Gregory Roberts - The Mountain Shadow

‘Why not?’

‘That’s why,’ she smiled. ‘Because you’re curious, and you’re loyal. And some of the things you hear about me, until I get this done, might sound crazy, or worse, so I need your faith.’

She meant it. She was completely sincere: no games or tricks. It was compelling, beautiful and scary. I loved it. Imagine this , I thought, all the time .

She grabbed my shirt, and pulled my face close to hers.

‘Look me in the queens, and tell me you’ve got all this,’ she commanded. ‘Because, you know what, I love you, but I’ve got too much happening, at the moment, to put up with drama from the guy I love. So, you know, tell me you got this.’

‘I got this,’ I said, diving into that pool, that green lagoon so close, so deep.

‘Good,’ she said. ‘Now get out.’

‘You say that like you mean it,’ I said, standing there, kind of floppy.

‘No, I’m just saying it while I can.’

‘But, I… ’

We walked to the door and she shoved me through, no kiss, hug or handshake. The door closed, and I walked the marble halls of the hotel alone.

What was happening? It was wrong. It was all wrong.

I sprinted back to her door and rang the bell. She answered immediately, startling me.

‘Look,’ I said, trying to get the words out quickly. ‘It’s you. It’s always been you, since the first time I -’

‘- saw you on the street,’ she interrupted me, leaning against the doorframe. ‘Smiling, and about to walk in front of a bus. I remember you were smiling at a kid on the pavement. And there was a leaping dog at your feet. Do you know anything about the Tarot?’

‘It’s that Chinese mafia gang, isn’t it?’

She laughed happily. I heard a temple bell inside.

‘I knew it, the minute I yanked you back from in front of the bus,’ she said. ‘When I looked into your eyes, all the lights went on. And time -’

‘- slowed down,’ I continued. ‘For really long seconds. And the effect -’

‘- lasted for days,’ she said, straightening up to face me. ‘Lin, I just want you to be in this with me, by believing in me, but I can’t involve you in it. Do you see?’

‘Favourite colour,’ I said, ticking an imaginary list in my hand, ‘corpuscle red.’

She relaxed against the doorway again, the too-smart smile beginning.

‘Favourite season, winter. In Basel, to be exact. Favourite movie, Key Largo , favourite food, barbecued steak, favourite song, “The Internationale”, favourite car, because you’re not into motorcycles yet, the Chevy Camaro, 1967, matt black with blood-red interior -’

She kissed me. I closed my eyes. A light hovered in my mind. The light faded in waves, falling beneath the world. Love like water, searching for the sea. Love like Time, searching for meaning. Love like all that was, and ever will be.

‘Stop it!’ she said, pushing me away.

She put the back of her hand to her lips, and wiped away the sea. I opened my mouth to speak, but she slapped me, pretty hard.

‘Don’t get killed,’ she said. ‘I want to do that again.’

‘The kiss, or the slap?’

‘Both, but maybe in a different order.’

She slammed the door in my face.

Love. Love like a marble echo in an empty hotel corridor.

Didier was waiting for me in the lobby.

‘I was rather hoping you would stay the night with Karla,’ he said as we left the hotel.

I stopped, and stared at him.

‘I only mean,’ he said, ‘that I have dangerous news. I know, now, where Concannon is making his dope business.’

The night was looking up. And I was in just the right mood.

‘How reliable is your information?’

‘He was seen there today, at three in the afternoon.’

‘Where is he?’

‘In a house owned by the Scorpions.’

‘On Marine Lines road?’

‘Yes. How do you know?’

‘I followed Vishnu and his guys there, after they slapped me around. It’s one of their hangouts.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I’m gonna walk up to the door, and ring the bell.’

‘With a hand grenade?’ Didier asked, pondering.

‘No. You’re going to call Vishnu, and tell him that I’ll visit him, at ten tonight.’

‘What makes you think I have this Vishnu’s telephone number?’

‘Didier,’ I sighed.

‘Oh, very well, Didier has every number, of course, or can find it. But do you think it wise, to walk into the den of lions?’

‘I think he’ll want to talk. He’s a talkative guy.’

‘What makes you think he wants to talk to you, no offence?’

‘None taken. I quit the Sanjay Company, and I’m still alive. He’ll want to talk to me.’

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I will make the call.’

I watched him walk back into the hotel, and signalled one of the Sikh doormen. The man walked across the courtyard to join me at the bike.

‘Yes, baba?’ he asked, offering his hand.

I passed him some money in the handshake, as I’d done many times before.

‘For the boys, when the shift is over.’

‘Thank you, baba. There were several big functions tonight, with many distinguished guests, so not many tips. Anything I can do for you?’

‘Keep an eye on Miss Karla. If you hear anything I should know, I’m staying at the Amritsar, on Metro.’

‘ Thik ,’ he said, rushing to rejoin his colleagues. ‘No problem!’

Didier returned, his expression thoughtful, a fisherman studying the rain.

‘It is established,’ he said. ‘Vishnu is expecting you. We do not have much time. We need more guns, and more cartridges.’

He began to look around for a taxi.

‘I’m not taking a gun. And you’re not coming, Didier.’

‘Lin!’ he said, stamping his foot. ‘If you deny me this adventure, I will spit on your grave. And when Didier says such a thing, it is written on stone.’

‘My grave? Why am I always dying before you do?’

‘And dance on it, like Nureyev.’

‘You’d dance on my grave?’

‘Like Nureyev.’

‘Okay. You’re coming.’

‘Should we not get some others with us?’

‘Who would go?’ I asked, starting the bike.

‘Good point,’ he conceded, still looking for a taxi.

‘Get on.’

‘Pardon me?’

‘Get on the bike, Didier. I don’t want to rely on a taxi, if we have to leave that place in a hurry. Get on.’

‘But, Lin, you know about my motorcycle hysteria.’

‘Get on the bike, Didier.’

‘If cars fell over, when we got out of them, I wouldn’t ride in cars, either. It is hysteria and physics combined, you see.’

‘You don’t have motorcycle hysteria, Didier. You’re motophobic.’

‘I am?’ he asked, intrigued.

‘No doubt.’

‘Motophobic. Are you sure?’

‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of. A lot of my friends are motophobic. But it’s okay. There’s a treatment for it.’

‘There is?’

‘Get on the bike, Didier.’

I parked the bike a block away from the mansion, and waited in the quiet side street. Moonlight wrote tree poems on the road. A thin, black cat ran through the streaks of light and shadow in front of us, sprinting to safety.

‘Thank you, Fate,’ Didier said. ‘A black cat. Of course.’

We approached the gate. I paused, looking up and down the long street. Cars passed, but it was quiet.

‘You sure you want to do this, Didier?’

‘How dare you!’ Didier said.

‘ Okay . Okay . Sorry.’

I pushed open the gate, and walked to the front door. I was about to press the buzzer but Didier stopped me. He smiled, paused, and then pressed the buzzer himself.