by Gabriel Khan
I couldn’t tell him. I had already made enough blunders, and was looking like a fool. I couldn’t ask anyone to trust my instincts.
‘It’s nothing, Rahul. Just a hunch. Listen to me. Get to the factory. Take everyone with you. I’ll meet you there.’
He looked unhappy. ‘I’ll stay, sir. Let the others go on to the factory.’
I laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. ‘Thanks, lad. But this I’ve got to do myself. Even if it’s just to convince myself I’m not off my head.’
He gave me a searching look, and went back to the jeep. I heard him barking orders, and in a moment, all three vehicles roared off in the direction of the factory.
The sign had been just around the corner, I told myself as I jogged back. And then I saw it. Priya Weds Badrinath. I knew I’d seen it before, in Ajay’s hands back at the bar. And I knew there was no chance he’d be here, not after today’s events. So what the hell was I doing here?
Sometimes, fate can crush you completely. But sometimes it lets through a glimmer of hope.
24
Home Run
Santacruz airport, Friday, 5 p.m.
Sharmaji was laughing his heart out. He was making a hooting noise with a paper napkin. He was back-slapping everybody, generally having a whale of a time. They were in a restaurant and it was celebration time.
Oh, Sharmaji felt so light, like a balloon. It had been nerve-wracking until the job got done. At one point, he had thought that this time the law would finally catch up with them. With the CBI on their tail, it was touch and go. The more he had thought about the heist, the more impossible it had seemed.
But with Ajay, you never lost. How could he have doubted his plan for even a second? He had planned for them to ‘grab’ him. He’d thought that at some point, especially if they were frustrated enough, the CBI might target one of them. So, to avoid their picking up Iqbal or Joginder, who would definitely have broken under their intense grilling, he made sure that they picked Sharmaji, who had been a cop and knew all the tricks. And Sharmaji had walked into their trap, safe in the knowledge that they had no idea it was actually a trap for them, set by Ajay. In fact, Sharmaji marvelled at how Ajay had included the stakeout at Opera House as part of the plan. He knew that there would be a description out on him after the goof-up in Calcutta, when they’d walked in on the income-tax raid. And so, he turned it to his advantage. He’d let the cops see him, recognize him. The perfect bait. And in the end, the whole plan had come together like a well-oiled piece of clockwork.
They had all left exactly at the same time as the bus had. Sharmaji had given strict instructions to rush into the bus in an almost chaotic manner, and in the hubbub, the four of them had sneaked out from the rear of the bus, got in the car they’d hired for the day, and headed out to Andheri, to Magandas’s factory. On the way they had swapped the car for a minibus. The cops, of course, were none the wiser, and assumed, just as Ajay had said they would, that the four of them had boarded the bus with the new ‘recruits’.
At the factory, Joginder and Iqbal played their role well. It was almost as if all the forty- nine times they had raided other homes and godowns and bars and shops had been dry runs, all of it leading up to this one heist. And what a heist it had turned out to be. Magandas had taken Waseem’s instructions more seriously than anyone knew. He had transferred not only everything he owned to the factory, but had urged his associates and friends in Opera House to do the same. So, ultimately, the gold, diamonds and silver amounted to over a crore in value.
It was all Iqbal and Joginder could do to not break into a smile during the raid. They confiscated every single thing they could lay their hands on, from the smallest earring to the chunkiest gold chains, glittering in their newness, and diamond pendants shaped like lotuses and hearts. Everything went into the bags the four had brought with them. Just like before, the man in charge of the factory was bullied into submission, and just like before, he signed the official-looking piece of paper without bothering to check its authenticity, and stood there looking broken as he watched the four of them speed away in the minibus.
Unlike before, though, they had Ranveer, and he had brought his own muscle with him, including the lady cop Shantiji and others who had helped them raid the minister’s bungalow in Delhi. Taking out an entire factory was quite different from working a shop or even a bungalow, after all. Ranveer was the one in proper uniform, the ‘local’ police helping the CBI with their raid. And unlike last time, Ranveer and his men and Ajay and the three others left at the same time.
A little ahead, Ranveer’s car slowed to a stop, and his hired muscle got out, having earned more than they could have imagined. Their silence, at least, was completely bought. Sharmaji marvelled at Ajay’s ingenuity. It had worked, they had been successful. Ajay’s plan, which he had been working on for several months, had finally borne fruit. Sipping lassi and tea, they swore they’d never doubted his plan – even though every one of them, Ajay included, had felt, more than once, a sinking feeling of dread and impending defeat.
But here and now, basking in the warm glow of success, all that was in the past. Now, they would head home. And this time, they would all fly. No more trains, Iqbal had said jokingly. It was great for it to not be a joke any more. Meanwhile, Ranveer would stash the loot in a safe place that only he and Ajay knew of. Later, when the heat had cooled, the five of them would meet there again, and finally take away their share. The thought of all that money was uplifting, and it was with light hearts that they looked forward to leaving the city and its cops far behind.
But not Ajay. He wouldn’t go immediately, he would part ways with the others and meet up with them later. He had to pick up Priya first. She would be waiting for him. One by one, the others said their goodbyes. When it was Sharmaji’s turn, he simply stared at Ajay, a lump in his throat. There were no words to express what he felt, no way to show how much he’d enjoyed every moment of his life ever since the day he’d met Ajay back at the garage. They’d been through a lot since then, and although Sharmaji knew he was not half as smart as Ajay was, he knew that he loved him and was certain that Ajay loved him too. It would be hard to imagine a life without Ajju. They embraced, and Ajay patted him on the back. Pulling back, he said, ‘Don’t worry, Sharmaji. I’ll be around.’
The two of them laughed. Then Ajay got up and held out his hand. Ranveer stood up and shook it. ‘It was an honour working with you,’ he said.
Ajay shook his head. ‘Give yourself credit. All this was possible only because of you. If you hadn’t convinced them, we wouldn’t be sitting here today.’
They smiled at each other. Then Ajay turned on his heel and walked out. By the time he’d hailed a taxi and was halfway across the city, Sharmaji, Iqbal and Joginder had donned different disguises and were waiting to board their flights.
When Ajay finally reached Mahim, there it was, staring at him from amidst all the garish decor: Priya Weds Badrinath.
It was time for him to claim his woman.
In the hustle and bustle of wedding preparations, nobody noticed a bearded man in a sherwani leaving the premises with his burkha-clad begum – in a taxi headed for the airport.
Mahim, Friday, 6.30 p.m.
I was fifteen minutes too late; there was pandemonium at the wedding venue. w had last been sighted approaching the toilet and had not been seen since. The window panes in the toilet were missing. Clearly her point of exit.
I stepped into the bathroom and looked out on to the road. I was thinking of the choicest abuses for Ajay – and then I thought of something and the laughter welled up inside me again. Back at the hotel, Sharmaji had said, ‘Sorry, but I suddenly thought of something Ajju said. He said the man who could catch him hadn’t been born yet.’
But I will catch you, you bastard, one day I will, I swore under my breath.
Epilogue
The shrill ringing of a doorbell.
Waseem Khan opened the door to find a postman at the door. His reading glass
es were perched on the ridge of his nose and seemed to be precariously held together, the way he peered at the envelope in his hand and asked, ‘Waseem saab?’
Waseem nodded.
The postman smiled. ‘Sir, you have a money order.’
Waseem was surprised. His brows creased into a frown. Money order. He was sure there was a mistake. He had never received a money order ever in his life. He was reluctant to sign it and take the note the postman proffered. He asked instead, ‘Where is it from?
The postman replied, ‘Laksmipur. Bhojpur district… Bihar se hai.’ Waseem drew a blank even as he tried to figure out who he knew from Laksmipur in Bihar.
Then the postman continued: ‘It’s a full hundred rupees, and the sender has also written two lines to you.’
Waseem finally decided to accept the money order. There was a two-line message at the bottom: ‘Dear Waseem saab, I wanted to return this money personally but I was not able to do so. It is your hard-earned money, it’s of no use to me. Yours, Ajay.’
Waseem’s jaw dropped. He signed the acknowledgement and was still mulling over the master thief’s audacity when his wife called out to him. She was dripping water on the floor after her bath; as usual, she had not towelled her hair dry. She came and stood next to him, near the bed. The towel hung around her waist, sarong style, and her tall, lithe body exuded a floral aroma. Waseem tugged at the towel, pulling it off her waist. He gently pushed her back onto the bed.
This was unfinished business, something that always made him feel years younger. The earlier interruptions had only fuelled his desire. Today, no one would dare to disturb him.
As if on cue, the phone buzzed, just as he bent to down to kiss her.
But this time Waseem was more focused. Nothing in the world could draw him away from the arms of his wife. He picked up the receiver and left it off the hook.
He was totally oblivious to the world. Heaven beckoned.
It was Rahul on the other end, though, and he was loud, and Waseem could still hear him.
Without waiting for a hello from Waseem’s end, he said, ‘Sir, we’ve just got a tip-off – they are in Dubai.’
There went heaven, once again.
About the Author
Gabriel Khan is a journalist and writer based in Mumbai.
First published in India in 2013 by
HarperCollins Publishers India
Copyright © Gabriel Khan 2013
ISBN: 978-93-5029-964-7
Epub Edition © June 2012 ISBN: 9789350299654
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Gabriel Khan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction and all characters and incidents described in this book are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under The Copyright Act, 1957. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins Publishers India.
Cover design: Arijit Ganguly
Cover photographs: FIlm stills of Special 26 & Shutterstock.com
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