Living Hell

by Vivaan Shah

  Interrogation Room

  By the time Nadeem and Warren were brought to Malad police station, Inspector Nagpal was already seated in his office, sipping on another cup of tea.

  ‘Come in,’ he called out to Nadeem, as soon as he noticed them enter the police station.

  Nadeem walked past the head constable’s desk with his nose in the air.

  ‘Don’t have to wait in line today to meet your sahib,’ he sneered at the head constable.

  Inspector Nagpal had some files stacked on his desk. He pulled out a pen that was clipped to his chest pocket. He had a pair of reading glasses on, which he took off to greet Nadeem and Warren, as they entered his office.

  ‘How are you feeling, Nadeem?’ asked Inspector Nagpal.

  ‘Fine, thank you, inspector,’ Nadeem replied, courteously.

  ‘I’d like to have a word with you.’

  ‘Another cup of tea? No, thank you! I take mine without sugar and certainly without cough syrup.’

  Srikant closed the door and quickly turned towards his sahib, looking at him with questioning eyes. Inspector Nagpal signalled something to him with his customary flick of the fingers, as if implying serious business.

  ‘What do you want to do with the other one?’ asked Dilip, gesturing towards Warren.

  ‘Lock him up,’ ordered Inspector Nagpal. ‘Put him in solitary confinement till further notice.’

  Dilip and Srikant pulled Nadeem and Warren out of Inspector Nagpal’s cabin. Warren was relegated to the junior constables, but Nadeem was given the special treatment. Dilip and Srikant led him through a dark corridor to the dreaded chamber. Inspector Nagpal followed them in, folding his sleeves ominously.

  The interrogation room was sealed shut after they entered. A single ceiling lamp provided all the light in the dingy room, which was musty with the smell of countless thrashings and beatings that must have taken place within its hallowed walls.

  Nadeem sat on a stool while Srikant stood beside him in a corner. Inspector Nagpal turned a chair around and settled himself on it, pointing the lamp in Nadeem’s direction to get a better look at him.

  ‘You ever heard of an officer by the name of Sumant Rao Kaambli?’ he asked Nadeem.

  ‘I’ve had the pleasure of gathering his acquaintance.’

  ‘Then you must be fully aware that he has set quite a standard for this side of the police force to live up to. He has raised the bar, so to speak. Sometimes I wish I had his resolve, and sometimes, when I come face-to-face with guys like you, I wish I had his scruples. Compared to him, I’m soft. They say he sold his conscience when he was a kid and has been looking for it ever since in every frightened face he had the displeasure of having to work on.’

  Srikant switched on the ceiling fan. It came on at its own leisurely pace, rotating slowly and creaking into the stillness of the dense air that filled the room. Inspector Nagpal stretched his palm out for Dilip to put something into it. Dilip searched his pockets for Nadeem’s mobile phone, tapping his chest, hips and back pocket. Once he got hold of it, he placed it neatly in the inspector’s hands. Inspector Nagpal unfolded his reading glasses and went through it thoroughly, as though it were his birthright as a police officer. There was a new message in the inbox. He opened it and his eyes glowed with mischievous delight as he read it.

  ‘Just reached home,’ he read. ‘Take care and get well soon. From Rohini.’

  Nadeem looked down in absolute silence. He didn’t say a word.

  ‘Who is Rohini?’

  Nadeem still remained silent.

  ‘I thought you said you never had anything to do with Makhija.’

  ‘I didn’t!’

  ‘Then how do you have his wife’s mobile number stored in your contacts, and why is she messaging you at this time of the night?’

  Just then, the sound of a car screeching to a halt tore across the police station. The thud of the car door slamming preceded the growling of the engine as it revved off.

  Irshaad Batla, followed by two of his flunkies, walked into the police station like they owned the place. Their demeanour suggested contempt for authority and also an amusement at the circumstances at hand. The head constable showed them into the interrogation room, where Inspector Nagpal was seated with Nadeem.

  Nadeem glowered at Irshaad as he entered the chamber. Inspector Nagpal offered Irshaad his chair, but he refused and insisted that he preferred to stand. He instructed his henchmen to exit the room and keep a watch outside. Nadeem looked at Irshaad with melancholy eyes, hoping to inspire empathy. He was trying to get the waterworks going, but ended up putting on a sloppy act. He barely even caught Irshaad’s attention, with his moist eye lashes, as he kept running his fingers through his hair like it was a sign of utter despair.

  ‘How do you want to do this?’ Irshaad asked Inspector Nagpal.

  ‘We can take him out tonight for a round.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Madh Island,’ said Inspector Nagpal, looking at Srikant. ‘We can do an encounter on him and close the books.’

  Srikant’s smug expression was suddenly overcome by an approaching anxiety. Irshaad looked up at the ceiling fan and took a long deep breath. Just then Nadeem’s phone, which currently lay in Inspector Nagpal’s pocket, started to ring. Irshaad asked to take a look at it.

  ‘Who is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Gaekwad!’ said Inspector Nagpal, as he handed the phone to him.

  After it stopped ringing, Irshaad pressed the top button on the phone, switching it off. He then gently removed the SIM card after sliding open the battery cover. After having put it into his pocket, he placed the phone down on the floor and smashed it with prodigious force.

  ‘Look,’ Nadeem pleaded. ‘Please, Irshaad, listen to me, we can work this out! Let’s talk this through with a cool head . . .’

  Before Nadeem could utter another syllable, Irshaad pulled Inspector Nagpal’s chair out from under him and swung it at Nadeem. Nadeem was pushed towards the wall as he ducked, missing it narrowly. Irshaad smacked him across the face with three consecutive strokes till he collapsed on the floor. Once he was down, Irshaad took the opportunity to kick him in the stomach, his heels digging firmly into Nadeem’s abdomen, producing a variety of raucous and squawking sounds that sounded increasingly pitiful and undignified as they grew more vigorous. He flung the stool Nadeem had been sitting on at one of the windows, smashing it for the sole purpose of demonstrating his wrath. Irshaad’s body was convulsing with a simmering rage. He started banging his clenched fists on his thighs. He shrivelled up like a petulant child in the midst of a tantrum and began shrieking and screaming at the top of his voice. Nadeem knew he was having one of his outbursts and, as he looked towards Inspector Nagpal, he sensed an uncertainty in his ability to cope with the situation.

  ‘Take it easy, Irshaad,’ Nadeem spoke like a matador trying to tame a charging bull. ‘Please, I beg you, listen to me.’

  Nadeem knew how to handle Irshaad in these situations as he had had the opportunity of having done so before. He tried beckoning to him with his reasoning tone, tried to make him see sense, but nothing succeeded in preventing him from going out of control.

  Nadeem received a terrible beating. Inspector Nagpal and Srikant stood by solemnly and watched. It was almost as though the matter was not in their hands, or outside their jurisdiction, left solely to the discretion of the aggressor. Irshaad had paid handsomely for their confidence and it seemed only reasonable to let him have his money’s worth.

  The Mac

  An hour and a half later, Warren was called in for questioning into the interrogation room. Bits and pieces of Nadeem’s phone were scattered all about the floor.

  Nadeem sat in a corner looking considerably roughed up. His hair was dishevelled, he had a bruise under his chin, a black eye and a swollen upper lip. Srikant was caressing his hair, promising him it would be all right and that he didn’t have a thing in the world to be worried about. He ordered one of the hawaldars to bring s
ome ice wrapped in a handkerchief.

  Irshaad was standing near one of the windows talking on the phone in a sort of code language like the ‘p’ language, only he replaced the ‘p’ with an ‘ant’.

  ‘Mantalad Puntolice stintation!’ he said into the phone.

  Inspector Nagpal asked Warren to sit on the only chair that stood in the room. Warren sat on it, tilting left and right since it was unsteady, as it had been thrown at the wall and at Nadeem. Inspector Nagpal studied Warren from head to toe and looked at his locks with abject disdain and disapproval.

  ‘Does the name Rohini Makhija mean anything to you?’ asked Inspector Nagpal.

  ‘No,’ replied Warren.

  ‘What relation does your friend have with her?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Warren looked at Nadeem, who avoided eye contact.

  ‘I got a call from his phone,’ said Warren, ‘and was told by her to come to the hospital. I was told it was an emergency.’

  Irshaad Batla cut the call that he was so strenuously engaged in and turned his attention towards Warren.

  ‘How much, does he know?’ he asked Nagpal.

  ‘Not much, by the looks of him,’ said Inspector Nagpal.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Irshaad, ‘I’m not taking any chances. Naved Bhai and Adnan Bhai are on their way here right now. They’ve got two of our Behram Bagh shooters; they’ll take care of it. Just close the files and say they’re absconding.’

  ‘Where are you going to dispose of the bodies?’

  ‘We’ll take them to the creek in Ghodbunder and dump them in the mangroves. No one will find them there.’

  ‘Listen,’ said Inspector Nagpal, visibly alarmed. ‘Maybe you’d better let me handle this. I’ll take them to Madh Island, into the jungle, and do an encounter on them, say they were trying to escape. We’ll plant a revolver in his hand. He’s known to carry firearms, after all, he used to work for your dad.’

  ‘This Chipkali never worked for my dad. He worked for me. He was my pet. My right hand man, you could say. In those days, he marched to my beat. Isn’t that right, Nadeem?’

  Nadeem wasn’t in a condition to talk.

  ‘Look,’ trembled Warren. ‘Whatever it is, I am sure we can work this out. How much do you want? I can arrange some money. My cousin, Howard, works in the merchant navy. He’ll have some money lying in his flat.’

  ‘Your friend’s in deeper than you think,’ said Irshaad. ‘Needless to say, if it was anything that money could buy, I wouldn’t be out here wasting Inspector Nagpal’s time.’

  Irshaad took a long pause, wondering whether or not to waste his time on Warren.

  ‘As of now,’ he began, ‘your buddy is twelve lakhs short in our books. Twelve and a half, plus interest. That’s how much he owes me.’

  ‘I am sure it can be arranged,’ suggested Warren, naively.

  Irshaad looked at Inspector Nagpal, who smiled back at him.

  ‘What’s your name, Paolie [Christian]?’ asked Irshaad.

  ‘Warren.’

  ‘I used to know a guy like you once, Warren. His name was Flavian. Flavours they used to call him. He didn’t make it past the third grade. He used to sit in front of me in class and never let me concentrate. Kept stealing my pens and pencils. One day, he got more of my pencil than he bargained for.’

  There was a long pause as Warren looked around, thinking of a comment that would be worth his while.

  ‘Which school did you go to, Paolia? I’ll bet it was a macapao school!’ said Irshaad.

  ‘St Stanishlaus,’ replied Warren.

  ‘I thought as much. You see, I went to St Teresa’s. First to St Anne’s and then to St Teresa’s. I quite liked St Anne’s, but the unfortunate incident with my classmate prevented me from continuing my schooling there. But I always say that it’s what I learnt outside the classroom that made me what I am today. Tell me, Warren, you ever knew a guy called Valen? Little guy. In St Stanish? I think he would have been your batch.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Your friend Nadeem knows him. I only mention it because that’s how I know Nadeem. Through Valen.’

  Warren was not getting the drift of this conversation.

  ‘I just thought you might know him, the world’s smaller than you think. I only mention it to remind you that Nadeem knows certain people who I know. I don’t know about you, but Nadeem certainly does know them. And you see, his squealing to the cops about my dad’s operations is one thing. That I can take, but what I can’t take is him spreading shit about me to people I know.’

  ‘Look,’ interrupted Nadeem from the farthest corner of the room.

  ‘Shut up!’ barked Irshaad.

  Nadeem got up from the floor and took two unsteady steps in Irshaad Batla’s direction. Irshaad turned his attention back to Warren.

  ‘Tell me, Warren,’ he continued, ‘by any chance did Nadeem mention anything about running into me today?’

  ‘IRSHAAAAD,’ screamed Nadeem, trying to distract his attention from Warren.

  Warren looked at Nadeem, who was trying to say something to him fiercely with his eyes.

  ‘Tell me, Warren,’ said Irshaad. ‘Tell me the truth. If you lie, I have ways of finding out.’

  ‘He mentioned,’ began Warren, ‘that . . .’

  ‘WARREN!’ yelled Nadeem, trying to shut him up.

  All of a sudden, Irshaad charged at Nadeem and belted him one in the eye. One of his cut’s opened up and started flowing uncontrollably. Inspector Nagpal disgustedly told Dilip to fetch some cotton wool.

  ‘He mentioned,’ continued Warren, stammering and stuttering, ‘that he met you at a psychiatrist’s clinic.’

  Irshaad sighed in satisfaction. He had heard what he wanted to hear all along. He paid Warren no further heed and proceeded towards Nadeem.

  ‘Now, Nadeem,’ he breathed heavily, ‘when we met earlier in the day, hadn’t I specifically told you not to tell anyone under any circumstances that you saw me there, including your roommate?’

  ‘Look, Irshaad,’ pleaded Nadeem, ‘I can explain.’

  ‘Now,’ Irshaad cut him off before he could utter another word, ‘how am I to take your word that you will not tell anyone about this? You are the only one who has seen me there. I cannot take any chances.’

  ‘Listen, Irshaad. If you pop either one of us, Gaekwad is going to be on your ass sooner than you think. In fact, he’s on his way here right now.’

  ‘Then shouldn’t he have reached by now?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Irshaad, but I got held up,’ said a voice from outside the interrogation room. ‘I had to bring along a witness.’

  From the shadows of the corridor, like a guardian angel, emerged Inspector Gaekwad, followed by Dr Vengsarkar, whom he led into the interrogation room.

  Saved by the Bell

  ‘Yes?’ asked Inspector Nagpal, as he stood up in attention.

  ‘Inspector V.M. Gaekwad, Byculla police station,’ proclaimed Inspector Gaekwad, as he flashed his badge before Inspector Nagpal.

  ‘You’re a bit out of your jurisdiction, aren’t you, inspector?’ asked Inspector Nagpal.

  ‘It isn’t for nothing that I’ve made this long trip to Malad in the middle of the night, Nagpal. I’ve only heard of you before, I’m glad to finally meet you in person.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t say the same,’ said Inspector Nagpal, shooting a discreet glance at the doctor. ‘What do you want here, Inspector Gaekwad?’

  ‘The man you’ve held in custody works for me. His name is Nadeem Khatib. I can gladly vouch for him, show you his police record, his dossier, whatever you require.’

  ‘This man is held here as a suspect,’ stated Inspector Nagpal. ‘He’s not in judicial custody as yet. He’s going to spend the night in the lock-up.’

  ‘He didn’t do it,’ said Inspector Gaekwad. ‘You have my word.’

  ‘Your word doesn’t count for much here, Inspector. How can you be so sure?’

  ‘Because I know who d
id it.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Him,’ he smirked, pointing at Irshaad Batla.

  Inspector Nagpal turned his neck to look at Batla, as if for the first time. ‘Him?’ he laughed. ‘Not possible. He’s here as a witness. The deceased Mr Makhija owed him money. He’s the last person who would want to see Makhija dead.’

  ‘Why don’t you let me handle this three-stripe paandu!’ spat Irshaad Batla. ‘He’s a piece of cake.’

  ‘No, Irshaad,’ Inspector Nagpal quivered. ‘Don’t! Let me handle this.’

  ‘I’ve heard all about you, Gaekwad,’ growled Irshaad, closing in on him. ‘You’re the one who’s been on to us since this worm got himself arrested. Let me tell you something!’

  ‘What?’ Inspector Gaekwad raised his nose in the air, glancing down at him through his nostrils.

  ‘You carry on like that and you might find yourself transferred sooner than you know it!’

  Inspector Gaekwad looked aside, rolling his eyes in disbelief. He had heard worse. He didn’t even bother to look him straight in the eyes. He, instead, turned to Inspector Nagpal and addressed his line of inquiry to him.

  ‘You haven’t made much headway in this case, have you?’

  ‘That, right there,’ said Inspector Nagpal, pointing at Nadeem, ‘is all the headway I need to make.’

  ‘What do you want with this?’ Inspector Gaekwad asked, suddenly dead serious. ‘I thought they shut the case. What are you getting out of this? How much is he paying you to pin this on Nadeem?’

  ‘As I said before, Mr Sheikh is merely here as a witness.’

  ‘Then what’s he doing here at this time of the night?’

  ‘As I said before, the late Mr Makhija was in debt with him. He owed him money.’

  ‘You didn’t say all that much before, but let me tell you something I haven’t said as yet. Your Mr Sheikh out here owes some money too.’