‘I know that men you might think are weak, turn out to be strong, and vice versa.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Are you willing to let me . . . question you, about it?’
‘Actually . . . no,’ I said, struggling jellyfish into action.
‘Would you like me to make a revelation?’ he asked. ‘It will bond us, on this day.’
‘Actually . . . no,’ I said, finding the stuff to stand.
‘I took the children’s toy shop, because that’s what I want to do,’ he said. ‘I only accepted the Company lottery franchise to make sure they know I’m still a loyal Company man. It’s the toy shop, actually, that I wanted, and the crime is just a front.’
‘Okay . . . ’
‘And my name is Mustapha,’ he said. ‘It was Khaderbhai who gave me the name Tuareg. He said that it means Abandoned by God, and was a name for the Blue People, because they would not be subdued. But my name is Mustapha.’
‘I . . . ’
‘There, I have confessed two things to you, and we are brothers.’
‘Okay . . . ’
‘And based on the profile I compiled in our meeting today, I will know exactly what to do to you, if you ever speak to anyone of my home.’
He glanced at the clock.
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘I see our time is up.’
Chapter Fifty-Nine
There’s a thing that happens when you ride stoned, which no sane person would do, where time vanishes. I arrived in Colaba, from distant Khar, and I had no recollection of the trip. If the destination is the journey, I never arrived.
Whatever happened on the way, I felt freed of worry, and emptied of need when I cruised back into the Island City peninsula. Or maybe it was just because I had Concannon’s address, and all I had to do was wait for midnight, to visit it.
I tried to find Karla. She hadn’t been avoiding me, but she hadn’t been colliding with me. I knew she sometimes had a drink with Didier at Leopold’s, late in the night.
I parked the bike outside and walked in, hoping my disappointment didn’t show when I saw Didier sitting alone. He gave me a golden smile, and I smiled back, walking toward him. I was glad, on second thoughts, that Karla wasn’t there: not if I wanted to reckon with Concannon that night.
Didier rose to greet me, shaking hands strenuously.
‘I am so glad to see you, Lin,’ he said. ‘I was wondering where you were. I felt so bad when you left earlier, after that talk with Kavita. It wounded me. Did you not think of my feelings?’
‘Did you know about Lisa and Kavita?’ I asked.
‘Of course,’ he puffed. ‘Didier knows everything. What is the point of Didier, if he does not know every scandalous thing?’
‘I’m not sure I understand the question. Why don’t we stay with mine.’
‘I . . . I knew, Lin. My first thought, when Lisa tricked me, was that she was with Kavita. I checked, but Kavita was at a different party that night, close to here.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t she tell me?’
‘Waiter!’ Didier called out.
‘You’re ducking the question, Didier.’
‘There were two questions, Lin. Waiter!’
‘Still ducking, Didier.’
‘Certainly not,’ he replied. ‘I’m simply electing to answer your question after I have had two strong drinks. That is not the same thing. Waiter!’
‘How can I be of service, sir?’ Sweetie asked sweetly.
‘Stop with the politeness, Sweetie!’ Didier snapped. ‘And bring us two cold beers.’
‘I am here to serve,’ Sweetie said, backing away obsequiously.
It was infuriatingly polite, and Didier was infuriated.
‘Get out of my sight!’ he shouted. ‘Bring my bloody drinks, man!’
Sweetie smiled, too sweetly, backing away.
‘Do you know that you get very English, when you get angry?’ I remarked.
‘These swine!’ Didier protested. ‘They are only being nice to me, because it hurts me. It is like a strike, but in reverse. It is the most despicable use of courtesy, and courtesy defines us, is it not so?’
‘Love defines us, Didier.’
‘Of course, it does!’ he said, stamping his foot under the table. ‘That is exactly why reverse-politeness is so painful. Please, Lin, while you are here, make them more surly and impolite. I beg you.’
‘I’ll see what I can do, Didier. But, hey, you’re a hard act to sell. I might have to embellish you, like you did for me, when you sold me to the Divas. Which one of your shootings should I use?’
‘Lin, you abuse my sensitivities.’
‘Everything abuses your sensitivities, Didier. It’s one of the reasons why we love you. What abuses my sensitivities is that you didn’t tell me about Lisa.’
‘But, Lin, it is such a delicate matter. It is a difficult thing to just say it out loud, like that. Your girlfriend is bisexual, and has a lesbian lover. Was I supposed to make a joke, perhaps? Hey, Lin, the tongue got your cat, so to say?’
‘I’m not talking about sex. Lisa told me she was bisexual the first time we got together. I’m talking about relationships. The way it looks to me is that you and Lisa and Kavita all knew something that I should’ve known, but didn’t.’
‘I . . . I’m sorry, Lin. Sometimes, a secret is too precious to tell. Do you forgive me?’
‘No more secrets, Didier. You’re my brother. If it affects you, or me, we have to be straight with each other.’
He couldn’t help it. He started giggling.
‘Straight with each other?’
His pale blue eyes glittered, lighthouses calling the wanderer home. Worry hid again in laugh lines.
Habits too diligently indulged made caves of his cheeks, but his skin was still taut, his mouth still determined, and his nose imperial. He’d cut his curly hair short, and wore it parted on the side. Diva’s influence, I guessed.
The cut made Didier look like Dirk Bogarde at the same age, and it suited him. I knew it would sprinkle new suitors on him at parties.
‘Am I forgiven?’
‘You’re always forgiven, Didier, before you sin.’
‘I am so delighted that you came to visit tonight, Lin,’ he said, slapping his thighs. ‘I feel big things coming in the air. Can you stay, or will you rush off again, as always?’
‘I’m sitting here until midnight. You’ve got me for the duration.’
‘Wonderful!’
Sweetie slammed a cold beer in front of me on the table.
‘Aur kuch?’ Sweetie grunted at me. Anything else?
‘Go away,’ Didier snapped.
‘Oh, certainly, Mr Didier-sahib,’ Sweetie said. ‘Anything to serve you, Mr Didier-sahib.’
‘I see what you mean,’ I said to Didier. ‘This is serious. You’re gonna have to do something pretty spectacular, to win back their disrespect.’
‘I know,’ he pleaded. ‘But what?’
A man approached our table. He was tall, and broad, with close-clipped blonde hair and a very short nose that flattened his face, making it seem two-dimensional.
When he got looming-close, I saw that his nose had been squashed flat: broken so many times that the gristle had collapsed. He was either a very bad fighter, or he’d had so many bad fights that the law of averages put a thumbprint where his nose had been.
Either way, it wasn’t a pretty sight, looming over our table. Looming over me, in fact.
‘How can you sit next to this filthy gay?’ he asked me.
‘It’s called gravity,’ I said. ‘Look it up, when you have an afternoon to spare.’
He turned to Didier.
‘You make me sick!’ the big man hissed.
‘Not yet,’ Didier replied. ‘But it happens.’
‘How a
bout something happens to your face?’ the tall man said, his jaw like a shovel.
‘Careful,’ I warned. ‘My boyfriend has a temper.’
‘Fuck you,’ the big man said.
There was a second man, standing some distance away. I left him in the periphery, and focused on the flattened moon above our table.
‘You know what we do with your kind in Leningrad?’ the tall man asked Didier.
‘The same thing you do with my kind, everywhere,’ Didier said calmly, his hand in his jacket pocket as he leaned back in his chair. ‘Until we stop you.’
Leningrad. Russians. I risked a clear look at the second man, standing a few steps behind. He wore a thin black shirt, like his friend. His short brown hair was a little messed, his pale green eyes were bright, and his expressive mouth lifted easily in a smile. His thumbs were hooked in the loops of his faded jeans.
He was leaner and faster than his friend, and much calmer. That made him the most dangerous man in the room, excluding Didier, because everyone else in the room, including me, was nervous. He looked at me, made eye contact, and smiled genially.
I looked back at the man who was blocking out several overhead lights with his face.
‘Show me what you’ve got,’ the tall Russian shouted, slapping at his chest. ‘Fight me!’
Patrons hastily vacated neighbouring tables. The tall Russian shoved empty tables and chairs aside, and stood in an open space, challenging Didier.
‘Come here, little man,’ he teased.
Didier lit a cigarette.
‘Double abomination!’ the tall Russian shouted. ‘A gay, and a Jew. A Jew gay. The worst kind of gay.’
Waiters established a wide perimeter. They were ready to pounce if the shouting turned to fighting, but no-one wanted to be the first pouncer, punched away by the big, angry Russian.
‘Come on, little man. Come here.’
‘Certainly,’ Didier replied equably. ‘When I have finished my cigarette.’
Oh, shit, I thought, and knew that I wasn’t the only one in Leopold’s thinking it. Didier puffed contentedly, gently easing an urn of ash into his glass ashtray.
In the silence, the Russian companion moved quickly to stand beside me. He held his hands open in front of him, gesturing toward the chair next to mine.
It was a good idea. When he’d moved, I’d leaned back in my chair, put my right arm behind me and closed my hand around one of my knives.
‘Is this seat taken?’ he asked sociably. ‘It might take your friend a minute to finish his cigarette, and I’d rather sit, if it’s okay with you.’
‘It’s a free country, Oleg,’ I said. ‘That’s why I live here.’
‘Thanks,’ he said, sitting next to me comfortably. ‘Hey, don’t take it personally, but isn’t it a bit of a stereotype? I’m Russian, so my name has to be Oleg?’
He was right. And when a man’s right, he’s right, even if you’re thinking about stabbing him in the thigh.
‘My name’s Lin,’ I said. ‘I’m not sure if I’m pleased to meet you.’
‘Likewise,’ he said. ‘Oleg.’
‘Are you fucking with me?’
I still had my hand on the knife.
‘No,’ he laughed. ‘It really is my name. Oleg. And your gay Jewish friend is about to get his ass kicked.’
We both looked at Didier, who was examining his cigarette forensically.
‘My money’s on the Jew,’ I said.
‘It is?’
‘My money’s always on the Jew.’
‘How much money?’ he asked, a wide smile lighting his eyes with mischief.
‘Everything I’ve got.’
‘How much is everything?’
‘Everything will buy you three thousand,’ I said.
‘American?’
‘I don’t deal in roubles, Oleg. The cigarette is running out. Are you in?’
‘Done,’ he said, offering his hand.
I let go the knife, shook his hand, and put my hand back on the knife again. Oleg waved to a waiter. Didier was almost finished his cigarette. The waiter looked past Oleg to me, mystified.
He was worried. The big man was still waiting for Didier in the open space between vacated tables. Service had ceased. The waiter, named Sayed, didn’t know what was going on. I nodded my head and he came running, his eyes on the big Russian.
‘I would like a chilled beer, please,’ Oleg said. ‘And a plate of your home-made fries.’
Sayed blinked a few times, and looked at me.
‘It’s okay, Sayed,’ I said. ‘I have no idea what’s going on, either.’
‘Oh,’ Sayed said, relieved. ‘I’ll get the beer and fries, right away.’
He trotted away, wagging his hands and his head.
‘It’s okay,’ he said in Hindi. ‘Nobody knows what’s going on.’
The waiters relaxed, watching the last seconds of Didier’s cigarette.
‘I hope your friend wins, by the way,’ Oleg said. ‘Although I doubt it, unfortunately.’
Didier stubbed his cigarette out.
‘You hope my guy wins?’
‘Chert, da,’ Oleg said.
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means Hell, yeah, in Russian.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Chert, da. I’d have paid three thousand bucks to have this idiot’s bigoted ass beaten senseless, if I was that kind of guy.’
‘But you’re not that kind of guy.’
‘Look, you just met him. I’ve been working with this asshole for weeks. But I can’t bring myself to have someone beaten. Not even him. I’ve been on the other end a few times, and I didn’t like it.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘This way, if your guy wins, it’s like I paid for it, but I’m free of the karmic debt.’
Didier stood slowly, and stepped away from his table.
‘After you pay up,’ I said, ‘we should talk, Oleg.’
Didier brushed flakes of ash from his rumpled black velvet jacket, and turned up the collar. With his hands pressed deep in the pockets of his jacket, he walked toward the big Russian.
The big Russian was waving his fists in front of him, fists as big as the skulls they frequently hit, and he was weaving back and forth, slowly.
My hand was on my knife. If Oleg got involved, I was sure I could tag him before he left the table. But Oleg put his hands behind his head, leaned back in his chair, and watched the show.
Didier walked to one and a half steps from the big man, and then leapt into a high, balletic pirouette, his arms tucked into his pockets. He flung his arms wide at the peak of the leap, and descended in an arc that put his knees on the Russian’s chest, and his pistol on the top of the big man’s head.
Didier danced free, his hands back in his jacket pockets, standing away from the big man. The Russian fell from the knees first, as the brain temporarily disengaged, but his arms still flailed until he hit the floor with his face, nose first.
‘Pay up, Oleg,’ I said, as Didier went to the main counter to make things right with the management.
‘Wow,’ he said. ‘That big guy’s a bare-knuckle, no-rules fighter in Russia.’
‘Your bare-knuckle fighter just got his ass kicked by ballet and a well-made gun. Pay up.’
‘No problem,’ he said, grinning in wonder. ‘I’m Russian. We invented the well-made gun.’
Oleg pulled a roll from his pocket, peeled a few outer layers from the lettuce, and shoved the head back into his pocket.
‘You’re a man of mystery, Oleg.’
‘Actually, I’m a man unemployed.’
The fact that Scorpio George had hired Russian security guards, and Leopold’s was invaded by Russians, couldn’t be coincidence.
‘Lemme guess,’ I said. ‘You were wo
rking security for the penthouse floor at the Mahesh?’
‘That’s right. He fired us today, motherfucker.’
‘He happens to be a friend of mine, even if he is a motherfucker.’
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘If you know him, you know how tight he is with a dollar. He counted every minute we’d worked for him, and gave us a two-hundred-dollar kiss goodbye, after guarding his life. Funny, isn’t it?’
‘That’s a bigger roll than two hundred bucks.’
‘There was a poker game, at the hotel, run by this guy called Gemini.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Yeah, I had a run of luck, and broke the bank.’
Oleg, a golden-child gambler, broke the bank. Of all the poker games, in all the world, he’d walked into mine.
Sayed brought drinks and food, smiling happily.
‘Mr Didier was terrific,’ Sayed muttered to me. ‘We have not seen such good dancing from him in years! He knocked out that big fellow with just one smack.’
‘Where are you dancing the big fellow to now, Sayed?’ I asked.
‘To the street,’ he said, wiping moisture from the table, and offering condiments to Oleg.
Oleg gestured at me with a potato chip dipped in tomato sauce.
‘Can I dig in?’ he asked politely. ‘I love homemade fries.’
‘Your friend is being dragged out into the street, Oleg.’
‘Is that a Yes, or a No?’
‘I’ll be right back,’ I sighed, as he dug in.
I knew how it worked. The big Russian’s body would be dragged outside Leopold’s, twelve inches from the legal obligation line. That would place him in the pavement commercial zone.
The pavement shopkeepers would eventually shove him from their zone to the gutter, twelve inches from their footpath shops.
That would place him in the taxi driver commercial zone, and eventually his body would be dragged to the open road, where an ambulance would collect him, if a bus didn’t take him out first.
I’d been that man, that unconscious meat at the mercy of the world. I called a street trader I knew, and paid him to put the big Russian into a taxi, bound for the hospital.
Didier was still accepting praise, and paying handsomely for the interruption to Leopold’s business. I walked back to the table, looking for a third Russian. I know it sounds kind of paranoid that I was looking for a third Russian, but they were crazy years, and in my experience, it’s always prudent to consider a third Russian.
The Mountain Shadow Page 67
