Special 26

by Gabriel Khan

  Ajay didn’t say anything, just shrugged.

  ‘You don’t talk much, either. I’ve heard the others say you’re a loner. Is that true?’

  Ajay just stared back.

  ‘Well, your father said you’d be a good worker, and I guess I can’t complain. But if you have a head for numbers, I have another role for you, if you’re interested.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Manage my accounts. I can’t do math to save my life, and you’re good with numbers, right?’

  Ajay nodded. The first hatchings of a plan had already begun to form in his mind.

  ‘Well then, it’s settled. You’ll be working in the office outside my cabin,’ Pinto said, and leaned forward. ‘But don’t get any ideas, son. I may not be as smart as you are, but I know very well how to make people hurt. If I find anything wrong, you’ll be sorry I trusted you.’

  Ajay stared back blankly. This, however, seemed to satisfy Pinto, and he started work as the accountant for the garage.

  His days were dreary, mundane. The drudgery began at eight in the morning; Ajay was the first person in. Through the day, they would all see him in the office, sweating over sheaves of paper. Some contained pages of numbers and tables and data, others contained tax workouts, and some, if anyone were to notice, looked suspiciously like long profiles of people. Had Pinto tried to find out what they were, he would have been surprised to know that they were all amateur dossiers on failed police aspirants who could now be found across the city, engaged in menial jobs. The one place Pinto never ventured near was Ajay’s desk – it was too cluttered with papers containing important- looking figures.

  Lunch was a boisterous community affair at the run-down roadside stall behind the garage. Other than that, there was not much of a break. By the time the clock struck ten, everyone left, including the manager. Then, it was left to Ajay to stash all the important documents away, lock up the garage and go home. Once a week, he took all the money the garage made and deposited it in the bank, keeping aside enough for the workers’ wages.

  Pinto had warned him of the possibility of being waylaid on the way home, by the usual goons wanting to make a quick buck. These were dangerous times, with the Bombay mafia’s rising clout. But for some reason, Ajay never got into trouble. Just the one time, he came to work with a black eye, but he refused to say anything about it, or how he’d got it. When Pinto checked, the money was all there in the bank.

  ‘How do you do it, Ajay?’ the workers would ask. He would smile, but never explain.

  In December that year, after Ajay had spent nearly six months as the garage accountant, Pinto called him into his office and told him he wouldn’t be around for a week or so.

  ‘It’s my niece’s wedding, I have to be there. I’m leaving you in charge.’

  Ajay shook his head. ‘The others won’t like it. I’ve been here only a few months.’

  ‘Well, for all purposes, Jairam will be the boss. But true power lies wherever the money is, remember that,’ Pinto said, nodding sagely.

  Power lies wherever the money is. In a million possible futures, the sentence went by unnoticed.

  Ajay would turn down the offer.

  Pinto would give the job to someone else.

  Ajay would live out most of his life planning to quit the garage.

  In all those million possible futures, this would be a very short book.

  But here, and now, the words hit Ajay. True power lies wherever the money is. Suddenly, his future clicked into place. That was it! The nascent plan that Ajay had been turning over in his mind suddenly took shape. Here was the one corner piece that would make sense of this jigsaw puzzle.

  Pinto was still speaking. ‘So it doesn’t matter, the men know you’ll be in charge anyway, and it’s not as if they don’t like you or anything. Are you going to eat that?’ He pointed at the bun maska Ajay had been munching on when he came in.

  Ajay snapped back to reality. ‘Huh? Oh no, please take it. Sure you won’t need anyone else to mind the place while you’re gone?’

  ‘No, no,’ Pinto said, mid-chomp. ‘You guys can handle it, I know.’

  That night, Ajay re-examined the rules.

  He wanted money, because he knew it would get him power, the kind that lets you order cops around. And maybe, just maybe, with that money, he might be able to make a difference. And here it was, the opportunity, on a silver platter that had Albert Pinto written all over it. It would be easy to take the money and feed him some bullshit about thugs mugging him when they knew his boss wasn’t around. Oh, it would be so damn easy, Ajay could hardly believe it.

  On the other hand, this was exactly what he despised. This greed, this immorality was what had got him here in the first place; it was what had destroyed his dream in one fell blow, that conversation with two fallen cops. Would he turn into the same kind of person who wrecked someone else’s life just to get rich? Money should be for the people. It should be used to help, not destroy.

  There was also the fact that Pinto was himself not a wealthy man. He ran a garage, he was a man of limited resources and skills; if Ajay broke him, he would not be able to recover. Could Ajay really do that to him? Had he changed that much? From aspiring lawman to hardened outlaw, was this him?

  It was the longest night Ajay spent, but at the end of it, he made a decision. It would shape his life, his future, indeed, his very existence.

  He would get the money, and he would get the power. But certainly not by stealing from a trustful garage owner.

  Ajay arrived at the garage the next morning, lighter in head and heart and finally with a purpose, although he still didn’t know how he would achieve his new goals.

  But destiny is a funny thing. You spend all your life waiting for it to change everything, and then you turn your back for just a minute and it comes and kicks you in the unmentionables. Ajay had no idea, but the change he was yearning for was about to begin its workings that very day.

  At around noon, just as Ajay was finishing up with a set of records, Jairam lumbered into the office, followed by a large man bearing a briefcase and a red handkerchief with which he mopped his forehead. It was cool in Bombay’s December, but he still managed to sweat.

  ‘Ajay, this is P.K. Sharma. Pinto sir has sent him to keep an eye on… us… till he comes back,’ Jairam spat at Ajay, the pause on the ‘us’ making it obvious that he felt the supervision was designed solely for Ajay.

  ‘Sir, please have a seat. Would you like some tea or sherbet?’ Jairam said, fawning.

  Sharma flopped into Pinto’s seat behind the office’s main desk and nodded at Jairam. ‘Thanks, a cup of tea would be great.’

  Jairam turned to Ajay, who stared back pokerfaced, firmly settled in his chair. Jairam now looked iffy about his own suggestion. It meant that he would have to leave the new man in charge with Ajay, and he had wanted to be the one to show the boss the ropes. Now, he’d pretty much shot himself in the foot.

  Grumbling at himself, Jairam stomped out, and they could hear him yelling at the nearest man in his path.

  ‘So, Ajay! What do you do, exactly?’ Sharma said, the red handkerchief now slowly being reduced to a rag with every wipe.

  ‘I’m the accountant. I keep the books,’ Ajay said. ‘So you’re looking in for Mr Pinto?’

  ‘Yes, yes I am. He’ll be gone a week or so, told me to look in on you all from time to time,’ Sharma said.

  ‘That’s great, thanks. So how do you know Mr Pinto?’

  Pat came the answer. ‘Oh, we’re neighbours. Known each other since we were kids.’

  Ajay’s brow creased. Something was not right here, and he tilted his head to one side as if trying to remember something. ‘You live near his place?’

  ‘Yeah. I’m coming from there right now.’

  Ajay’s face cleared as the memory forced its way through. ‘Good, good, that’s a good locality. Nice shoes, by the way.’

  Sharma looked baffled, and peered down at his worn-out pair, trying
and failing to figure out how the description fit. ‘Huh? These, really?’

  ‘Yeah, really,’ Ajay said, and smiled. ‘They look like they’ve been really well used.’

  ‘Oh, right, right…’ Sharma trailed off. ‘Ah, there’s the tea!’

  A ragamuffin strolled in with a couple of minuscule cups without saucers, plonked them on the table and walked out.

  Sharma looked relieved. For his part, he was beginning to think something was off about Ajay. For one, he didn’t look remotely like someone working in a garage, he looked much too frail and scholarly. Then there was the way the kid spoke, in that voice.

  As he sipped his tea, Sharma stole a glance at Ajay, and caught him staring right back at him. It was a disconcerting gaze, calculated to unsettle Sharma.

  Sharma pottered around for another hour or so and then left, mumbling something about needing to be somewhere else and promising he’d be back tomorrow. He hadn’t been prepared for this. He would be tomorrow, though.

  That night, Sharma sat with his gang of three men and went through the plan again, step by step. So Pinto had left, put a moron and a kid in charge. The moron was not a problem, but the kid was. Looked like he knew too much, and Sharma did not like it. Nobody intimidated him! And he hated to admit it, but without saying a single word out of place or spewing any threats, the puny runt had stood in front of the massively built Sharma and been totally at ease, actually throwing the older man off. He couldn’t allow that to happen again.

  Over the next week, Sharma spent a lot of time in the office, yelling at people, chatting up customers, being the generally genial boss everyone wants. Ajay hardly paid him any attention, choosing to stay buried in his papers. He even took a day off, something he hadn’t done since he started working at the garage. Slowly, Sharma’s worries dissipated, and he told himself he had been worrying for no reason. Besides, how could a scrawny kid who only knew how to do numbers mess things up at all?

  Four days later, it was bank day. Ajay left the garage at the usual time and following the usual route, with the bag in which he usually carried the money. Sharma’s men were all in place, and they watched as Ajay walked straight into the trap.

  The young man turned into a small lane off the street when he found himself cornered against a lamppost by three burly men who had just detached themselves from the surroundings. It was almost noon and there were lots of people around, but these men seemed oblivious, intent only on Ajay’s scared face and trembling bag.

  One of them spoke quietly. ‘Just drop the bag, boy. Drop it and walk away, without any fuss.’ As he spoke, a switchblade knife slid into his hand. So did two more in the others’ hands.

  Ajay’s eyes darted from one man to another. They all looked the same, meaning that none of them was interested in him, just the bag he was carrying. Which in turn meant they probably wouldn’t kill him if he dropped it and ran. It also meant they would definitely kill him if he didn’t.

  A low whistle to his right made him look around. Sharma was standing there, leaning against the side of a shop, smoking a cigarette and watching the scene. Their eyes met.

  Sharma dropped the cigarette, crushed it under his shoe with exaggerated care and, not looking away, shook his head slowly. Give him the bag and run away, his eyes said. That way, you’ll live.

  With a whimper, Ajay dropped the bag and started backing away. The first man reached down and grabbed the bag, nodded to the others and walked away. Sharma walked up to Ajay and spoke kindly. ‘Don’t worry. We won’t kill you. You don’t say anything about us, and we can keep it that way. Got it?’

  Ajay nodded, his face a mask of fright. But he was trying to say something. ‘P-p-p-please, Sharmaji. P-p-p-please take m-m-me with you,’ he stammered.

  Surprised, Sharma asked, ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Take me with you, Sharmaji. Teach me what you do! I want to learn!’ Ajay said a little more confidently.

  ‘You want to be a conman?’ Sharma said incredulously. ‘You, the scholar? Why?’

  ‘I want money, Sharmaji.’

  ‘Money? Well, at least you’re honest enough to admit that.’ Sharmaji looked around. ‘I’ll think about it. Now fuck off.’

  He started to walk away, but Ajay clung to his arm. ‘How? Sharmaji? When will I see you?’

  Sharmaji shook his hand free. ‘Soon. I’ll find you. Now go away.’ He walked briskly to the corner, gave a small wave, and disappeared.

  Ajay didn’t return to the garage. Instead, he went home and waited. When the clock struck eleven, he put on his clothes and went out into the night.

  Outside the shady, run-down shack, a sign read ‘Double Without Trouble’. Inside, Sharma was sitting on his makeshift throne. He was an elated man tonight. He had just made a fortune from a robbery that had gone off without a hitch. And he would use the money for a con he’d set up just a week ago. He had been luring people in, promising to double their money if they invested in him. The first time, he gave them double the amount they’d invested. Naturally, this caused quite a flutter, and the next time, they brought more money, and more people with more money. The second time too, they would get double the amount they’d given him. Just think of what they would bring the third time! Sharma chuckled to think of all those people who would soon be disappointed. The good, old-fashioned con game had worked twice before and there was no reason why it would not work again.

  The goons he’d hired had just delivered the bag to him, taken their cut and left. He’d not even had time to open the bag to count how much he’d made when his visitors started coming in. Well, it didn’t matter. There was certainly more in it than what these guys needed to be paid. He would use the rest of the money to do something really extravagant this time.

  One by one, the men came, handed Sharma their money, exchanged some small talk and left. He’d already kept some wads of cash on the table, just enough to dispel doubts. He kept paying the ‘doubled investment’, holding off from opening the bag as long as he could. The less people who saw the amount of cash in that bag the better.

  Sharma had just gotten rid of a most annoying specimen, and beckoned to the next in line. The man was slight, in a shirt and bellbottoms and with a cap pulled down low over his face. ‘So, how much will it be, son?’ Sharma said, pulling out an official-looking form.

  ‘All of it, Sharmaji,’ said Ajay.

  Years of conning and playing people pitched in all at once and fought a fierce micro-second-long battle with Sharma’s reflexes, which at that point were already activating his vocal chords to emit a full-throated scream. The years won.

  Sharma fought back the scream and said, ‘You! How—’

  Ajay sat down in the chair opposite Sharma. ‘That’s not important, Sharmaji. What’s important is that I’m here. What can you give me?’

  ‘I see. You want to join me—’

  ‘Not really,’ interrupted Ajay. ‘I want you to join me.’

  Sharma raised his eyebrows; he had fully recovered from the shock of half a minute ago. The impudence of the boy! ‘Do you know what you’re talking about, boy? Just because you found me running this business, you think you can—’

  ‘Oh, I’ve done a lot more than that, Sharmaji,’ said Ajay, settling into his chair with a cocksure smile. ‘Why don’t you check that bag?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Check the bag you stole from me, Sharmaji.’

  Suddenly, Sharmaji wasn’t sure any more. With mounting dread, he unzipped the bag. What he saw nearly made his heart stop.

  It was filled with wads of paper, each cut in the size of a ten-rupee note.

  Thunderstruck, he looked up to see Ajay watching him. ‘How—’

  ‘Simple. I let you believe you were fooling me.’

  This was when anyone would begin to get angry, and Ajay knew it. He leaned forward and spoke softly. ‘Listen to me. Nobody here knows what’s actually in that bag. I could tell them, and they could then decide what to do with you. I’m sure you can imagi
ne what kind of future that entails. But agree to work with me, and we can forget this whole thing.’

  Sharmaji realized the trickiness of the situation. There really was no way out. ‘Why do you think I would work with you, you little son of a—’

  ‘Because, Sharmaji, I can make you rich. What you’re doing now will only get you small-time money and really big-time enemies, and not just a few. All of these men you’re conning will be after you. I’ll make sure that we make very few enemies and a whole lot of money. What do you say?’

  Sharmaji opened his mouth, then shut it again.

  Half an hour later, he and Ajay were sitting at a tea shop, sipping on piping–hot tea. He was still trying to figure Ajay out.

  ‘You meant what you said back there?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Because, you know, I’ve known a lot of people who claimed to be able to do a lot of things. Most of them are in jail. The rest are dead.’

  ‘Well, I have the plan, Sharmaji. I don’t have the resources yet, which is where you come in. I was hoping you would let me in on some of the cons going around.’

  ‘I see. Well, your plan was good, I must say, Ajay. To come up with this plan in a couple of days—’

  Ajay coughed. ‘Actually, it was before that.’

  ‘Before? Since when?’

  Ajay looked sheepish now. ‘Since you walked into the garage that first day.’

  Sharmaji was so surprised that he stood right up, his mouth agape. ‘Since then? You’ve been planning this since then?’ he cried.

  ‘Calm down, Sharmaji! Calm down. Please sit,’ Ajay said consolingly.

  Miffed, the older man sat back down. ‘I want to know how.’

  Ajay started to protest, but saw the look on Sharmaji’s face and decided against it. ‘I realized you were a conman the day I saw you. There was obviously nothing in the garage you could want, otherwise you’d have been chatting up Jairam. So it had to be the money. That money only went out on one day of the week. It would be with me. So…’ Ajay trailed off.

  A note of grudging respect crept into Sharmaji’s voice. ‘So you planned this whole thing from then? The mugging, which I did, coming to my place of business, threatening me — all this was to get my attention?’