Tarquin Hall - The Case of the Missing Servant

Few industries are as dirty as the Delhi construction business, and Rinku had broken every rule and then some. There was hardly a politician in north India he had not done a shady deal with; not a district collector or senior police-wallah to whom he hadn't passed a plastic bag full of cash.

At home in Punjabi Bagh, where he still lived in his father's house with his mother, wife and four children, Rinku was the devoted father and larger-than-life character who gave generously to the community, intervened in disputes and held the biggest Diwali party in the neighborhood. But he also owned a secret second home, bought in his son's name, a ten-acre "farmhouse" in Mehrauli. It was here that he entertained politicians and bureaucrats with gori prostitutes.

It greatly saddened Puri to see how Rinku had become part of what he referred to as "the Nexus," the syndicate of politicians, senior bureaucrats, businessmen and crime dons (a good many of whom doubled as politicians) who more or less ran the country. Rinku stood for everything that Puri saw as wrong with India. The disease of corruption was slowly eating away at his friend. You could see it in his eyes. They were paranoid and steely.

And yet Puri could never bring himself to break the bond between them. Rumpi said it was because he had spent his childhood trying to keep Rinku out of trouble.

"So, saale, when did you get membership, huh?" asked Puri.

They had gone to the bar and sat down at a table that provided a panoramic view of the Greg Norman-designed course.

"I'll let you in on a little secret, buddy," answered Rinku. "I'm a silent partner in this place."

He put a finger to his lips, the gold chains around his wrist shifting with a tinkle.

"Is it?" said Puri.

"Yah! And as a gift to you, I'm going to make you a member. No need to pay a farthing. No bloody joining fee. Nothing! You just come and go as you like."

"Rinku, I-"

"No argument, Chubby! This is final! On the house!"

"It's very kind of you, Rinku. But really, I can't accept," said Puri.

"'Very kind of you, Rinku, I can't,'" echoed Rinku mockingly. "What the hell's with all this formal bullshit, Chubby, huh? How long have we known each other? Can't a friend gift something to another friend anymore, huh?"

"Look, Rinku, try to understand, I can't accept that kind of favor."

"It's not a favor, yaar, it's a gift!"

Puri knew he could never make Rinku see sense; his friend couldn't accept that he did not live by his so-called code. He would have to accept the offer and then, in a few weeks, after Rinku had forgotten about the whole thing, renounce his membership.

"You're right," said the detective. "I don't know what I was thinking. Thank you."

"Bloody right, yaar. Sometimes I don't recognize you any more, Chubby. Have you forgotten where you're from or what?"

"Not at all," replied the detective. "I just forgot who I was talking to. It's been a long day. Now, why don't you buy me a drink, you bugger, and tell me about this man I'm interested in."

"Mahinder Gupta?"

Puri nodded.

"He's a Diet Coke," said Rinku dismissively.

"A what?"

"Bloody BPO type, yaar. Got a big American dick up his ass but thinks he's bloody master of the universe. Just like this lot."

Rinku scowled at the young men in suits standing around the bar. With their degrees in business management and BlackBerries, they were a different breed from Puri and Rinku.

"You know what's wrong with them, Chubby? None of them drink !"

The suits all turned and stared and then looked away quickly, exchanging nervous comments.

Their reaction pleased Rinku.

"Look at them!" He laughed. "They're like scared sheep because there's a wolf around! You know, Chubby, they go in for women's drinks: wine and that funny colored shit in fancy bottles. I swear they wear bloody bangles, the lot of them. The worst are the bankers. They'll take every last penny from you and they'll do it with a smile."

The waiter finally arrived at their table.

"Why the hell have you kept us waiting so long?" Rinku demanded.

"Sorry, sir."

"Don't give me sorry! Give me a drink! For this gentleman one extra-large Patiala peg with soda. For me the same. Bring a plate of seekh kebab and chicken tikka as well. Extra chutney. Got it? Make it fast!"

The waiter bowed and backed away from the table like a courtier at the throne of a Mughal conqueror.

"So what's this Diet Coke been up to, huh? Giving it to his best friend's sister or what?"

Puri tried to answer but he only got out a few words before Rinku interrupted.

"Chubby, tell me one thing," he said. "Why do you bother with these nothing people? After all these years, you're still chasing housewives. What's your fee-a few thousand a day, maximum? I'm making that every minute. Round the clock. Even sitting here now my cash till is registering. Ching!"

"Don't worry about me. I'm doing what I'm meant to be doing. This is my dharma."

"Dharma!" scoffed Rinku. "Dharma's for sadhus and sanyasis! This is the modern world, Chubby. Don't give me that spiritual shit, OK?"

Puri felt a flash of anger and shot back, "Not everyone is a…"

But he stopped himself speaking his mind, suddenly afraid that if he did, it would bring an end to their relationship once and for all.

"Not everyone is what? A bloody crook like me? Is that what you were going to say?"

They sat in silence for nearly a minute.

"Listen, I didn't come here to argue," said Puri eventually. "I'm not one to tell friends how to live or what to do. You've made your choices; I've made mine. Let's leave it at that."

The Patiala pegs arrived, both tumblers filled to the brim.

Puri picked up his and held it above the small round table that separated them. After a moment's hesitation, his friend did the same and they clinked glasses together.

Rinku downed half his Scotch and let out a loud, satisfied gasp, followed by a belch.

"That's a proper drink," he said.

"On that, we agree." Puri smiled.

"So this Sardaar-ji gets married and on his first night he has his way with his new wife. But the next morning he gets divorced. Why? Because he notices a tag on her underwear that says: Tested by Calvin Klein !"

Puri roared with laughter at the punch line to Rinku's latest Sikh joke.

The two men were on their second drink.

"I heard another one the other day," said the detective when he had wiped the tears from his cheeks.

"Santa Singh asked Banta Singh, 'why dogs don't marry?'"

"Why?" asked Rinku gamely.

"Because they're already leading a dog's life!"

Only a slick of grease and some green chutney remained on their snack plates by the time Puri broached the subject of Mahinder Gupta again.

"Your Diet Coke comes here most nights after work-around eight thirty, usually," Rinku told him. "Sometimes his fiancee joins him. She's as bloody nuts about golf as he is. I played a round with him just one time. He wouldn't take my bet. Said gambling was against the club rules! I tell you, Puri, these guys are as stiff as-"

"Anything else?" interrupted the detective.

Rinku drained his glass, eyeing his friend over the brim.

"He's got a place in a posh new block near here, Celestial Tower. All bought with white [2] White money is legitimate, not derived from the "black" economy. . Can you believe it, Chubby? The guy's got a mortgage from the bank! What kind of bloody fool does that, I ask you? So you want to meet him-your Diet Coke?"

"Where is he?"

"In the corner."

There were three men sitting at the table Rinku indicated. They had arrived a few minutes earlier.

"A thousand bucks says you can't guess which one," said Rinku.

"Make it three thousand."