Chapter 25
I dropped to the ground next to Asha’s car.
Brig and Jake were close to the fountain now. I wanted to try to whistle to get their attention, but that particular sound technique has never been listed in my arsenal of talents.
To hell with it. I stood and started walking toward a cluster of vendor stands at the edge of Flora Fountain’s park. Kirk, Ray, and I all reached the fruit-seller’s cart at the same time from different directions. Kirk and Ray stared at me. Then at each other.
After a good thirty seconds of silence, I couldn’t stand the tense quiet.
I coughed politely, then said, “So. What’s the plan, guys? You both came out for an early morning stroll to check historic sights? Just like me? Nice here, don’t you think? Quiet, peaceful. The way fountains and parks should be.”
Mahindra smiled. “I am sorry, Miss Walsh. I had not imagined I would run into either you or this man tonight. I do not know what your plans are. And frankly I do not care what Decore has in mind. I intend to cross to the base of the fountain where Mr. O’Brien is now standing with a bag I presume holds my statue. I shall retrieve it, then leave.”
“Right. Ray?”
“About the same, except that bag is going to end up in my hands, not his.”
“Can we talk about this for just a second?”
Ray sighed. “What’s there to talk about? I want the Saraswati statue. Brig O’Brien has it. I don’t really give a damn if a few bodies get tossed through that archway over there next to the plaster clown with the torch. Especially Brig’s body. I owe him for the black eye.”
Mahindra grabbed my arm and faced me back toward the street. “Miss Walsh, in less than two minutes, there will be guns firing and knives being thrown and fists flying. I say this to give you the chance to turn and run before any blood is shed this night. Most particularly yours. You are a pretty girl. I would not like for you to be a dead girl. I cannot say the same about your male companions. Either of them. I despise Briggan O’Brien. And quite honestly, I do not care for Jake Roshan’s films. Too violent.”
“Oh.”
Ray pulled a large gun out of a brown bag. “I’m not as accommodating as Mr. Mahindra. Enough chatter. Now, shut up, both of you.”
He grabbed me, then held me in front of him. He pushed me closer to the fountain. I could see Brig and Jake standing in an empty archway. But as yet, there was no sign of Asha or Patel.
I had to let Brig know we were here before one or the other of my escorts shot him.
“Three dog night!
He got it. Not that he could do a heck of a lot about it. Brig nudged Jake and both men turned. All five of us stared at each other.
From up above, standing by the statue of Miss Flora herself, stood Asha. She was yelling, “Martyrs!” I thought she might be telling me it was time to die for the cause, but then I remembered the statues of the patriots on either side of Flora Fountain. They gaze upon tourists in an area known as the Martyrs Memorial.
Patel stood beside one of those martyrs shouting at Brig, “Drop it! You must drop statue now and be leaving or girl dies! You hear? She dies, I swear. She dies!”
The next thing I knew, a volley of knives came flying into the park from every direction. They were followed by the sound of gunfire, also from all sides.
Patel’s raspy commands had created a diversion, albeit unintentionally. Mahindra dodged several knife attacks from the area of the High Court as he struggled to get his gun out of his breast pocket. Since Ray already had his pistol in front of him, he simply started shooting in all directions. Then he screamed. One of the knives had made its way into his thigh. Or maybe it had been a bullet.
I didn’t stop to ask which one or to offer assistance. I dropped to the ground and did a low somersault that landed me by Brig’s feet.
I looked up. Brig looked down. Jake looked at us both, then pointed to Asha who was hanging on to Miss Flora herself looking out over Bombay.
Asha leaned over the edge of a railing and waved her bound hands. She kept yelling, “Cherry picker!”
It had never occurred to me back when I played Sweet Charity that the experience could ultimately save my, or someone else’s, life. Besides having a great time performing that summer, I’d learned the names given to the hydraulic lift the tech crew used to hang lights or place railings at the top of our set. “Cherry picker” is another term for that particular piece of construction machinery.
I turned and saw the vehicle behind the fountain. Patel must have stolen this particular lift from a hapless worshipper at the Ganesh festival, since cherry pickers with cranes and grappling hooks hoist the elephant statues in preparation for dunking. I headed directly for it.
Either the goddess was on our side or the various felons shooting and tossing knives were afraid to get too close to Saraswati in the tote bag, because all the weaponry was currently aimed at villains and not at me.
Patel was throwing knives at Mahindra. Mahindra was shooting at Patel. Ray was shooting at a collection of thugs surrounding the perimeter.
I glanced over at Brig and Jake who had taken shelter from the battle behind a vending cart. Brig shouted “Churchgate” and I nodded. I assumed this meant it was everyone for his or herself, and we’d meet up at the Churchgate train station if we lived.
No one was manning the cherry picker. I hopped aboard and nearly jumped right back off when I looked around the cab and saw the array of gearshifts and pedals. This wasn’t like the smaller vehicles I’d watched the techies drive around the theater with the ease of small golf carts.
I turned the key Patel had stupidly left in the ignition, then started pulling levers and sticks and mashing pedals. Within seconds I’d destroyed two fruit stands and an herb cart. I finally figured out which lever aimed the lift in the direction I needed it to go, which one took me in reverse, and which pedal sent me careening into another cart. This vendor advertised cell phones and computer gadgets. I hoped the dealer had taken his unsold wares home for the night.
Asha spotted me (how could she not?) and began waving her arms trying to guide me toward her position next to the top statue.
I glanced down at the activity continuing around the fountain. Goons of all sizes were sliding and slithering in the stagnant water that surrounded the bottom tier, intent on keeping their footing while trying to kill each other. They hadn’t noticed the cherry picker lurching its way toward the actress emoting above them. They didn’t even see Asha grab the grappling hook at the end of the crane lift, then sway twenty feet in the air while her buddy, the unlicensed driver, struggled to hold the machinery in place for this rescue.
I sideswiped three more stands but finally managed to drive that piece of machinery away from the fountain. In reverse. Asha continued to cling to the hook. The thought struck me that it was a shame Jake was trying to escape the battleground with Brig. If he’d had his camera, this would make a great scene for Carnival of Lust.
I couldn’t figure out how to bring the cherry picker to a halt, so I crashed into a garage near the offices of American Express. There was no damage done except for a few paint chips flying. The American Express folks would assume some drunken festivalgoer had been out joyriding in a construction vehicle. I stayed in the cab and fiddled with a few more pedals and levers until I was able to lower the crane to the ground without flinging Asha into the street.
Once down, we stood and grinned at each other.
“Nice drivin’ there, Manhattan girl.”
“Thanks. My first attempt. I may even have to get a license if we’re ever back in the States. So, how you doin’?”
“Not bad. You?”
Enough. We hugged each other, then ran toward Asha’s car before either of us actually burst into tears. Jake and Brig met us about a block from the convertible.
“Is the war still raging?” I asked Brig.
“Oh yeah. It’s almost scary. I haven’t seen any casualties. Either they’re all incredibly inept or th
ey just want to wound each other to keep the cops from snooping because they found dead bodies in the fountain.”
Asha and Jake ignored this exchange. They were too busy reuniting. After three minutes watching the lovers display very public affection, Brig leaned over and tapped Jake on the shoulder.
“Time to go, crew. Kisses later. You and Asha take the car. Tempe and I will hop the train.”
Jake didn’t even hear him. He hadn’t stopped staring at his beloved. Asha nodded, then waved at Brig and me with an air of casual disinterest.
I tugged at Brig. “Come on. If we’re going, we’d better go fast.”
With another wave of hands and Brig’s cry of “Back at Jake’s!” we took off, headed for Churchgate Rail Station.
Since it was now almost four in the morning, we found a seat without difficulty.
For the next twenty minutes we stayed silent. For good reason.
I couldn’t stand it any longer. I squeezed Brig’s hand and looked into those blue eyes. Eyes that mirrored my own expression of stupefaction and anger.
“Brig? She’s still there, isn’t she? Shiva’s Diva. Somewhere at the Flora Fountain?”
He nodded. “She got dropped when the shooting started. Probably somewhere behind a cart or in the fountain. Damn, damn, and damn. And the worst part is that we have no idea who ended up with her.”
Chapter 26
We were back where we’d started the night, sitting in Jake’s kitchen, drinking coffee and snacking on leftovers. Well, I was snacking. No one else seemed hungry. This time though, Asha sat with us.
“One diva for another,” I’d kidded her as I pulled pastries from the fridge.
We should have been happy. But all four faces reflected nothing but doom and gloom.
“Crap. They’ve got it. Shiva’s Diva. Damn.”
This refrain had been repeated for the last hour with different forms of cussing issuing forth from each one of us. Asha got credit for the most colorful verse. I imagined Asha had learned most of her highly obscene vocabulary from friendly wiseguys back in the infamous Tony’s bar somewhere in the bowels of Jersey City.
I glanced over at Brig. He picked up the feather duster he’d used earlier this night to clean the statue with such loving care. He began waving it through the air like a wand. Maybe he thought the vibes from the duster would send out a signal to Shiva’s Diva and send her back to us.
“We don’t even know which of those cretins has it,” he moaned for the tenth time.
I stood. I had pigged out on coffee and pastries and fruit and potatoes. But the adrenaline rush that had seen me through a night of facing the “three dogs” all at the same time had vanished. I felt tired, sleepy, and cranky.
“You know what, gang? I hate to be the one to break up the pity party, but may I remind you that Asha is here? Alive and kicking and talking? The whole point of tonight’s little gathering was to give Patel Shiva’s Diva. Right? Exactly so that the end result would be Asha back here alive, kicking and talking. It’s done. Let the three miscreants fight over it now. Become mutes or mutants or mutilated. We can’t worry about it anymore.”
Two sets of eyes gaped at me as if they were staring at a Tempe with as many heads as Ganesh. The third set, Jake’s, reflected some empathy for my feelings. But he knew the other two too well. Especially his darling bride-to-be, who now glowered at me. One of her daring rescuers.
“Tempe, I want it. Got that? I do not want the prize going to that slime bucket who grabbed me today.”
Brig nodded in full agreement with Asha. “Tempe, don’t you see? If we’d given the statue to Patel as planned and he’d shoved Asha into our laps, so to speak, well, that would be one thing. We expected it. But this just seems like we were cheated. And the Diva needs a better home than with Mister Seymour Patel, creep personified.”
“But—”
I got no further. The kidnappee herself sprang to her feet, then began waving a fork with the remains of potato curry on the tip.
She growled, “Ms. Walsh! Do the words ‘matter of honor’ mean anything to you? Or, hell, screw honor. How about just sheer revenge? Those guys chased us all over the city. I got trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey and dumped into the back of a very smelly van. I was blindfolded and tied up all day, then stuck at the top of a dirty fountain next to a dirtier statue, and let me tell you, I didn’t like it one flippin’ bit!”
Jake and Brig applauded.
She growled, “I’m not finished. I don’t know who’s got the statue, but I’d rather be tossed into the East River to float toward one of the nastier landfills near Staten Island than let them get away with doing this to me. And you know what else? I think any one of us has as much right to that statue as anybody. We’re all creative. Saraswati is not going to be happy on the mantle of any of the three who might have snatched her.”
Brig quickly chimed in, “I agree!”
Not surprising. He’d been a gentleman and a brave hero when he needed to give up Shiva’s Diva to save Asha’s life. Now that Miss Kumar was bouncing and full of fury, he wanted that statue back under his watchful eye.
Jake walked over to me and hugged me. “It’s quite useless, Tempe. Both of them are mad. And I use the term with both meanings—anger and insanity. There’s nothing we can say.” He chuckled. “I also must admit, they’re right. I do not want Patel, Mahindra, or Decore claiming Shiva’s Diva. Or victory. And I’m damn incensed that Patel had the nerve to treat Asha that way.”
He had joined the crazies. Three sets of eyes now stared at me. Jake had pegged it. Useless. Mad. Insane.
I sighed. “Fine. Fine. We shall hunt down all of the felons like the dogs they are and bring the goddess back to somewhere she’d prefer living. How’s that? But can we get some sleep first?”
A sane person might be wondering right now why none of our recent attackers or kidnappers had come storming up the gates, or driveway, to continue the battle started at Flora Fountain. We were at Jake Roshan’s residence; a house listed in various directories. Asha’s flamboyant vehicle sat parked right outside, unguarded. Naked. We were doubtless crazy.
But, without delving too deeply into the sanity issues of this crowd, none of us were worried for one simple reason. We didn’t have the statue. Ergo, logically, the pursuers would now be chasing down the one who did.
Jake gave Brig the large guestroom. I got a study with a nice couch instead of the maid’s room. I couldn’t stand inhaling the scent of musk again. I didn’t ask where Asha would sleep. Not my business. But I felt sure she’d be a lot more comfortable and more satisfied than I.
At some point during the wee hours of the morning, Asha had managed to call her cook, Mala, and get the woman over to Jake’s. When I awoke around nine, wonderful scents were coming from the kitchen. I threw on my battle-stained old sweats, then followed my nose.
I spent the next hour blessing Asha’s mother and her recipe book. Mala had whipped up a down-home American diner breakfast. Eggs, bacon, English muffins made from scratch, home fries, jam and Danish. There was even fresh-squeezed orange juice on the side. Plus more flavored coffee.
I ate. The more I ate, the more I agreed with my compatriots. The Saraswati statue did not belong in the hands of thugs. It might not belong with the three of us, but we were far more worthy of giving the Diva a temporary home than Seymour Patel and his lackeys. Or even Mahindra, who might act like a gentleman but had the instincts of a career criminal. Or Ray, the cheating businessman who’d aimed a gun at me on two separate occasions. The creep.
Brig had wandered into the kitchen sometime during my third cup of coffee. He had then proceeded to gulp down his breakfast with frightening speed. I waited till he’d finished before I asked, “Where do we go from here?”
Jake and Asha walked in at that moment. Jake answered, “Tempe. You, Asha, and I go to the studio. We have filming to do today.”
Asha and I yelled, “What?” at the same time. Jake shook his head. Firmly. No discussio
n there.
“Ladies. You enjoyed a break yesterday for the Ganesh festival. But we have a dance sequence in the carnival to complete by close of shooting today.”
“But what about the statue? I thought we were going to find her. And pardonez moi, but that was no break. Asha got kidnapped and I got saddle sores riding Bambi.”
Jake looked at me. “Weren’t you the one who wanted to let it be? Let Shiva’s Diva work her curse on whichever one of those jerks grabbed her last night?”
“Well, you guys convinced me otherwise. And tempus is fugiting, folks. Unlike me, Ray has his passport. There’s nothing stopping him from getting on a plane and flying off back to New York even. Who would know he stole Saraswati? Or Mahindra and Patel could smuggle it out of the country and we’d never find it again.”
Brig put his hand on my arm. “If Seymour has it, he’s looking for the highest bidder. If Kirkee has it, he’s going to put it in his flat, admire it, and pray for its blessings before he sells it. If Ray has it? He’s dead. He’s way over his head in this deal. The point being there’s no great rush to get the goddess this morning.”
“Oh. Okay. But I hate to go off and dance when I feel like I should be taking some kind of action.”
Brig stood. “That’s where I come in. While you three are doing your thing on camera, I’ll be trying to learn what I can. I know people.”
I started to ask who, what, and why, but Brig held up his hand. “People who know things and owe me. Okay?”
I took off with Jake and Asha. Jake had wisely scheduled the shoot for a later hour than his normal working day, knowing most of his actors and dancers would be attending the closing day of the Ganesh festival, then hitting the party circuit after. I settled into the back seat of Jake’s second car, a huge sedan, grateful we were not trying to squeeze into Asha’s two-seater again.
Heaven smiled on me. This particular sequence in the film called for less aerobic activity than any of my other scenes this week. I had one small dance number listed, set in the carnival tent where the animal trainers would be showing off the tigers and lions and elephants and their tricks. I expected to see Bambi the elephant come strolling in any moment and start a tap routine behind me.
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