Out of Order

by Charles Benoit

  The four men’s heads snapped up.

  “No. I hadn’t planned on telling anyone about it,” Jason said, standing up and looking about the dark recesses of the fourth floor. “Anyone of you remember where the men’s room was?”

  “It was there,” Manny said, pointing to a hacked-off stand of pipes that ran along one edge of the open stairwell, “but to be safe I suggest you try one of the windows. The night sky is amazing.”

  His back to the light of the stove, Jason eased his way toward a dark corner, stopping to stand behind one of the concrete pillars. “Great, Narvin,” Jason could hear Rachel say, “you dropped my backpack in a freakin’ puddle.”

  “Now whom did you say this sari was for?” Attar asked Rachel as she set the pack on her cinderblock seat.

  “Sriram’s mom,” Rachel said, clicking open the plastic snaps. She pulled the balled-up sari from the bag, the four men leaning in for a better look. “It’s kinda roughed up—I told Jason I should carry it but no, he’s always right. That funny smell is Jason’s cologne.”

  Manny shook his head. “It smells like kerosene to me.”

  “Here,” she said, handing Attar one of the corners. “Stretch this out. Watch it, it’s real long. Don’t trip over anything.”

  From where he was standing, Jason could see them all, the flash of recognition in one man’s face when he saw the sari, his eyes widening, then, with a blink, assuming the same curious stare the others wore.

  “I don’t know how he got these in there,” Rachel said, holding the corner up, pointing out the holes left from the passing bullet. “I was going to have Narvin stop by a sari shop and get a new one, give her that instead, but we were running late as it was.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Manny said. “This one will be just fine. In fact just before you arrived I was telling Jason about a trip I am about to take.”

  “This is a good sari,” Narvin said, more to himself than to the others, rubbing the thin material between his fingers. “The kind you’d want to give someone special. Your mother, an aunt maybe. Or your fiancée.”

  “Red was my mother’s favorite color,” Attar said, holding the corner up over his head to better see the pattern. “I always bought her red saris.”

  Ravi sighed. “Rachel, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Sriram’s mother died some years ago.”

  Rachel looked up at Ravi, her mouth dropping open. She looked to the others, Attar nodding, Manny and Narvin continuing to stare at the sari. “He never said she was dead.” Her voice was just loud enough to be heard over the hiss of the cook stove. She looked down the length of the sari and back at Ravi. “Why would he ask Jason to give this to his mother if she were dead?”

  “It’s not that hard to explain,” Ravi said. “Sriram never got over the loss of his mother and I could tell that it was really starting to get to him. It affected his work, his home life…” he said, pausing, letting the silence tell part of the story. “I urged him to take some time off, go home to India. In the end I thought we’d agreed. He’d take a few weeks, make a pilgrimage to a local shrine, present the sari there in honor of his mother and then…oh, what now,” he said, pulling a cell phone out of his pocket.

  “If it is my fiancée, tell here I’m not here,” Narvin said, winking at Rachel.

  Ravi flipped open the cell phone, his thumb hitting the illuminated buttons. “Sorry to be so rude, but this may be important.” He made a quarter turn and cupped his free hand against his ear. “Yes?”

  “Tell me, Ravi,” Jason said, stepping from behind the concrete pillar, snapping Manny’s cell phone shut, his voice filling the room. “How do you spell honor?”

  Attar laughed. “Considering he went to school in the States, no doubt incorrectly.”

  Jason moved out of the shadows towards the light of the cook stove. “It’s funny, Ravi. Getting that one piece in place—everything else just came together.”

  “Are you still going on about English classes?” Manny said, lifting the brass kettle from the stove with a thick pot holder, filling the row of Styrofoam cups lined up on his makeshift counter.

  “This is about email messages,” Jason said, waiting as Ravi turned.

  “Curious that one sent out from India offering a reward spelled honor in the American way.”

  Ravi closed his cell phone, slipping it back into his pocket. “I was just trying to look out for you. Make sure nothing bad happened to you.”

  “What’s this all about, Jason?” Narvin said, taking a step back, letting the sari fall from his hands, waiting for Manny to fill his cup.

  Jason took another step towards the group, keeping his eyes locked on Ravi. “Ravi was the one who posted my picture on that website, the one with the phone number and the reward.”

  “Really?” Manny said, chuckling as he poured, his thumb and little finger of his left hand forming an invisible phone. “Hello, Ravi. I have found Jason for you. I believe you owe me five hundred dollars.”

  “It’s true,” Ravi said, his hands open, his eyes sparkling as he smiled. “Forgive me for trying to help.”

  “I still want my five hundred dollars,” Manny said, Attar laughing as he handed Rachel the corner of the sari, reaching for a steaming coffee.

  Jason stood opposite Ravi, the cook stove hissing between them. “You’re the one that broke into the Bangalore World Systems computers. You’re the one that stole the program, and you’re the one that created the virus that shut them down.”

  Feet shuffling, Manny and Attar looked away from Jason and into their Styrofoam cups. “That was uncalled for, Jason,” Narvin said. “I know you feel obliged to clear Sriram’s name, but accusing Ravi just because he’s successful….”

  “Narvin, you’re the one who told me the only one who could get through Sriram’s security system was the man who created it.”

  “That’s right. And that was Sriram.”

  “But Ravi was the one who designed it.”

  Ravi blew out an impatient breath. “That’s ridiculous. Sriram was a genius, he didn’t need my help.”

  “Even geniuses need a mentor, somebody to get them started. That was you, Ravi. You taught Sriram how to build an impregnable security system. One that you would know how to get around.”

  “Jason, stop,” Ravi said. “You’re embarrassing yourself and nothing you say can change what Sriram did.”

  “What Sriram did was figure you out. He knew something was happening—you all said that,” Jason said, looking one by one at Attar, Manny, and Narvin. “But by the time he solved it, it was too late. He realized there was nothing he could do to stop Ravi from ruining BWS.”

  “You’re forgetting that I was the one who gave Sriram a job. Why would I hire a man I just ripped off?” Ravi closed his eyes as he spoke, dismissing the whole idea.

  “And why would he get him a green card,” Attar said.

  “For Vidya too,” Narvin said, his voice low.

  “That would not be a wise business practice,” Manny said.

  “You’re not giving yourselves enough credit. That program was beyond anything Ravi could figure out on his own.” Jason turned back to Ravi. “Sriram knew you needed him and he used that against you. The problem is, Ravi, you thought he was just like you, that he would steal from his friends. He told you just what you wanted to hear and you fell for it. You couldn’t imagine someone wanting to live in India, but he was always planning to come back. After he got what he wanted from you.” Jason pointed at the folds of bright red fabric that spilled out of Rachel’s hands, the silver and gold threads of the embroidered pattern shimmering in the flickering light.

  “This?” Rachel said, raising the sari as she spoke, shafts of light poking through the bullet holes to dance across the far wall. “Jason, hon, I don’t know….”

  “I told you what this sari is for. Sriram was going to make a pilgrimage to an area temple. That sari was to be donated in honor of his mother. Tell him,” Ravi said, turning to the oth
ers. “People do this stuff all the time.”

  Manny tilted his head. “I suppose it is possible.”

  Ravi gave a quick nod. “Thank you. And now with Sriram dead, what I would like to do is deliver the sari and make a donation in his name.” Ravi lifted the end of the sari off the floor. “Let’s fold this up before Jason lets anything else happen to it,” he said to Rachel.

  “It’s not a sari,” Jason said. “It’s a computer program. And you’re not taking it anywhere.”

  Ravi stopped folding and stared at Jason, part of the fabric slipping from his grip to float to the floor. “A computer program? Jason, you are really too much. And, yes, I am taking it. Someone has to honor Sriram’s request.”

  “Sriram wanted these guys to have it,” Jason said. “The ones you ripped off. And I’m not going to let you rip them off again.”

  “Enough of this bullshit,” Ravi said, throwing the fabric down at his feet, stepping over to his leather shoulder bag that sat by the open stairwell. “I have the vacation request form Sriram filled out—in his own handwriting. It’ll confirm everything I’m saying and shut your ass up.” He undid the gold clasp and started rummaging around, pulling a few papers out of his way. “Here it is,” he said, pulling a pistol from his bag as he stood.

  “What the hell is this?” Narvin said, backing into Attar and Manny as Jason took a step forward.

  “It’s proof I was right,” Jason said.

  Arm straight out, Ravi pointed the gun at Jason. “I don’t want to hurt anybody. I’m only taking back what’s mine.”

  Jason took a half step forward, stopping when he saw Ravi tighten his grip. “Sriram was patient,” Jason said. “It took him years but he was finally going to get even. But you found out that he was planning to steal Raj-Tech’s big breakthrough, bring it here to India, maybe start a new computer company, maybe bring this one back.” He waved an arm around the empty space, Ravi’s eyes staying fixed on his chest.

  “You went to their apartment. Maybe he saw it coming, maybe he fought back, I don’t know. But you shot them—both of them—then made it look like Sriram did it. That was the easy part—the police just about let you write the report. The hard part was figuring out how Sriram was getting it out of the country. You didn’t find out that it was in the sari until I was already in India. You tried to have the bag stolen—you even had Taco try to kill me.”

  “The man was insane,” Ravi said, his eyes softer as he spoke. “He should have done it the way I told him. He wasn’t supposed to get hurt.”

  “Like your man on the train?” Jason said, holding his arms far out to his sides, sliding a foot forward. “So now what? You going to shoot us too?”

  “Jesus, Jason,” Narvin said. “Don’t give him any ideas.”

  “Stay back,” Ravi said, reaching down, picking up the tail end of the sari, gripping it in his left hand, twirling his arm in a tight circle, winding the sari around his forearm as he spoke. “No one has to get hurt. I just want to take this and leave.” With every turn the silky red fabric moved towards him across the concrete floor.

  “Excuse me,” Rachel said. “Isn’t this where someone points out that he’ll never get away with it and that the minute he leaves we’ll call the police?”

  Manny sighed, watching as Ravi wound more and more of the sari around his arm, the gun steady despite his jerky movement. “This is India. The truth is he will get away with it. If he has not yet bought off the police he will most assuredly do so later.”

  Rachel turned to Jason. “After all you went through? The monkey, that guy shooting at you? Your arm? You almost got killed for this thing. And that’s it, you’re just going to give it to him?”

  “That’s it,” Jason said without emotion. “It’s over.”

  With a final sweep of his arm, the last of the fabric jumped from the floor. Rachel held tight to the top corner, a yard of red silk and a yard of embroidered pallu suspended between them. Ravi gave the fabric a sharp tug but Rachel refused to let go.

  “Give it to him, Rachel,” Jason said. “It’s not worth it.”

  Rachel looked down the fabric at the end of the gun. “No.”

  “Please, miss,” Manny said. “Let it go.”

  “Rachel, don’t be stupid,” Narvin said. “Let go.”

  She shifted her feet, widening her stance.

  Ravi gave the sari another tug, Rachel tugging back, both hands on the sari now, leaning back, Ravi telling her to let go, his teeth clenched, the gun, still trained on Jason, swinging over to point at Rachel, the others shouting, waving their arms, Jason stepping in front of Rachel, grabbing the sari, pulling it from her grip, the sound of ripping fabric as she fell backwards, kicking the cook stove forward as Jason dropped the fabric, the room darkening as the end of the sari draped down over the open flame, then brighter as the sari caught fire.

  With a snap of his arm, Ravi yanked the sari free of the stove, the blazing fabric arching high in the air, flying back at him, a wooshing sound as the flames raced up the sari, still damp with kerosene. Ravi, stumbling backwards now, the gun still held out, his left arm turning, fighting to unravel the wad of silk, loops of fabric dancing beside him, fanning the rushing flames, sooty embers filling the air. Ravi screamed as the others shouted, telling him to stop, warning him, moving towards him, backing off when the first shot sent chips of concrete flying from the floor, the second scraping the ceiling, their heads ducked, no one seeing Ravi topple backwards into the open stairwell, his frantic struggle to regain his balance, the flaming sari following him down past four flights of unfinished steps to the dark entrance hall of Bangalore World Systems.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  As the elevator doors opened at the hotel lobby, Jason realized—for the second time in two days—that he should have taken the stairs.

  He half expected a squad of khaki-shirted police officers, guns drawn, grabbing him by the collar and tossing him down hard on the polished floor, shouting a thousand things at once as they put the iron shackles on him, leading him away, never to be seen again. Instead, as he stepped out into the lobby, a squad of hotel maids ducked behind him into the waiting elevator, each one mumbling a mispronounced good morning as the doors eased closed. The lone strap of his backpack on his shoulder, Jason crossed the lobby to where Manny, Attar, and Narvin sat waiting.

  “I hope you’re not as tired as you look,” Jason said as he swung his backpack onto the floor, dropping into an overstuffed chair, and rolling up the sleeves on his last semi-clean button-down shirt. “What time did you finish up last night?”

  Manny held up one hand as he used the other to cover a gaping yawn. “I started back shortly after sunrise. It must have been early—I even beat the rush hour traffic into the city.”

  “And you’re certain everything is….” Jason let his words trail off, not sure what to say.

  “Everything is taken care of. The security guard—Mr. Chaudhrythe—he saw to most of it.”

  “You’re sure you can trust this guy?”

  Manny lifted his head, his barrel chest rising with a noisy intake of air. “I trust him more than I trust you.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jason said. “I don’t mean to be rude, it’s just that it’s all kind of strange to me.”

  “You think we do this every weekend?” Narvin said, getting them all to smile for the first time in hours.

  Manny leaned forward, his thick forearms resting on his even thicker thighs. “Mr. Chaudhrythe has many connections in the shantytown, the one we drove through. I am not sure why, but I wanted to make sure that Ravi received the proper rites and prayers.”

  “So it’s already done? The funeral, or, uh, whatever?”

  “Yes, the funeral was this morning, just after sun up. Another naked, nameless beggar has left this mortal coil.”

  Jason felt a shiver race up his sweating back, not sure if the others had seen him shake. “Is there any chance the police will find the grave…dig him up…ID him from his dental re
cords?”

  “This is India, Jason,” Attar said. “We cremate the dead.”

  “You’re forgetting the Muslims,” Narvin said. “And the Parsees. And the Jews. And most of the Christians.”

  Manny looked past Attar to Narvin. “In this case the poor beggar was a Hindu.”

  Jason nodded. “What about you guys? Any problems?”

  Attar smirked, flicking his fingers at the suggestion. “Raj-Tech should really update their security. We used a computer at an all-night Internet café. There were a few firewalls to get around, a tricky little back-trace feature that was a bit stubborn—but nothing too complex.”

  “They have a keypad system. Punch in your code to access certain floors, specialized rooms, that sort of thing.” Narvin poked at the air with a stiff index finger as he spoke, hitting imaginary buttons. “According to Raj-Tech’s records—well, according to their records now—Ravi was working alone in a secure section of the building yesterday afternoon and, lo and behold, he’s still in the building as we speak.”

  “Between Manny’s Mr. Chaudhrythe and our efforts at the computer,” Attar said, looking at his friends, “Ravi Murty just disappeared.”

  “Ten years too late,” Manny said. “But I will take it nonetheless.”

  Jason leaned back in the chair, rubbing the stubble on his chin as he thought, the others swapping yawns and stretches. “Well, I guess that’s it.”

  Manny slapped his hands on his knees and stood. “We best be going. The road to the airport will be crowded already. Now, where is your lovely bride? We do not want you to be late.”

  “The way she handled herself last night,” Attar said, the admiration clear in his voice. “The way she stood up to Ravi, told him no even when he was pointing a gun right at her….”

  Narvin smiled. “You had better be good to her, Jason. She’s one in a million.”

  Where to start, Jason thought as he reached for his backpack.

  Tell them that everything they said was true?