Gregory Roberts - The Mountain Shadow

‘What is our new destination, sir?’ Randall asked, when we were all in the car.

‘The Air India building,’ I said. ‘And a funeral in the sky.’

The nightwatchman remembered me, accepted some money, and sent us up to the roof of the deserted Air India building.

The red archer was turning slowly. The night was clear, the star-horizon wider than the sea. The waves below seemed fragile, their crests of foam like strips of floating seaweed, seen from our perch in the sky.

While they were admiring the archer and the view, I set about making a small fireplace. Naveen helped me gather bricks and broken tiles from the wide concrete roof. We made a base of tiles and built a small hearth around them with bricks and stones.

I’d taken a newspaper from the nightwatchman, and began screwing the pages up into small, tight balls. When it was ready, I uncovered Lisa’s box of things from the bag that Tito had kept safe.

The metal wind-up toy was a bluebird, attached to a device with finger holes like a pair of scissors. I pressed the scissors together, and the bird moved its head and sang. It was Lisa’s. She’d had it since she was a child. I gave it to Karla.

There was a yellow tube with brass fittings at the end, which held all of my old silver rings. I’d made it as a paperweight for Lisa. I gave it to Naveen. The stones, acorns, shells, amulets and coins fit inside a blue velvet jewel box. I gave it to Didier.

I tore the photographs into fragments and fed them into the fireplace, along with anything that would burn, including the hemp sandals and the box itself, marked REASONS WHY, ripped into small pieces. Her thin, silver scarf was last into the pile, curled and coiled like a snake.

I lit the lowest of the paper balls around the fire, and it caught. Didier helped it along with a swish from his flask. Karla did the same. Naveen fanned the flames with a chunk of tile.

Karla took my hand, and led me to the edge of the building where we could look at the sea.

‘Ranjit,’ I said softly.

‘Ranjit,’ she repeated softly.

‘Ranjit,’ I growled.

‘Ranjit,’ she growled back.

‘How are you holding up?’

‘I’m okay. I’ve got other things on my mind. Are you okay?’

‘Ranjit,’ I said, my teeth clenched.

‘He always liked her,’ Karla said. ‘I was so busy projecting him into the limelight that I didn’t see how close they got.’

‘You’re saying Ranjit had a thing for Lisa?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe. I never asked him anything about his sex life, and he never told me anything. Maybe it was just because we liked her so much. He’s a competitive man. But like all competitive men, his balls fell off when the going got hard.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘I’ll tell you, one day, after we find him. My problem with Ranjit isn’t important now, and it had nothing to do with Lisa. His problem was a fear of success. Surprising, how common that is. There should be a name for it.’

‘Ambition fatigue?’ I suggested.

‘I like it,’ she laughed softly. ‘What do you think Ranjit was doing with Lisa, that night?’

‘Rohypnol is a rape drug, but sometimes people take it together because they like it. So, either Ranjit is a rapist, and it went wrong, or they had a thing, and that went wrong. Thing is, I didn’t think they were that close, except that she liked his politics.’

‘His politics?’ Karla laughed, to herself.

‘How is that funny?’

‘I’ll explain it one day. How was it tonight, Shantaram, in the cage with Lightning Dilip?’

‘The usual. Short back and sides.’

‘Bad cops are bad priests,’ she said. ‘All confession, and no absolution.’

‘How are you comin’ along, Slim?’

‘I’m okay. I’ve got bruises like Rorschach tests. One of them looks like two dolphins, making love. But, you know, maybe that’s just me.’

I wanted to see the bruise. I wanted to kiss it. I wanted to beat the man who put it there.

‘The car and Randall,’ I said, ‘and staying at the Taj. It costs. I’ve got some money put away, a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. I can set you up in a safe place somewhere, with the car and Randall and whatever else you need. While Ranjit’s on the loose, you should play it safe.’

‘Listen,’ she said. ‘I told you that I’ve been working with the economists and analysts at Ranjit’s paper. I made some money, and put a little aside.’

‘Yeah, but -’

I spent two years on it, with the best advice the boss’s money could buy, and quite a bit of the boss’s money.’

I remembered the bike-talk, me telling her to save money and put a down payment on a house. And she was working with professional economists and stock market analysts all the time, and didn’t say a thing. She was even sweet to me.

‘You’ve been playing the market?’

‘Not… exactly.’

‘Then what … exactly?’

‘I’ve been manipulating it.’

‘ Manipulating it?’

‘A bit.’

‘How much of a bit?’

‘I used a proxy vote to leverage the theoretical worth of all of Ranjit’s shares in communications, energy, insurance and transportation, and I built a secret buying block, for sixteen minutes, and then I closed it down.’

‘A buying block?’

‘And I bought my brains out, with six guys on six phones, for sixteen minutes.’

‘Then what?’

‘I moved the stock prices in selected arm’s-length companies, where I’d already bought preferential stock.’

‘What?’

‘I rigged the market a couple of times. No big deal. I made my cut, and got the hell out.’

‘How much did you make?’

‘Three million.’

‘Rupees?’

‘Dollars.’

‘You made three million dollars on the market?’

‘I skimmed it off the market, to be precise. It’s actually not that hard, if you’re stinking rich to begin with, which I was, with Ranjit’s proxy shares. So, there’s no problem for money. I have it in four different accounts. I don’t need Ranjit’s money, or yours, Lin. I need your help.’

‘Three million? And I was talking to you about -’

‘Being a London Bombay wife,’ she ended for me. ‘I loved it. Really. And -’

‘Wait. You said you need my help?’

‘An old enemy of mine is back in town,’ she said. ‘Madame Zhou.’

‘I detest that woman, and I’ve only met her once.’

‘Detest is the doormat,’ Karla said. ‘What I feel for that woman is a whole mansion of malice.’

Madame Zhou was an influence peddler who’d sweated secrets from influential patrons of her brothel, the Palace of Happy, for more than a decade. When she drew Lisa into her maze of stained sheets, Karla got Lisa out, poured gasoline on the Palace of Happy, and burned it to the ground.

‘She put it around that she’s looking for me. And this time, it’s not just the twins.’

I knew the twins, Madame Zhou’s bodyguards and constant companions. The last time I’d seen them, they were bleeding, because I was losing a very untidy fight with them, and because Didier shot them.

‘I detest those twins, and I’ve only met them once, as a pair.’

‘This time,’ Karla said, looking out at the night, ‘she’s got personal cosmeticians with her. Two acid throwers.’

One of the retribution services offered in those years was acid-throwing. Although usually limited to so-called honour burnings, acid throwers hired themselves out for other matters, when the price was right.

‘When did she get back to Bombay?’

‘Two days ago. She found out about Lisa’s death, somehow. She knows I burned down her palace for Lisa. She wants to look me in the eyes, and laugh, before she burns me.’