by Gabriel Khan
Sharmaji nodded emphatically.
‘Well then.’
‘Ajay, I’ve been meaning to ask you,’ started Sharmaji, and paused, fumbling for words.
‘Mmm?’
‘That day, at the station, inside the toilet. What happened to you? I mean, I couldn’t even recognize your voice, and shit! I was really scared, I don’t mind telling you!’ breathed Sharmaji.
Ajay sighed. ‘To tell you the truth, I don’t know how I did that. I was all right when I told you guys the plan, I was fine when I hid inside the loo. But when I saw that cop coming in after you, it took everything I had to stop myself running away that very instant.’
He frowned, thinking hard. ‘I don’t know what happened to me, Sharmaji. My mind wasn’t working fully. I had never come up against a cop like that. And this cop was a good one, one of the better ones, I could tell. There was only one way I could get out of there, and that was to convince him that I would kill him if he didn’t let us go.’
Sharmaji watched as Ajay spoke, mouth half open.
‘And then, I had to do something. Even after you left, I couldn’t just tell him not to follow us and walk out. I had to take him out. Sharmaji, that was the first time I ever hit another man in cold blood. Did you know that? I had to remind myself not to hit the vertebrae or the brain stem, because that would have killed him. I’d read about it in college, but I’d never thought I’d have a practical exam on it someday!’
‘And where did you get the gun?’
Ajay smiled. ‘What gun?’
‘The gun! That gun you were holding! You threatened to shoot him.’
‘No, I didn’t threaten to shoot him. I merely suggested that he would be wise not to move. His brain filled in the rest of the fear.’
‘And the gun?’ Sharmaji persisted.
‘Does everything that’s cold and pressed up against your back have to be a gun? It could be… I don’t know…’ Ajay patted his pockets theatrically. ‘it could simply be a keychain, or a pipe I ripped off the wall as I waited for you to come in.’ He winked.
Sharmaji realized he’d been holding his breath, and let it out with a big whoosh.
‘My god, Ajay! Only you could have done something like that.’
Ajay nodded.
‘But tell me something. This thing in Calcutta. Is it big?’
‘Well, not too big, no.’
‘Ajay, you’ve got to stop this!’ said Sharmaji earnestly, getting worked up again. ‘Look, I’m getting old. My mind and body and reflexes aren’t what they used to be. I want out. One big game, one big shot, and I’m out.’
Ajay was silent.
‘The kids are getting older, Ajay. And look what happened at the station. I had a dream last night that my son-in-law was coming to meet me in jail! And you weren’t around either!’
Ajay laughed and winked at Sharmaji. ‘But I was right there. You didn’t see me because I was standing right behind you.’
Sharmaji stared at Ajay, apparently struggling for words. Finally, he broke into a smile. ‘Thanks, man.’ He slapped the younger man on his back. ‘So. Calcutta?’
‘Yes.’
‘And it’s not a big job?’
‘We need more men for a big job,’ Ajay reminded him. ‘And we need more money to keep them.’
‘If I’d been working, I would be retiring now,’ sniffed Sharmaji gloomily.
‘That’s what you’ve been saying for five years.’
Sharmaji looked at him. ‘But I’m serious this time.’
Ajay winked at him mischievously. ‘That’s what you’ve been saying for three years.’
Again, Ajay’s infectious mirth won Sharmaji over, and he relaxed. ‘Yeah, yeah,’ he muttered, complaining but only half-heartedly now. ‘Kids these days…’
Ajay dug into his pocket, and brought out a brown paper bag. ‘Here you go, Sharmaji. Tickets and money. For you, Iqbal and Joginder. I’ll meet you there directly.’
Sharmaji peered inside the bag. The contents had a cheering effect on him.
The two of them got up. ‘I’ll tell you one thing,’ said Ajay, leaning in closer. ‘You’re right. I am planning something. But not right now. It’ll be big. Just another couple of rounds, and we’ll be done.’
Sharmaji smiled again.
The following week, the four of them met in New Market, at Calcutta’s famous Baadshah restaurant.
Joginder and Iqbal had arrived just the day before. They had purposely chosen a slow route out of the station, in a rickshaw that took them through the winding streets of Bada Bazar.
They conferred in quiet voices.
‘Seems okay, not much security… ’
‘They’re all small traders, so they won’t have too much…’
‘What do you mean, they won’t have too much?’
‘The police aren’t around much, I didn’t see any patrols… ’
‘The police station is not very far, but they’re a really sleepy bunch… ’
‘…not too much? Does that mean they’ll have too little?’
‘I’ve booked us a car for the day. No questions asked…’
‘We’ll have to do it quickly, if the police station is nearby…’
‘…how little are we talking about…’
‘It won’t be a problem. In fact, we’ll get them to help, like at Minister Gupta’s house…’
‘Of course! They’ll never suspect…’
‘I’ve got the radio, we’ll be listening in on their frequency too…’
‘We’ll hit three or four, not many…’
‘…and a four-way share means even less…’
‘We’ll pack up the whole thing in an hour, not more.’
Ajay nodded at Iqbal, who got up, gathered his knapsack and entered the loo in the restaurant. A minute later, a total stranger emerged and went out the front door.
Joginder too got up, changed inside the loo and left, winking at Ajay.
‘How little, Ajay?’ asked Sharmaji, still anxious.
‘Don’t worry. It’ll be enough. Now go change. I’ll pay the bill.’
Ajay was already in disguise, and was probably the only person out of the four emerging from Baadshah who looked his usual self. They bundled into the car Ajay had booked, and left.
Target: Bada Bazar.
Fate had a surprise for them at the very first store.
As the four arrived at Poddar Traders in Bada bazar, looking even more officious than actual officials and with a posse of policemen behind them, they heard a sound they’d never encountered before. As they barged into the shop, they realized, a little too late, what that sound was.
The shop was already being raided.
All activity ceased, men around the shop frozen in various postures as Sharmaji, in the lead, skidded to a halt, the others behind him. There was a thunderous silence.
Sharmaji managed to find his voice. He also managed, barely, to keep the squeak out of it. ‘Who are you?’
The man leading the raid frowned in obvious puzzlement. ‘Income tax. Who are you?’
This time, Sharmaji was zapped. His voice lost itself in the recesses of his throat as his brain slunk into some unknown corner.
Just behind him were Ajay, Iqbal and Joginder. None of them, not even Ajay, had been prepared for such an eventuality.
Images of jails and prison clothes and bending down to pick up soap flashed through Joginder’s mind. He glanced back at the four real Calcutta policemen standing behind him, and saw the first signs of suspicion dawn on their faces.
Very slowly, the cop leading the four reached down and unhooked his holster’s catch.
It was all over, thought Iqbal. All because of a fucking coincidence. He waited to hear someone say the words he’d never thought he’d have to hear: I surrender.
The words never came. Barely two seconds had gone by when Ajay stepped forward. ‘Income tax? You’re from the income tax department?’ There was, if nothing else, authority in his voice. It was
a voice, everyone subconsciously nodded to themselves, that was used to command.
Ajay turned to Sharmaji. ‘Show me the papers.’
The still slack-jawed Sharmaji looked at Ajay through glazed eyes. ‘Uuurgh?’ he said.
‘The papers, man!’ said Ajay sharply. ‘You have the raid order, right?’
His voice snapped the older man back to the present. ‘Hem, y-y-yes, sir. Um… here you go?’ he said, handing over a cash memo from a sweet shop.
Ajay gazed at the paper intently, brows furrowed. Then he looked up at the income-tax fellow. ‘Agarwal Traders?’
The man shook his head. ‘Poddar Traders.’
‘124?’
‘214.’
His face black as thunder, Ajay swivelled back to Sharmaji again. ‘What the hell is this?’ he yelled. It took a moment for the startled trio to realize that he was actually speaking Bengali, and another for them to wonder how in hell he could have learned it.
Finally, Sharmaji pulled his beleaguered mind together. In the face of Ajay’s onslaught, he had to look appropriately shamefaced, and he managed now.
But Ajay wasn’t done. ‘Can’t you even check the number properly, you old fool? I’ll lose my job because of your fucking stupidity!’
‘Sorry, sir.’
‘Now you’ve disturbed these gentlemen. Maybe it’s time for you to retire your old ass!’
Iqbal and Joginder barely managed to suppress their smirks.
The income-tax team’s leader stepped in, just then. Clearly, Ajay’s harsh words and Sharmaji’s dejected appearance had made a gentler man out of him. ‘It ij all right,’ he said sympathetically, in that thick accent unique to Bengalis. ‘Mishtake happen shomtimes.’
Ajay turned to him, and said in fluent Bengali, ‘I’m so sorry for the trouble. Please continue, we’ll be out of your hair immediately.’ He threw Sharmaji a dirty look. ‘We’ve got our jobs to do too.’
Ajay held out his hand, and they shook. There were smiles all around.
Ajay left with his men and the Calcutta police personnel, nobody the wiser. They had managed to outwit even the official raiders.
Within fifteen minutes, they were in a different part of Bada Bazar, unfazed as they paid visits to scared businessmen. Sharmaji happily returned to his bluster, slapping people left and right. The four of them, aided by the able police force they had assembled, raided five shops and recovered black money from each of them. And just as they had done before, the police helped them pack everything into the car, signed a couple of papers and watched as the four left in different vehicles, waiting expectantly for the call from their police station: a call that would never come.
The waiter at the Baadshah vaguely remembered that four men had come a few hours ago for lunch, similar to the men who now sat eating snacks. He didn’t have time to pay much attention to them, he didn’t notice the empty gunny bags they had dumped under the table as they ate.
What the waiter remembered was the generous tip.
Ajay wasn’t done with Calcutta just yet. There was one more trip, one more target. He briefed them as they drove towards south Calcutta.
‘Customs officer?’ Joginder cried, nearly ramming into the car in front of them, in his astonishment.
Ajay nodded. ‘Not to worry, I’ve done my homework. He’s one of the most bent officers around.’
‘Nononono, Ajay, let’s not do this,’ moaned Sharmaji. ‘First we almost get caught, just as we return to work, and now you want to take an even bigger risk?’
Ajay didn’t say anything, just smiled his secretive smile.
‘And since when did we become income- tax officers, eh?’ demanded Sharmaji, finally finding his tongue regarding the morning’s near-faux pas.
Joginder and Iqbal pricked up their ears.
‘You should have seen your face, Sharmaji!’ said Ajay, a twinkle in his eye.
Iqbal and Joginder burst out laughing at the sight of Sharmaji’s big, red, indignant face.
‘Don’t muck about, Ajay. What if that man had asked to see the raid order? You’re going to get us killed someday, I’m telling you!’
Ajay shrugged. ‘I saved you today, didn’t I!’
Iqbal interrupted. ‘But you know, Ajay, I’m a little worried about this next one too.’
‘Yes!’ said Sharmaji, at last finding support. ‘See, they’re both worried!’
‘Don’t worry, you guys. It’ll be a walk in the park.’
‘Hmph,’ said Sharmaji. ‘Anyway, I’ve had enough for today. You lead this one.’
Which Ajay did. It was amazing, really, how he slipped from the role of Sharmaji’s helper to the raiding team leader. At Assistant Commissioner (Customs) Shounak Ghosh’s plush house in south Calcutta, he seemed to be charged with an inexplicable energy, and there was a gleam in his eyes that the others had never seen before.
Everything went as planned, just as before. Easier, actually, as Ghosh was stone drunk, and could barely stand. The sight of CBI officers turning his house upside down – finding all the goods he had never thought anyone would find – sobered him up somewhat, but by that time, Ajay had him completely under control.
‘You’ve g-g-got it w-w-rong,’ he mumbled feebly. ‘I’m an honest man, I—’
Ajay grabbed his collar and threw him against the wall. Then he spoke quietly. Sharmaji once again heard the voice he’d heard inside the toilet in Ludhiana, and it sent a shiver down his spine. ‘Say what you want, deny all you want, but say one more time that you’re honest, and I’ll knock a hole through your head. With this hammer.’
Ghosh locked his mouth and threw away the key. He wasn’t that drunk.
Ten minutes later, they left him on the floor muttering to himself, holding a piece of paper that Ajay had made him sign. The raid was officially a success.
Back in the car, the unspoken question hung in the air, until Joginder, after a lot of clearing of his throat, gave voice to it. ‘Ajay, why the anger? He was just another crooked guy!’
For a while, Ajay didn’t reply. Then he said quietly, ‘It was personal. Because of him, I once didn’t get a job.’ But he refused to say anything more.
14
The First Breakthrough
Three months. Three fucking months, and not a peep out of those bastards. I was beginning to wonder whether Rahul and Ranveer were doing what I’d told them to. I went over to their room, which they’d converted into their own personal HQ within the HQ. I found them among piles of files and paper and wastepaper baskets and unfinished meals. They didn’t even have the time to speak to me; clearly they were focussing on our mission. I hurried back out.
Where the hell are you, Mr X? You’re not a common criminal, are you? Most others thieving like you would have raised their ugly ass heads by now, and I would have happily lopped them off. Metaphorically, of course. But you, no, you seem to be something else altogether. Why would you go to earth like this when nobody’s chasing you? Sharmaji may have told you how we cops work, so you know the heat is off sooner than you think. So where’s your move, chum?
It seemed like I was finally up against a worthy adversary. I’d spent years chasing after gangsters and crooks, all of them far more dangerous and deadly than this bloke. Their names were in the papers, men affiliated to the likes of Haji Mastan, Varadarajan Mudaliar and other mafia bosses. These were my targets, and truth to tell, none of them had any brains. Or finesse. Not like Mr X.
But wait! There was another possibility. What if he was running scared? Mr X and his gang had been around for quite a while, hitting crooked traders and politicians and actors. Nobody had come close to catching them. Except me. And I had gotten really close. Maybe that had scared the X-Men off.
Fuck, I hoped not! These people could make my career, set it on an irreversible upward spiral. I needed the X-Men.
The phone rang, managing to sound desperately urgent. I looked at it with distaste, wishing it would stop, allowing me to go back to my daydreaming. Many a crime had bee
n solved because of an epiphany while aimlessly mooching about at work.
But the damn thing kept ringing. Sighing, I picked up the receiver. And was instantly alert. The call was from my friend Kalyan Banerjee, a deputy commissioner with the crime branch of the Calcutta police.
After I had told Rahul and Ranveer to check with all the police stations in the whole damn country, it had occurred to me that said task was Herculean in nature, and might need some support on the side. So I’d tapped into the old boys’ network, buzzed all my old friends and acquaintances from my early IPS days, and told them to let me know if they heard something about the wraiths I was chasing.
And here was Banerjee, handing me a trail to the ghosts. ‘You got lucky.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Four men raided three shops in Bada Bazar this morning. Of course, by three, I mean the three that are telling. There may be more who’ve clammed up.’
‘CBI?’
‘Yep. All the traders work in grey areas, have pots and pots of black money stashed away. These boys of yours are really doing you a favour.’
‘Fuck that, don’t remind me. And don’t tell me you’re not pissed off. They’re fooling your men into helping them raid the goddamn place!’
Banerjee chuckled. ‘It’s bloody amusing, I tell you. You should see the faces of my men!’
I’d always thought the man had a weird sense of humour. ‘Anyway, they’re filing an FIR now, but we’re having a hard time keeping it quiet—’
‘Quiet?’ I shouted. ‘Absolutely not! Don’t keep it quiet, man! We’ve tiptoed long enough around these bastards. I want the news out, I want every damn newspaper in the country to get it.’
He paused a second before replying, ‘And what about the FIR?’
‘I don’t care about the FIR, Banerjee. Do what you will. But I want the news in tomorrow’s paper. And it has to be printed big and bold.’
‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
I hung up just as Ranveer put his head around the door. ‘Sir, I think we’ve got a hit, but I’m not sure.’
I waved him in, and yelled, ‘Rahul!’
He arrived immediately, as usual unamused by my yelling out to him rather than using the intercom.
