell her. How’s that?”
Dhruv’s head dropped to his chest in defeat. “I will give you the name, if you promise you won’t interfere with my family.”
“I’m prepared to forget my new business idea,” Rex said, “assuming I can find this man quickly. Give me the name.”
“First, your assurance that you will leave my family out of this.”
“No, you don’t understand the business principal here. It works like this: First I get the name. Then, if my search for him is successful, I’m prepared to leave your family alone. Who knows, if I’m really happy with the information you’re about to give me I might even consider a little monetary gift to your wife.
“Not that you deserve it, but maybe your wife is innocent and needs to be rewarded for putting up with a slimeball like you.”
Dhruv shrugged. “It is nothing to me. I will never leave here to see my mother again, and my wife does not have the money now. She can’t be worse off than she is already.
“The name is Kabir Patel.”
Patel was one of the most common names in India. It would be like trying to find John Smith in the US or UK. He prompted for more details, got the address, and was told that Patel was a member of D-Company.
Rex was a man of his word. If he found the right man, he’d deliver a thousand dollars to Mrs. Dhruv.
“Where will I find your wife?”
Dhruv declined to give his wife’s name or address.
“Okay, no worries. I'll find her if I need to.”
Rex left the room, informed a nearby jailer he was done, and went out to the van.
Digger’s head was all the way out the partially rolled-down window.
“Sorry, boy. I know it’s hot. Let’s go find a place where you can have a run and some cold water.”
The prison was a couple of miles out from the city limits, and there was a nearby park Rex had made note of as he passed it earlier. The visit had taken longer than he’d hoped, and he still had some investigation to do before he found the target, but Digger’s toilet needs were urgent, and they both needed food. Rex needed a bucket of coffee, too, because he planned to drive through the night.
Chapter Eight
REX AND DIGGER were on the road again by six that evening, with the cooler full of snacks and water, and a large to-go cup of coffee for Rex. He’d found a pet shop as well, and finally made good on his promise to let Digger ride in the front seat. Digger didn’t seem to mind the new harness. Rex had to admit it was better to have a companion in the front seat next to him instead of an empty space.
His GPS advised him it was just over fourteen hundred kilometers to Mumbai, and it would take nearly twenty-four hours to get there, at the posted speed limits. He calculated the miles – about eight-hundred and seventy. He figured he could make that in under twenty hours if he could stay awake.
“Digger don’t let me sleep, okay?” He didn’t think the dog could understand that statement. Commands were supposed to be positive, not negative, but he’d taken to speaking to the dog like he would to a human. He was family after all. Most of the time, it was just about speaking aloud, as if he had a human companion. He didn’t expect replies or understanding. Sometimes, though, Digger surprised him with a sound or facial expression or motion just at the right moment which always left Rex with the impression he understood.
Every few minutes at first, the GPS voice, which he’d programmed to be a pleasant female voice with a British accent, would tell him to take this turn or that, or notify him there was a gas station on the left or right in a few kilometers. As he passed Jaipur, however, he could see that he had a long stretch with no directions before ‘she’ would speak again. By then, it was ten p.m., and though he wasn’t sleepy yet, he knew he’d better have another coffee. He pulled into the gas station, let Digger out, and filled the tank. His business inside concluded, he got back into the car with another large take-out coffee and prepared for the long, dark, drive ahead.
He hadn’t factored stops into his travel time, so he tried to make up the time by ignoring the speed limit, but he was at times forced to slow down through long stretches of road construction zones, though there were no workers in the middle of the night. It kept him on his toes, fortunately, since Digger was neglecting his companionship duties for long naps. The dog woke only when they had to make another stop for gas and coffee.
It was just past midafternoon when they drove past the first houses on the northern edge of the sprawling city of Mumbai. It took another hour to wend his way through the tangle of streets to the address Dhruv had given.
He parked and reconnoitered. The building was tall, no doubt housing the commercial interest on the ground floor and an apartment complex above. There didn’t seem to be a back door on the ground floor.
Rex gave his approach some thought as he watched the front of the building. The mobster seemed to be doing brisk business. The sign said it was a tobacconist shop. Cash transactions only, it appeared. The clientele appeared well-heeled. The men and women who went in wore modern clothing rather than the traditional styles favored in the northern villages.
Money laundering.
Rex couldn’t see a way to enter and confront the owner without the risk of causing a public scene. There were too many ‘customers’.
Promptly as six p.m., a last handful of customers came out the door one after the other and the lights went out in the shop.
Rex was relieved.
Digger was getting restless, and they both could use some food, but first he wanted to question the proprietor.
However, no one else came out after someone he couldn’t see on the inside flipped the Open sign to Closed.
***
REX WAS ABOUT to get out of the van when his attention was drawn to a commotion a few doors from the shop he was watching. He looked over and saw a man dressed in jeans, cotton shirt, and black denim jacket, surrounded by what looked like a bunch of rough guys. As he watched, one of them hit the man in the denim jacket with a cricket bat between the shoulders. He went down, and three of the thugs jumped on him, punching, and yelling. Two of them, one short and fat the other tall and skinny, remained on their feet dancing around kicking at their victim.
The man in the denim jacket was hopelessly outnumbered and if the attack continued he would soon be dead. Rex jumped out of the van with Digger on his heels. A desperate scream rang out, and he broke into a run. Digger shot forward like a bullet out of a gun. By the time Rex got to the scene, Digger already had the short fat man by the arm, holding on as he screamed in shock, shaking him, and trying to get away. The tall skinny one was hightailing it down the street, apparently wanting none of the fight if a dog was involved.
Rex yanked up the first guy he could get a hand on from the scrum on the ground. He held him by the front of his shirt and clocked him with a vicious right hook, which lifted him off his feet and smashed the back of his head into the wall behind him, where he slowly slithered to the ground. Minus a few of his teeth.
One down, two to go.
Digger’s screaming fat man finally broke free, turned and followed the skinny man down the road. Digger didn’t give chase. The fight was still on, so he ignored the retreating thug and went for one of those on the ground, a man with a red shirt, grabbed him by the leg and started pulling him away.
Rex reached into the pile for another one, picked him up by his hair, but as he drew back his fist to land an almighty punch, the guy yelled “Police!” Rex saw it was the man with the denim jacket, the victim.
He didn’t have time to ask for a badge. The last man on the ground was rising in his direction with a huge knife in his right hand. Rex let go of the guy’s hair and kicked the guy with the knife in the
nuts. His contribution to India’s birth control efforts. As the man doubled over, Rex stepped up and hit him with the right knee in the face. Game over for this hooligan.
Rex looked around to see if there were more and saw the man who yelled that he was a policeman chasing after the fat man waddling down the street. He was about thirty yards away. Rex pointed at the fleeing man and said to Digger, “Get him!”
Digger let go of the man with the red shirt and headed down the street. Rex took a step towards the man in the red shirt who was now on all fours trying to get to his feet and kicked him in the face, breaking his jaw and laying him out flat on his back on the pavement.
The fight was over.
Rex looked down the road and saw Digger had passed the policeman and caught up with fat man, jumped from about two yards away and caught the poor sod by the same arm he had him with before. The guy went down face first onto the pavement and Digger jumped onto his back and grabbed him by the neck.
The policeman caught up with the two of them but stopped a few yards away, too scared to get near the growling dog and its prey.
Rex was sure his three guys would not move soon, so he followed Digger and the ‘policeman’.
“Digger! Leave it!” he shouted.
Digger let go and stood back, allowing the policeman to get his hands on fat man. The policeman grabbed fat man by his healthy arm and hoisted him to his feet and shoved him back toward Rex. Fat man was moaning and groaning, sporting a lacerated arm and very little skin on the right side of his face.
“Thanks for the help. Good dog you have there. Is she licensed? You can’t have an attack dog here, even though I’m grateful to her and you.” The policeman said between heavy breaths.
“She’s a he,” Rex corrected.
“Huh?”
“The dog is male not female.”
