Pretty Vile Girl

by Rickie Khosla

  And that is how Master Brandy’s commerce really took off, via girls who were willing to do ‘whatever it took’.

  Master Brandy was a supplier of young girls in Mumbai. His specialty? Virgins. Slim. Athletic. Eager. Virgins.

  Under the innocuous front of Bollywood Academy of Modern Dancing, Master Brandy ran an escort service for a network of operatives whose bosses sat in offshore havens such as Dubai and Sharjah. These foreign bosses controlled most of the domestic underworld in Mumbai. For each instruction carried out on their behalf, the local operatives would get paid handsomely in cash and kind. Payments depended entirely on the complexity of the crime, of course, and sometimes, the foreign honchos would be so happy with their domestic partners that they would throw in a bonus too. Sometimes, that bonus was a car. Other times, a vacation to Pattaya. And, in special cases, it was simply a nubile or just-blossomed girl.

  Master Brandy had been in the art and commerce of supplying girls for nine years. He had a flair for ‘sorting’ his merchandise into categories—much like a fine gemologist really—and he would personally interview each and every one of them who walked into his web. He graded them on quality of complexion, breasts, face and polish—in that order. Master Brandy knew his clientele and the traits they wanted in their purchase.

  Obviously, not every girl was tradeable. Some were too ‘high society’. To them, even the option of ‘making something extra on the side’ could not be broached. Then there were those who seemed not only too determined to succeed as dancers, they were also very good at the art. Master Brandy was kind and understanding towards them—after all, he had been just like them when he was growing up. Such girls, the real artists, got special training from Master Sir himself.

  There was, however, yet another type of girls that Master Brandy would slot, albeit highly infrequently. In fact, so rarely had he come across this kind that he could count the occasions on just one hand. These girls were for his own pleasure. There had never been more than one at a time, and Master Brandy, like an experienced gem-cutter in possession of a perfect diamond, would hold the girl in his keep, privately, stare at it riveted, nurture it, polish it, almost pamper it.

  And yes—also fuck it.

  Right now, that perfect diamond in Master Brandy’s hands was Jazmeen. Not only was she endowed with natural talent, her sheer physicality enticed the diamond-merchant in him to cut and polish her to perfection. But Jazmeen had proven to be too slick for him so far. Sure, she had allowed enough staring and nurturing, even some pampering—but sex? Nope. No one before her had managed to keep Master Brandy’s libido waiting for so long! Yet, strangely, even this lustful longing was giving him immeasurable delight.

  In fact, the flirtatious tango with Jazmeen was proving to be as much of a turn-on for Master Brandy as was the phenomenal explosion that his business was witnessing for the past few months.

  Six months ago, Master Brandy’s reasonably successful prostitution enterprise had suddenly hit the high gear. His rise was timed with the ascent of his biggest benefactor, a don based in Sharjah, to the top of the organisation of crime bosses of Mumbai. The new Crime King, as he was spoken of in hushed circles, had a deep distrust of people he didn’t know. That meant that as soon as he had taken over, he had started dismantling the old order and replacing unfamiliar agents with his own band of loyalists. This had proved to be a virtual goldmine for his long-time faithfuls—like Master Brandy who had used the opportunity to actively diversify his portfolio from mere pimping of young girls to the more lucrative channels of hawala and gold.

  Sadly, for every successful Master Brandy that the new order had created, there was an old-hand small-time crook who had been adversely impacted. Not only had the latter found himself suddenly out of favour, he had felt threatened enough to be pushed out of the ‘trade’ altogether. Toby James was one such person. He had had a terrible six months. In the past three months in fact, all new business had virtually collapsed. And now, even his old loyal clients, still keen on working with him, were starting to see the folly of their decision.

  Yes, Toby was not a happy man. And the biggest reason for his unhappiness was Master Brandy.

  ‘Sorry, Arty Sir! I’m trying my best…’ Toby told the caller.

  He had been on the phone for the past ten minutes. Rubina was seated in front of the muted TV, filing her nails. She had lost interest in the unpleasant conversation her lover was having within thirty seconds of it starting, but she would still occasionally lift her eyes to look at Toby’s deep red face.

  ‘Yes, I think they will release it by next week,’ Toby continued, trying hard to make it sound more than mere wishful thinking. Whoever ‘they’ were, were unlikely to release ‘it’ by next week, but it looked like ‘Arty Sir’ had accepted Toby’s limp prophesy.

  In another minute, the call ended. Toby let out a huge sigh of relief.

  ‘Behenchod!’ he snapped and then looked at Rubina. She met his gaze and did a quick shrug with her eyebrows to ask what happened.

  ‘His money is stuck in Dubai again. And again, I’m in the middle of it,’ Toby said by way of explanation. Rubina hadn’t understood the entire background of what was transpiring, but she had heard Toby complain plentifully these past few months. Something or the other always seemed to get ‘stuck’ these days. Thank goodness they had made a killing from Leena Bindra, enough to tide over this lean phase.

  Rubina shrugged her shoulders and said nothing on the matter. There was no reason to rile up the man on a subject that was already giving him sleepless nights. Instead, she decided to rake up something else. Something that was going to trouble him more than ‘Arty Sir’ and his sticky problems.

  Rubina enjoyed this game immensely.

  ‘So, did you buy her those bangles, then?’ she said, lifting her claws up to her lips and delicately blowing away the imaginary nail-soot.

  ‘Jazmeen’s birthday gift!’ Toby remembered with a pang. He had completely forgotten! ‘When is the birthday—next week?’ he tried to remember hard. His brain answered nothing.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ Rubina offered more poison, seeing that Toby’s face had attained an unhealthy pallor.

  ‘Will you come with me to Zaveri Bazaar? We can find something quickly,’ he urged.

  The woman laughed out loudly at the man’s absurd suggestion.

  Toby merely shook his head and looked at the small clock on top of the fridge. 5 PM. He decided he was going to go to the jewellery market on his own. He turned to go to the bedroom to change into something more formal than the shorts and vest he was wearing.

  ‘And I am assuming you will want to take her out for dinner too, when you give her your expensive present tomorrow?’ Rubina’s nasal voice pierced through Toby’s ears from the back, making him stop in his tracks. When he turned to face her, she added, ‘Taj Hotel or Oberoi?’

  Toby stared at her. The woman could be such a nasty bitch.

  ‘Well, let’s just say none of that is not going to happen,’ she said, knowingly.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She told me that she was going to be returning home very late tomorrow.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Why not?’ Rubina said in mock surprise. ‘It’s our Maharani’s birthday! Must be attending some huge party at Mannat.’

  ‘What did she say, you fucking bitch?’ Toby thundered.

  ‘That she was going to be out with Shah Rukh and Salman. Together. Arre, how the hell should I know? She and I don’t chat like sisters!’

  There was a bitter moment when neither spoke.

  ‘Listen, my dear, your favourite tramp has found someone new. She is young and, well, a go-getter—so this was always expected, wasn’t it? You might as well face the bitter truth. And before she gets any more involved in our lives, it is time to smack her like a bloody house-fly and toss her out of here.’

  Toby walked back to Rubina and slowly sat himself down beside her. He stared at the muted TV for a bit, and Rubina resumed
the scraping action with the nail file.

  ‘I have always asked you over and over again: what good has that two-paisa orphan bitch done us anyway?’ she said after a while. ‘But you? You just never listen to me.’

  That was indeed true. Toby was not listening to Rubina. He was visualising Jazmeen in bed with a nameless, faceless man. He felt his heart pounding faster.

  That fucking orphan bitch!

  It was December 4. Jazmeen’s birthday. There were curt acknowledgements when the three had woken up that morning, but nothing more. Jazmeen had left for work on time. There had been no mention of when she would be back home. It seemed that none of them cared—though that was not entirely true. Toby did care, but he said nothing.

  Work was usual, nothing special. But yes, Katy Katrak gave her favourite employee a small clutch with double Cs emblazoned on it. It looked almost like the real thing and had cost her a thousand rupees, but it was all worth it. When Jazmeen asked for the evening off, Mamma agreed to that too.

  December 4. It was also Jazmeen’s last day at Bollywood Academy of Modern Dancing. Her three-month course was completing today. Master Brandy was still not sure where he stood with his new obsession. Was she going to stay and be a part of his life? Or, was she going to leave, lost forever like the previous women he had affectionately lusted after? The signals he was getting from Jazmeen were mixed, almost as if they were both playing a game of hide-and-seek. He had enjoyed it so far, but now, it was time for him to pin her down and not let her go. He knew that it was her birthday today. He had planned a surprise for her.

  ‘Do you want anything special for your birthday?’ Master Brandy had asked Jazmeen two days before the birthday.

  She had laughed her beautiful tinkling laughter and said, ‘Just a surprise, that’s all.’

  ‘Yes, I’m going to have something big just for you,’ he had said, sounding mysterious.

  ‘Well, whatever it is, make sure it’s a surprise!’

  He had accepted her challenge.

  That evening, he had even given her a key to the main door of the academy so she could come and leave the premises as she pleased. ‘That should show that I am serious about her.’

  Jazmeen had been thankful. But only verbally.

  It was past 9 PM. All was quiet at Bollywood Academy of Modern Dancing, except for the pleasant conversation of two people who were hoping to take a promising evening to a happy ending.

  ‘So, where is my surprise?’ Jazmeen asked after she had finished her second vodka. Master Brandy was pouring her a new one. A large. The girl still didn’t look it, but she had to feel a bit tipsy by now. He was sure of it. He was slurring a bit himself. This was his fourth large.

  ‘Your surprise is huge, but it won’t be in your hands until a few days,’ he said, as he handed her the glass and sat next to her on the sofa.

  ‘Oh? Why not?’ Jazmeen asked, making a playfully angry face. .

  Her bare knee was inches away from his left hand. Her denim skirt had playfully hemmed up to her thighs while he had been pouring the drinks. It was time. He touched her knee and then spread his full hand on her left thigh. She made no move.

  ‘We have a lot of unfinished business before we talk about your gift, don’t we?’ he said, his voice laden with anticipation. His hand crept under the skirt and disappeared inside.

  ‘You really aren’t gay, then?’

  ‘What do you think?’ he said, his eyes pointing to the rise in his groin. For once, he was wearing track pants instead of tiny shorts, but there was no hiding his intentions.

  She laughed again. ‘Master Sir, all your students will be so disappointed. They feel safe with you because they all think you’re gay! Those poor, innocent girls!’

  ‘I have asked you to not call me Master Sir or Brandy in private. Call me Brij. I allow only the most special people in my life to call me that.’

  Jazmeen shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘Oh, and those girls you are talking about? They are neither poor nor innocent, don’t you worry. It takes hard cash for a man to touch them… here,’ he said as his fingers finally reached jackpot. His small eyes opened wide in surprise realising there was no underwear. ‘You sly, little minx!’ he thought as he touched her smooth shaved skin. The girl didn’t as much as move an inch.

  ‘I thought I’d give you a surprise too,’ she said calmly. ‘After all, you have done so much for so many girls. Including me.’

  The man was slightly breathless now. ‘I must say, this is a pleasant surprise!’ was all he was able to manage in a slightly hoarse voice. His erection visibly twitched inside his track pants.

  ‘Actually, this isn’t even the surprise…’ the willingly seduced girl said, this time not staying quite so motionless. She straightened her back and bent her right arm behind the sofa, as if picking up an object that had fallen behind it. As she fished it out and placed it on her right thigh, she laughed again.

  ‘This, my dear Brij, is your surprise.’

  The knife glistened in the white light of the room. Master Brandy’s eyes appeared to grow as large as they possibly could from the confines of his pudgy eyebrows. He looked at the knife and then at the girl’s equally sparkly eyes. His intent fingers inside her skirt had halted right at the doorstep of their destination. That is where they had remained, suspended, when the sudden and shocking blow landed to the left side of his head, stunning him.

  In fact, the smooth, sizzling heat of Jazmeen’s damp skin was the last thing Brijesh Jha had felt in his life.

  How joyless does the day after a birthday feel. Once the celebrations are over, the gifts have been opened, the cake consumed and the party-lights switched off, everyone returns to the sameness of everyday. The day after December 4th, however, had been anything but ordinary. The body of Master Brandy, officially known as Brijesh Jha, had been discovered early in the morning. To the police who were brought in to the crime scene, nothing seemed unusual at first—a harmless-looking dance instructor who had slashed his wrist and died alone in the office of his popular dance school. The police in India are usually quick to jump to convenient conclusions, and if it hadn’t been for Inspector Manjrekar’s sharp eye, no one would have questioned his death. For one, where was the weapon that the deceased had used to kill himself? Did Brijesh Jha nick himself with something elsewhere (like a knife in the pantry?) and then walk to the office to die peacefully? Maybe, but it did appear strange. And what about motive? The man seemed to own a thriving business, was single, with no apparent personal or financial issues big enough to have devoured him—so why would he want to kill himself? Curious questions, and Manjrekar was sure that his investigations were going to yield the right answers. For now, this was just one of the eighteen deaths that had happened in Mumbai that night alone.

  Just a normal crime statistic for a normal megapolis.

  Maybe just another murder in Mumbai, but the death of Brijesh Jha had been nothing but big news within the confines of the underworld. His sudden loss meant that old contacts had to be hurriedly resurrected, and suspended networks quickly refurbished. After all, nothing could be allowed to stall the business of crime, not even death. It was the unceasing truth of the Ugly Side of Life in Mumbai.

  The other truth, a direct result of the death of Brijesh Jha, was that Toby James was now back in business.

  There was stunned silence inside the car where Toby sat with Jazmeen. It was the evening of the day after December 4th. He had come to pick her up at Prabhadevi after work, at her insistence. The car was parked in a side street near their home. Neither was noticing the noisy bustle of sounds and action of Mumbai around them.

  Jazmeen had just provided Toby the headline summary of her life in the past three months, including details from the previous night. Toby’s decision to park the car was wise because the shock of this new information would have surely caused him to cause an accident.

  ‘But how can you be sure that they can’t trace it back to you?’ he had asked after several o
ther pertinent questions about the ‘why’ and ‘how’ had been addressed. He was alluding to an alibi which may be crucial once the police started questioning every student at the academy.

  ‘Mamma will vouch that I was with her all evening celebrating my birthday. She and I have already discussed that.’

  Jazmeen felt relief that Toby had asked her the question. ‘Who knows, maybe he actually does care for me,’ she thought amusedly. She looked at the man’s face. The ashen look was slowly giving way to the glow of relief. But she was not stupid enough to think that the relief was because he thought she was in the safe zone. ‘It’s because he knows that his ass just got saved.’

  ‘That behenchod was going to ruin me,’ Toby finally said, with a sigh of respite.

  ‘I know. That is why I did this, you fool. I did this for you!’

  Toby’s body relaxed visibly on the driver’s seat. A few more cuss words for the dearly departed were uttered. ‘You should have sliced off his dick while you were at it,’ he added with revulsion.

  ‘Not that… but I did cut off something else that he loved dearly. His long hair that he would toss around like a fucking beauty queen,’ she said with matching loathing. ‘That pride of his lies inside a polythene bag in a garbage can two kilometres away from the academy.’

  Her comment made Toby smile. If they hadn’t been in a place so public, he would have kissed her right there. He looked at her with pride. This bitch was worth her weight in gold.

  ‘It looks like Arty Sir’s deal will now go through quickly. With this haramzaada gone, things will be all right again!’

  Jazmeen nodded.

  ‘You know,’ Toby continued, ‘you must meet Arty Sir one day! He is a man worth meeting. Mark my words, that man is going to rule Mumbai one day. He can truly change our lives.’