Athul DeMarco's Blog, page 2

Chapter 11-15 [The man with No Name]

*11* ‘Sir he is going with that woman and her son’ The constable reported over the phone. ‘Keep following him. There is something really fishy about that gora. Keep me informed every half an hour’ Inspector Hemant Gowda instructed before hanging up. The inspector’s eyes glanced from Mr. Smith’s passport and impatiently waited for the screen to show the place where he would enter his password, one character at a time. But all he stared was the annoying bar flashing ever so slowly with the colorful words, ‘Windows 98’ spelled out in block letters. Inspector Hemant Gowda flipped through the passport and found that multiple pages had been stamped. Thailand, Greece, Spain, Bolivia. Mr. Smith seemed like a globetrotter. He wondered what was so great about the chain which this man was so keen on reacquiring. He had informed Rajshekar to track down Prasanna Gundappa and ensure that he got hold of this dastard chain that the firang seemed so keen on. He had to keep things low and quiet. If the news spread about some marauding foreigner on the streets of Bangalore then the media circus would effectively end not just Hemant’s career. He also didn’t want Rajshekar calling up Vishwa Anna. He wanted to wrap things up neatly. He shuddered at the thought of Vishwa Anna. Vishwa Anna had been a small time goon fifteen years ago. Some ambitious, quick thinking and brutal violence soon saw Vishwa Anna not only holding the post of a MP, but also substantial prime real estate around Commercial street and Hebbal. For the last two terms, he had stood uncontested from the Hennur Taluk. The money, the women, the power, the many children he had fathered over the years or the multiple cases of murder, rape, corruption had dimed the man’s bloodlust. Nothing got him excited than getting his fat fingers wrapped around the handle of a sickle. Nothing got a smile on the man’s face than watching the last breath leave a man’s mangled bloodied body. Vishwa Anna was a man you met before you knocked on the gates of heaven or hell. A man, Inspector Hemant Gowda wanted to avoid at all costs. It had been a good thing that Rajshekar had informed him about what he was planning on. But how was he to know that the stupid fuck was going to go around chopping a foreigner. He had been smart enough to put two men on the gora’s tail even before he visited the hospital where Rajshekar and his men were admitted. The doctor on duty informed him that two men were still fighting for their life. Among those who were lucky to be still breathing, albeit with great difficulty. The litany of injuries ran for miles - broken larynx, ruptured knee cap, multiple broken bones, multiple cuts and abrasions. One was paralyzed from the neck down. The inspector had stopped listening midway while the doctor continued narrating from the thick wad of papers he held clutched in his hands. ‘Look saar! Look!’ Rajshekar beseeched the inspector. It was faintly comical as grown men winced and moaned on the metal hospital bed. ‘Tell Prasanna to come meet me. And he better have this stupid bracelet with him’ The inspector bent down and whispered his instructions into Rajshekar’s ear.‘Chain saar!’ Rajshekar corrected the inspector. The inspector’s eyes narrowed sinisterly. ‘And if I get to know that Vishwa Anna knows about this then god help you and your newly wedded wife. I hear she likes fried fish and expensive whisky.’ The inspector smiled to offset the threat in his voice. ‘Sir! He got off at Mallaya Hospital. The woman and her kid have gone’ The constable informed the inspector. ‘Forget the woman and the kid. Keep your eyes on him’ The inspector instructed. The man had waved Shivu and his mother goodbye. He noticed the Tata-Indica stopping few cars behind them. He quickly turned and entered the hospital reception. The two constables followed him inside. He slowed his walk for them to notice that he took the fire exit. The man quickly climbed up the stairs, followed loudly by the out of shape pot bellied men. Having climbed five floors, the man stopped and hid himself behind a column jutting out of the wall. The men stopped below to catch their breath, each urging the other to hurry up. The man rolled his eyes as he waited for his tail and checked his watch. One constable stopped and turned, waiting for his partner to catch up with him. ‘Where do you think he is running to?’ he whispered his question. The man stepped out from his hiding place, his hand placed firmly under the constable’s chin, the other at the top of his head. He smiled as he looked at the constable huffing and puffing at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Your mobile phone!’ the man directed the constable in his grasp slowly down the stairs to where his colleague stood. ‘You are a fucking dead man’ The constable hissed as he pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket. The man quickly searched both their pockets. He pulled out their ID cards, mobile phones and wallets.He karate chopped one on the neck and kicked the other right between his legs, before he ran up the stairs and took the elevator down. He hit the button for basement in the elevator. As people got on and got off the elevator, he studied their IDs and drivers’ license. He got off the lift and stepped into the parking lot. Soon enough he found just the sort of vehicle he was searching for. A bike with the helmet clasped to the rearview mirror. He pulled out the knife from his socks, and placed the blade on the ignition lock. With his hand wrapped around the handle like a nail head, he thumped it till the lock gave way. He bent down under the handlebar, found the wire connected to the battery and hotwired the bike. As he revved the bike, he turned his wrist to make note of the time. 1608 hrs.He had twelve more hours to get the chain. Come thirteenth hour, he would find himself strapped to a first class seat on a flight headed to Lisbon. It was a good thing that the CRPF, the guys who were responsible for airport security were independent of the local cops. He checked his front pocket and felt the outline of his passport. And if anybody at customs inquired about the lack of baggage on him, he would just repeat the woe of the unlucky. ‘Airline lost his baggage.’But first, the inspector, his only lead, a solid lead, and that’s all he needed.   *12* ‘Sir!’ The constable gasped for air as he stood leaning against the reception desk. ‘Who is this?’ the inspector barked into the phone.‘Murthy sir!’ The constable answered. ‘What happened to your mobile?’‘He…’ Murthy began to explain.‘What the fuck! Why you calling me from your mobile now? Hold on’ The inspector spoke irritatedly into the phone. ‘Inspector? I have something you want’ The man spoke in a calm manner. ‘Where are you?’ The inspector questioned, he clenched his fists with anger. He wanted to bang it hard against the wooden desk. ‘I am at Prasanna’s house. You know the place. And I hope that when you come, you don’t come empty handed.’ The man hung up. The constable was still holding the other line open. ‘He fucking got away didn’t he? You fucking whores! All I asked you to do was fucking keep an eye on him. You useless pieces of shit!’ The inspector yelled loud enough for the receptionist to step back a little. The two constables looked at each other sheepishly as one massaged his neck. The inspector cussed loud enough for the entire station to hear and be wary of him as he stepped out and motioned to his driver to get the Hoysala jeep out. He got into the jeep and shouted at the driver to take him back to the hospital where Rajshekar and his men were admitted, when his phone buzzed again. He looked at the name flashing on the screen and cussed aloud again. The inspector held out his hand, motioning at the driver to stop for a moment. He continued to stare at the name on the screen and weighed the pros and cons of answering the call. Somebody had snitched. Inspector banged his hand hard against the dashboard before pasting a wide smile on his phone and swiped across the screen to answer the phone. ‘Vishwa Anna! How are you? I was just thinking about you?’ The inspector gushed into the phone. The driver took his cue and immediately got off the jeep. ‘What inspector? You thought that my men will get admitted in a hospital and I won’t get to know about it? What is the motherfucking point of giving you money and free pussy? Huh?’ Vishwa Anna barked into the phone, his voice crude and raspy with years of smoking beedis. ‘I didn’t want to disturb you Anna! This is all small matter Anna!’ The inspector groveled. ‘Who is this man?’ Vishwa Anna demanded as he held aloft the chain in his hand and inspected the medallion on it, Prasanna sat squatted next to his feet. ‘Some foreigner Anna!’ The Inspector began explaining. ‘Then nobody will cry when he goes missing. Everyday some foreigner or the other goes missing. I keep reading it in the newspapers’ Vishwa Anna chuckled, Prasanna allowed himself to smile. Vishwa Anna kicked him hard, his white leather sandals planted right on Prasanna’s face. ‘What the fuck are you smiling at? You fucking whore’s son! All this is because of you! And you alone! I will deal with you later’ Vishwa Anna screamed at Prasanna who pushed himself away using his palms before clutching his cheeks. Prasanna wiped the corner of his mouth which had begun bleeding, the inside of his cheek had cut itself against his teeth. ‘Where can I find this man inspector? Give me a good reason to understand as to why I give you money’ Vishwa Anna demanded. Prasanna strained his eyes through his bushy eyebrows and looked at Vishwa Anna. Vishwa Anna was dressed in a crisp white shirt and white dhoti with matching leather sandals. His neck was covered with three thick chains of gold. His fat fingers covered in gold rings, each studded with a different stone. One look at Vishwa Anna and one realized that this is the man you don’t want to engage in a physical fight with. His eyes were bloodshot, his jowls heavy and hard. Vishwa Anna was what Prasanna imagined the devil looked like. ‘Wait there, I will be there in twenty minutes’ Vishwa Anna ordered as he hung up on the inspector. He turned his attention to Prasanna who still sat squatting on the floor. ‘You have a kid right?’ Vishwa Anna inquired benevolently. ‘A boy anna!’ Prasanna mumbled. ‘Che!’ Vishwa Anna shook his head with disappointment, ‘If you had a daughter then I could have written off your debt. What should I do with a boy?’ Vishwa Anna looked around at his coterie of loyal men. ‘Anna, Ramaiah anna likes them young.’ One of the cohorts spoke softly with a knowing smile.‘Looks like you are lucky after all!’ Vishwa Anna’s belly shook like a water trapped in a canister.‘No anna! Please’ Prasanna launched himself off the floor and on Vishwa Anna’s feet. ‘Ay!’ Vishwa Anna’s eyebrows frowned, his lips tightened as he pelted Prasanna with hard slaps, the rings on his hand made a clunking noise as they landed on Prasanna’s head. ‘Get off me!’ Vishwa Anna yelled. Couple of the men standing around Vishwa Anna jumped and pulled Prasanna away. One of the men slid his hands under Prasanna’s armpits, his fingers closing behind Prasanna’s neck. The others took turns at punching Prasanna hard in the gut and face. ‘Spoiled the crease in my dhoti’ Vishwa Anna commented as stood up to inspect his dhoti. ‘Anna! Please! Not my son! Please!!!’ Prasanna managed to cry aloud his pleas even as the blows rained hard and fast on him. Vishwa Anna bent down and picked up the chain and inspected with the medallion on it. Like a loose thread hanging off a dupatta drying in the rainy breeze, Vishwa Anna flayed Prasanna’s face with the gold chain. Flesh split open upon contact with the auric metal, blood splashed on Vishwa Anna’s pristine white shirt and on the man holding Prasanna from behind. ‘I don’t like it when men cry’ Vishwa Anna stopped to catch his breath. He threw the chain at one his men who handed him a brand new white shirt and a towel to dry himself off. Having wiped himself off Prasanna’s blood, Vishwa Anna asked for the chain again. The medallion had split open like ripe pistachio nut. One half of the medallion held a photo of a pretty young woman and the other half held the picture of a young boy. Vishwa Anna smiled to himself as he clasped the chain with the medallion around his own neck.
   *13* The bike put-puted at the signal. The LED board about the red signal suggested another 190 seconds before it turned green. He maneuvered his bike between a school bus and an auto in the traffic. He looked at the auto driver and smiled. The auto driver, unaware of the man and his antics the day before turned his head away. ‘Uncle? Uncle?’ The man heard a soft innocent voice calling out to him. He turned his head around and saw a bunch of kids sticking their heads outside their school bus window. ‘Which country?’ The kid questioned as the others giggled and continued staring at the man with big toothy smiles. The man smiled back but the smile didn’t reach his eyes, neither did he answer the kid’s question. His mind flashed images, he tried shaking his head clear of them, but his memory had already started playing the movie. A movie he had put the end title in the hotel room with a definitive bullet. Eleven men jumped over the side of the dingy boat with their rucksacks and AK-47s slung over their shoulders. They quickly made their ashore on Israeli coast of Lebanon. A woman yelled and shouted in an American accent, calling out to her husband. Her screams were silenced along with that of her husband with a quick burst of gunfire. The men quickly got rid of their wet suits, and jogged up to the coastal highway. The men were members of Fatah, the militant arm of PLO. Fatah group had gained international prominence when they carried out the brutal Black September Massacre. They moment their feet touched the concrete highway, they opened fire. The bullets caught the sides of passing traffic. One of the taxis ferrying its passengers from Juniyah to the town of Jubayl skidded to a halt as the driver reacted to the distinctive sound of gunfire. Three men ran towards the taxi, spraying bullets like gardener sprays water from a hose. The pushed and pulled the bodies out and commandeered the taxi.  One of the armed men, having crossed the highway positioned himself at a convenient location giving him unfettered view of the long stretch of road. He was the only one who preferred the American M-40 with the mounted scope. He lay flat on his belly, his eye firmly placed behind the telescopic sight as he picked his target. His first was a teenager seated in the backseat of a car, gesticulating wildly and worriedly at his parents in the front car. He gently squeezed the trigger. Moments later, the teenager slumped in his seat. The rear window resembled a mural made out of spaghetti and tomato sauce. Seven men got aboard a school bus, carrying 36 school children and three teachers. The men shot the bus driver at point blank range before throwing his body overboard. The eleven men had an open brief. ‘Spread mayhem.’The objective was to thwart the Israeli-Egyptian peace talks due the following week. The man was in-charge of overseeing security for the talks. He sat in his office going through the Hotel American Colony’s blueprint. Marking the ins and out. He lit a cigarette and closed his eyes, imagining himself in the shoes of a possible attacker. Yvet ran into his office, sadness and anger streaming down his eyes. ‘Aaliyah and Jonah!’ Yvet mouthed the names as the man watched him take support of the doorway before slumping on the floor and breaking down.The man switched on the TV set sitting in the corner of his room. The news showed Israeli police cars chasing a school bus as the bus bulldozed its way through the roadblocks. The man managed to read the name of the school painted on the side of the bus despite the blurry images flashing on the screen. ‘Yehowah!’ The man silently exclaimed as he grabbed the corner of the TV set and crouched on the floor, willing the TV to change reality. The chain with the medallion swayed around his neck, tinkling as it hit the TV screen, joining him in his prayers.March 14, 1988. The 11 armed men took the lives of 51 Israelis – including 27 children and wounded 83. In the final firefight, which ensued between the seven men aboard the school bus and the Israeli police, the bus burst into flames and exploded as one of the grenades slipped from the bloodied hands of one of the men inside the bus. 27 years later, the man who concocted the plan, the man who financed the operation lay gunned down in a hotel room number 614, in Bangalore. The death had brought closure to a three decade long pain. It was meant to be the man’s last mission.He was giving up everything after this mission. All his years in training, everything he knew. The world it seemed to him, wasn’t done with him. He heard the voice of Al Pacino in his head yell, ‘Right when I was out… They pull me back in!’  ‘Nice bike’ the schoolboy complimented the man. ‘Fuck off kid!’ The man spat out as he revved the bike and shot through the traffic as the LED counter counted down 3…2…1 and the lights changed from amber to green.

*14* ‘I need a favor saar’ The inspector beseeched the person he was speaking to over the phone. ‘What is it this time Gowda?’ The speaker on the other end of the satellite call spoke in anglicized English. His tone ruing the day he had to get his no-good son out of a DUI. The two men, the inspector and he had been classmates back in Mandya. ‘I need the number of that fellow you know’ Inspector continued with his pleading tone.‘Which fellow Gowda? I don’t have time for this. I am in the middle of something here’ he replied as he excused himself with a smile from the group of Japanese men dressed in a sharp business he sat in the midst of. He buttoned his jacket and motioned to the steward to get another round of expensive whisky for the Japanese gentlemen. He tilted his head ever so slightly towards the young woman he was seated beside him to engage the Japs. He watched her slide into his chair and run her manicured fingers up one of the Japs’ thighs.  ‘This better be fucking good Gowda, because if this deal tanks then I am going to fuck you till you bleed tears out of your ass’ The man broke into chaste Kannada as he admonished the inspector.‘I need the number of the CBI fellow. The one you gifted the escalate car to’ ‘Escalade! Not escalate. And what have you got yourself into?’ The man scowled before turning his back, a big smile etched on his face and mimed ‘two minutes’ with his raised hand to the bored Japanese men who were whispering to each other in loud hushed tones. ‘Vishwa Anna’ Inspector explained. The name held enough gravitas for the man to acknowledge that the call was warranted. ‘Fine! I am texting his number and I will tell him to help you out with whatever you need.’ The man replied with resignation. ‘But this is going to be last fucking favor I do for you Gowda. You and me are done. You understand me?’ The man added.‘Thanks maga’ The inspector smiled as he hung up. He was still seated in the white Mahindra Scorpio with the red and blue stripes down its side popularly referred to as Hoysala. His phone buzzed. His lips spread in a sigh of relief, with hope. He tapped his phone screen twice and held the phone next to his ear. He pushed open the car door and stepped out. He heard the phone ringing on the other end of the line, he prompted for the driver to give him a cigarette. The driver did his bidding. The ringing stopped, and a weak male voice answered the phone.‘Hello?’‘Hello, Mr. Chakravarthy?’ Inspector Gowda inquired.‘Chakraborthy… Buh… Not vuh…’ The bespectacled man pushed back against his chair and closed the browser window with two women cavorting each other on his desktop. ‘Yes. This is Inspector Gowda, I hope our mutual friend…’ The inspector began explaining before being abrupting cut short.‘Yes. Tell me what do you want, and tell abour frand he and I are done.’ The man spoke, his heavy Bengali mother tongue twisting and turning his tongue to speak in a language he considered his inheritance. ‘I have a passport. His name John Smith, I want you to take the passport number down. And I want to know everything you can get’ Inspector Gowda explained as he pulled out Mr. Smith’s passport from his breast shirt pocket. ‘I am listening’ the CBI man tapped few keys on his keyboard, double clicked on the proprietary Central Bureau of Investigation’s software. The software linked all the databases shared by Intelligence Bureau, the Indian equivalent to United States Homeland Security, United Kingdom’s MI5 and the Research & Analysis Wing, the Indian equivalent to United States CIA and United Kingdom’s MI6. He waited as he heard cloth and paper rustling on the other end of the line. Inspector Gowda held his mobile phone between his cheek and shoulder as he tried keeping the page away from the thick cardboard cover. ‘3.0.6.7.8.5.8.8.1’ Inspector Gowda narrated the passport number. ‘What’s the authority code’ the Bengali man inquired as his fingers quickly pushed down on the number pad on his keyboard. ‘Ah yes!’ Inspector Gowda exclaimed as he spotted the code on the passport. ‘U for You. K for Kangaroo. P for paisa. A for Apple’. ‘That’s the press corp’ Chakravarty explained as he waited for the computer to spew out the results. ‘What does that mean?’ the inspector wanted to know.‘It means that the man you are looking for is a journalist. But then again a lot of people are journalist. Them and their blogs and facebook posts.’ The man half heartedly explained as he waited for the sand timer to stop turning and change its shape back to a pointer. The screen turned blue, with two words written in big block letters in black flashing across his screen every second.‘Access restricted: 753’ ‘Aaga’ Mr. Charkravarthy cussed under his breath. This wasn’t normal. He looked at the code, ‘753’. He hadn’t come across this code in all his thirty one years of experience. Something didn’t sit right. ‘Hello?’ The inspector inquired, wondering if his man in CBI was still on the other line or if the connection had dropped out. He was after making what he presumed to be an STD call. Inspector Gowda prided himself to be as old school as they came, much to his teenage son and daughter’s embarrassment.‘Yes, yes. How soon do you bhaant this?’ The CBI man inquired as he continued staring at the computer screen. This was a puzzle he could put his esoteric Bengali brain behind. ‘The sooner the better sir, I am in how they say in English, in a of fix’ Inspector Gowda smiled vacuously at his reflection in the Hoysala’s tinted glasses. ‘Okay, give me half an hour, I bill call you back’ Said the CBI man before he hung up. He called out to his assistant and instructed him to bring him the big instruction manual he hadn’t seen or read in over two years. ‘Seven pi three’ Mr. Chakravarthy muttered under his breath. ‘Nanna helu tinnu baa! Half an hour!’ Inspector Gowda cussed under his breath, inviting the arrogant Bengali man to come eat his shit.‘Sir? Shall we go?’ The driver inquired.‘Go? Go fucking where?’ The inspector scowled and spat the question at the poor unsuspecting driver in frustration. As he flung the spent cigarette butt against the side of the car and watched the embers split from the butt, a neural pathway in his old school brain lit up. He quickly pulled his phone out of his pocket and scrolled down the list of called numbers till he found Rajshekar’s number. He waited till his phone was answered.‘Where did Prasanna say he dropped the girl last night?’ The inspector jumped his question, this was no time for foreplay. ‘Acropolees, the big building next to Forum mall’ Rajshekar wheezed his response. *15* Charkravarthy’s phone buzzed, like a fly caught inside a car with its windows rolled up. His beady eyes glistened with the black and white text flashing before his eyes as he frantically tapped the keys on his keyboard. The manual which lay spread beside his terminal didn’t list any error code numbered ‘753’. ‘Sir?’ The wiry kid dressed in ill fitted hand stitched clothes stuck his head through the door. ‘Haram jada!’ Charkravarthy cussed as he opened his eyes as wide as they could, trying to summon all the telekinetic powers needed to incinerate the man standing in front of him.‘Bhaat?’ he barked at the kid who stood perplexed, with thick beads of sweat rolling down his back. ‘Sir, your phone?’ The young man pointed towards the blinking 3.7 inch phone screen. The assistant just paused long enough for his boss to shift his angry eyes from him and look at his phone.‘Hello?’ Charkravarthy barked into the phone. ‘Mr. Charkravarthy?’ The voice on the other end of the phone was both electronic in its tone and muffled in its volume. ‘Yes?’ Charkravarthy knew an authoritative tone in someone’s voice even in his sleep. And this was definitely authoritative voice on the phone speaking to him. ‘Step away from your computer!’ The muffled electronic voice on the other end of the phone line instructed the now visibly nervous Bangla man. ‘ Move! Move! Move! Move! Move! ’ Charkravarthy heard the command being barked, not from the phone but from outside his office. Black uniformed guards put his poor assistant in a stronghold as Charkravarthy stared at the opening of a gun barrel. Charkravarthy’s reflexes kicked in as he put his hands behind his head and waited for further instructions. His sub-consciousness had registered enough action movies his teenage sons watched for his body to respond accordingly to the situation. He strained his eyes and looked beyond his bushy eyebrows and saw a tall angular faced man pushing his phone back into his pocket. ‘At ease!’ The man commanded the armed guards surrounding Charkravarthy.‘Mr. Charkravarthy?’ The angular faced man questioned as he seated himself on the other side of the table. ‘Yes.’ Charkravarthy replied, his bottom lip quivered as his mind tried to settle the bet between flight and fight. ‘My name is Shankar Vaidyanathan. And I am from Intelligence Bureau’ The man with the clean shaven angular face introduced himself. He didn’t extend his hand forward neither did he join them together in a Namaste. Charkravarthy’s lower lip stopped quivering. ‘You know what annoys me on early Sunday evening?’ Shankar posed the rhetoric question. ‘Getting called to take care of business. Though I must say that I much prefer doing this than listening to my son practice playing the violin.’ Shankar smiled as he slipped his hands into his pant pockets. Charkravarthy’s eyes followed Shankar’s hands and saw him pulling a cigarette case. ‘You smoke?’ Shankar snapped open the cigarette case and offered it to Charkravarthy who suspiciously pulled a singular cigarette out of the neatly lined case. ‘Of course you do. I am sure that you have many questions running through your head. Such as, who am I? What am I doing in your office? Who are these armed men?’ Shankar paused long enough to light his cigarette. Charkravarthy leaned forward with the cigarette cupped between his lips. ‘Like I said I am Shankar Vaidyanathan from IB and these men are, well they are armed and trigger happy’ Shankar chuckled as he coughed up smoke caught in his lungs. ‘The rea…’ He coughed some more.
‘The reason I am in your office right now is because you ran a check on a passport number UKPA 306785881’

The Man With No Name - Chapter 10

*10* ‘I am sorry about all this’ The man spoke as the woman turned around after closing the main door behind her. ‘Shivu go and get ready for school’ The woman ignored the man and instructed her son. ‘Mumma! It is Sunday’ The boy rolled his eyes as he admonished his mother, before running to place his young behind on the settee and grabbed the TV remote. He punched buttons on the remote and Ninja Hatori came on the screen. ‘How long was I out?’ The man questioned as he tried standing up on his feet, with the bedsheet clutched around his waist. The woman walked to the kitchen ignoring the man. The man stretched and took support of the couch and the dining table as he followed her into the kitchen.‘I didn’t mean to cause you guys any trouble. I will be out soon. As soon as I figure out where my shirt is’ The man explained. The woman opened the fridge and pulled out six eggs. She loudly plopped the skillet on top of the stove, yelled to her son from the kitchen. ‘Shivu, what eggs do you want?’‘Kacha-mucha’ the boy yelled back. ‘You fine with scrambled eggs?’ The woman looked at the man for the very first time. She stared at him with deep disdain. ‘Yes. Thank you!’ The man smiled. ‘Go into the bedroom, you will find shirts hanging in the cupboard on your left.’ The woman instructed as she pointed the way. As the man made his way towards the pointed direction, the woman spoke again. ‘I hope you are out after breakfast.’ The man nodded his head. ‘Switch off the TV! Come and have breakfast’ The woman ordered her son. The man sat down opposite the boy, dressed in a pair of jeans which was a size too big for him and a pale blue shirt cinched together with a leather belt. ‘The whole floor was flooded.’ The boy exclaimed looking excitedly at the man. ‘Water, water everywhere…’ He boy sang as he picked up toasts from the tray onto his plate. ‘What’s your name?’ The man smiled looking at the boy. ‘Shiv Shankar, but everybody calls me Shivu’ The boy grinned as he stuffed his face with scrambled eggs and toast. ‘Close your mouth and eat’ The mother admonished.‘How long was I out for?’ The man gingerly raised the subject again, softly enough for Shivu to ignore the adult talk. ‘Thirteen hours. I think I need to apologize to you. I am vet and I don’t do humans. I am afraid that I may not have done a good a job. You might want to go to a hospital and get it redone.’ The woman spoke hurriedly avoiding the man’s searching green eyes. ‘It is good that Shivu came and saved me.’ The man smiled as he gave the young boy a conspiratorial wink. The man pushed his plate away and sighed. ‘Thank you for breakfast and everything else.’ The man pointed to his shirt, ‘I will get out of your way now.’ The man declared as he sipped the last of his orange juice. ‘If you need anything, let me know’ the woman offered with a weak smile as she held the main door open for him. ‘Mumma? Why is he wearing dada’s shirt? Will he return it?’ The boy inquired as he plonked himself in front of the television set again. ‘Bye shivu!’ The man waved, ‘And yes, I will bring back dada’s shirt’ the man grinned before awkwardly turning his back. The man gently pushed open the door and heard the door sweep the broken glass behind it. #      He heard the door bell ring. He turned the water off, he loosely wrapped a towel around his waist. He pulled the gun from the shoulder holster hanging behind the bathroom door, he checked the magazine and the silencer. He quickly walked to the door. He looked through the peep hole and saw nothing. The door bell rang again. He put the chain latch in its place, pulled the safety off his gun. He heard the rustling of cloth against the door and wall. He opened the door ever so slightly when somebody kicked the door. The chain latch did its job. But there were too many hands with makeshift swords and iron rods.      Zffft!The first shot caught an eager man trying to push his way past the door in the knee. The chain latch gave away. A sea of bodies tumbled in. Zffft!The second shot caught another assailant in his shoulder. A rod swung high in the air and caught the man on his shoulder, forcing him to drop the gun. Reflexes took over. His fist moved through the air, catching somebody right in the solar plexus, his heel catching somebody in the neck. Things were hurled. Flesh was pounded. Bones and fragile objects were shattered. But the chaotic flaying about of sharp objects was intense. A sword cut through the flesh on his arm, a sickle sliced through his shoulders and an iron rod found itself deep in his guts. #      The man quickly walked to the bedroom, pulled out a new white t-shirt, jeans, fresh socks and slipped on his vans sneakers. He jumped and pulled out the taped plastic bag from behind the geyser in the bathroom. He quickly counted the stack of money and pushed it back inside the plastic bag. He pulled out a red passport, his gateway identity, the color synonymous with the country – Swiss Red. He stuck his hand inside the plastic bag one last time and pulled a switchblade and a brass knuckle. He slid the knife in his socks and stashed the brass knuckle in his jean’s pocket.      He stepped out of the apartment complex, crossed the road and bought two packs of classic milds from the pan shop. He lit a cigarette as he waited for change and scanned the road from behind his aviators. He saw the nondescript Tata-Indica waiting on the corner of the road, leaning on it, two plainclothes men wearing khaki shoes. He smiled and waved at them. The two plain-clothed policemen ignored him. He chuckled to himself.      As he stood pulling hard on the cigarette, he weighed in his options. He couldn’t take the nano, not because of its garish color, but because using it would lead them to connect the vehicle with the dead Hamas body back at the hotel. Taking an auto meant going around with a giant target painted on his back. He stretched his back and winced at the pain around his gut. He felt the soft spongey feeling of the bandage underneath his t-shirt. ‘Hello!’ he heard a voice yell at him from across the road. He saw Shivu waving at him as his mother steered the car to a stop outside the apartment’s main gate. The man jogged his way to the car. ‘Should I drop you somewhere? The hospital perhaps?’ Dr. Sinha inquired as she looked at her son smiling gleefully at the man, whose name she hadn’t bothered to inquire yet. All she knew was that Shivu had dragged her down the stairs and pointed to the water flooding out of the bathroom from Apartment 3A. She saw the wreckage and stepped gingerly into the room while she instructed Shivu to go down and call the watchman. When she saw the naked man laying on the floor, his finger stuck deep inside his gut, with blood trickling down. The many years of medical training and practice kicked in. She called out to Shivu to go fetch her medical bag and instructed the watchman to call the cops and an ambulance. The watchman stood watching perplexedly at the woman deftly wipe and clean the wound before sticking the thread in the eye of the needle. The woman called out to the watchman to help her lift him. The two of them struggled to carry the man into the lift and drag him on the woman’s couch. The young boy kept his distance while excitedly looking on at what his mother did. ‘That would be great!’ The man hurriedly got to the other side of the car and got in. As he buckled in his seat belt, and a moment of thought, he added ‘Only if am not imposing on you’, The man smiled. ‘You were naked yesterday!’ Shivu exclaimed as he burst into a fit of giggles. The man turned around and smiled at the young boy. His eyes were glued on the Tata-Indica as the two men got inside and instructed the driver to follow the Honda City.

The Man With No Name - Chapter 9

*9* ‘Move! Move! Move!’ The instructor screamed into the megaphone as the recruits whinged and crawled their way under the barbed wire with live fire going whizzing past their heads. ‘Remember this sound! This is the sound of AK-47! This is the weapon of choice of your enemies, of our enemies. And it makes a very distinctive sound.’ The instructor yelled as he watched one of the recruits duck to avoid getting his head blown off. Yvet looked over his shoulder and looked at his buddy and smiled his gleeful smile. ‘You watch my six!’ Yvet grunted. The man grinned, showcasing his white teeth before the instructor kicked dirty water over the two.‘Move! Move! Move!’The two men trudged forward on their fours in water, mud and pig guts strewn over the barbed wires, to replicate human fatalities. The man opened his eyes. The ceiling didn’t look familiar; neither did the smell of the place. It wasn’t a hospital - the smell was too floral and homely to be a hospital or a clinic. ‘Mummma!’ the man heard a shrill young boy’s voice ring out close to him and the sound of soft skin on the boys’ feet flopping stupidly over the marble floors. The man tried turning his head around, but it hurt. He ran his hands over his torso, to gauge the extent of the damage. He was shirtless, his wound heavily bandaged. His eyes rested on the flat screen television set and the souvenirs resting on top of it. Owl figurines, toy airplanes and a digital photo display. The pictures changed every five seconds. The pictures showed a happy family of three – Serious looking husband with a severe case of receding hairline, a pretty looking wife and a young boisterous son aged seven or eight. The sunlight ‘Ah! You are awake!’ The male voice boomed. The man saw a balloon dressed in khaki walking towards his cone of vision. ‘Dr. Sinha was fearing that you might die on her couch.’ The pot bellied man dressed in Khaki with the three stars on his lapel suggested that he was the man in charge, the fact that he spoke in what could be construed as English and was followed by the woman in the photos with a young boy in tow underlined the man’s suspicion. The woman and the boy kept their distance from the man and stayed plenty of feet behind the Inspector.The man blinked as he grunted while trying to pull himself up against the armrest of the couch. ‘Shivu go inside!’ He heard the woman instruct the young boy. The boy held on tightly to the woman’s beige pants. From the look of the woman, she didn’t seem like she had any sleep in the last thirty six hours. The skin around her eyes was tight and dry. ‘The boy was the one who reported the flooding in your flat. He was also the one who found you bleeding on the bathroom floor’ the inspector explained, flashing his eyes. The man mentally took note of the name on the badge, ‘Hemant Gowda’. ‘Madam, if you could go inside, I would like to take his statement’ the inspector motioned to the woman and the boy towards their bedroom, breaking into his native tongue. The woman caught hold of the boy’s hand and turned her back on the man. The boy craned his neck and smiled an innocent smile which he found the man returning. Inspector Hemant Gowda pulled forward one of the settees and sat at the edge of it. He surveyed the naked torso and the bloodied pants of the man laying on the couch. ‘You know, I have been hearing reports all day yesterday of some foreigner with green eyes, thin lips, short cropped hair asking about some stupid chain has been walking around and making a mess in my city.’ The inspector lowered his voice as he looked over his shoulders to ensure that Dr. Sinha and her son were away from earshot. The inspector held out a maroon colored passport with the emblem of three lions and the British monarchy’s crown etched over its crown. If the man was smiling, his lips or his face didn’t show. It was clear that the cops had searched his place, but hadn’t found his stash of passports and emergency money stowed away behind the geyser in the bathroom. ‘Mr. Smith?’ The inspector studied the photograph glued inside the passport with skepticism. ‘I am sure that you are not going to be placing a complaint, nor are you going to aid us in our investigation to find out who was behind this dastardly attack. And I can bet that you wouldn’t know anything about this gun we found in your apartment either’ The inspector’s voice was low and conspiratorial, to avoid the accidental eavesdropping by Dr. Sinha. ‘I don’t know what you are talking about officer’ The man grunted as he clutched the bandaged wound on his gut.‘You know, I knew you would say something like that. They show Hollywood movies dubbed in Kannada you know’ the inspector grinned glibly. ‘You know that auto driver you met yesterday?’ The inspector looked keenly the man’s face for any signs of recognition. There was none. ‘He would have been the one who spoke in English? Rajshekar?’ The inspector added, till his found the expression what he was looking for - dilated pupils and the ever so slight twitch of the eyebrows. The inspector smiled before continuing, ‘He told me that he would be doing something stupid like this before he barged in with his men like some idiot. And when I asked him if he was stupid enough to leave behind a gun, he said that it was you who kneecapped two of his men before they got the better of you. Now, I can arrest you for that, but it brings too much attention. You will call your embassy and then the media will be involved. And the paper work… yabba! So much paper work’ The man raised his eyebrows, but looked on with a blank expression pasted on his face. ‘You see that ninety percent of autos in this city are owned by people like me and my bosses. So anything that happens to the drivers, then it becomes a personal matter.’ The inspector placed his hand over the man’s torso. The heel of his palm pressing hard over the blood stained gauze. The man winced as his neural pathways ignited with pain. The man grinned, which surprised the inspector.‘You see you owe me and my men seventy thousand rupees. Let us just for damages’ The inspector took off his hand and wiped it on the bedsheet covering the man. ‘I wouldn’t be making this demand if I had found money stashed in your apartment. But we didn’t. And that puts me in a very awkward position.’ The inspector continued as he pulled up the bedsheet and covered the man’s bandages. ‘I will keep your passport for safekeeping, Mr. Smith, you shall get it back once you have repaid the money you owe me and apologized to my men. And with regards to the matter of the chain you been searching, I wouldn’t be so hopeful. In all likelihood, it would have been pawned off and then sold off. So you better call whoever you have to call to get me my money. You understand?’ The inspector concluded as he pushed back the settee and stood up, extending his hand with his visiting card. The man took the card and nodded. The inspector motioned to one of the constables to bring out Dr. Sinha and her son. The man nodded in response to the inspector’s implicit threat. The man smiled at the boy who followed behind his mother. The boy reminded the man of the picture which was ensconced in one half of locket hanging on the gold chain. ‘Thank you Madam!’ The inspector spread his fat cheeks and contorted it to resemble a smile. ‘You really should have allowed Mr. Smith to be admitted to a hospital’. ‘It’s okay. I am just glad that he is alive.’ Dr. Sinha smiled feebly as she clutched her son’s shoulders tightly. With the awkward weight of silence hanging in the room, Inspector Hemant Gowda ushered his constable to vacate the premise. ‘Will call you soon with updates Mr. Smith’ The inspector called out as he stood outside the door. The man was sitting on the couch by now. There were questions he wanted answers to and he couldn’t ask them with the cop standing in front of the doorway with the glib smile pasted on his face.

Chapter 7 & Chapter 8 - The Man With No Name

*7* Nothing prompts a man to act than the caustic words of a woman questioning his manhood and threatening to take away his son. Phones had been ringing all through the day. The brotherhood of auto drivers had been on the man’s tail through the day. Information was collated and passed on. It was no longer a question of price as it was a question of pride and respect. The man stopped the car at wine shop, purchased a quart of vodka and got back inside. The day had been long and tiring. He navigated the traffic and made his way to the apartment leased under the dubious name, David Davidar. A name different from the one he used to enter the country, Frederic Raphael. A name different from the one he will use to exit the country, Joshua Ferris. Names he had seen on book covers, books he had no interest in reading. The only things he read now were letters he kept locked in a safe box back in Leumi Bank, letters written by his wife and kids.The driver stopped the auto by the side of the road and made the call, people had been waiting for all day. The man opened the door, switched on the lights, opened the freezer, pushed the bottle of Vodka in, pulled out a frozen bag of peas and placed it over the back of his head. He found the remote for the iPod player and played the music as he pulled out off the tie off his neck and proceeded towards the bathroom for another shower. ‘Is he alone?’ The voice over the phone wanted to confirm.‘The lights were off before he went in. He switched on the lights…’ The auto driver commented all that he saw. Little money went a long way. The guard had been more than happy to cooperate when the crisp pink and orange colored thousand rupee note was crisply snapped in front of his face. ‘Keep watching. Will be there in another 10 minutes’ the voice on the other end of the phone ordered before hanging up. The auto driver and the watchman of the gated community spoke in the language of the migrants, Hindi. ‘What did he do?’ The watchman inquired, wanting gossip to share with his drinking buddies. ‘Not sure, but whatever he did, he is going to pay for it. Big time’ the auto driver smiled knowingly. ‘Where are you from?’ The auto driver inquired. ‘Nepal!’ The watchman proudly proclaimed. ‘My wife’s brother’s friend went to Nepal once. Said you could buy a kilo of Ganja for two hundred rupees’‘You get everything in Nepal.’ The watchman offered a beedi to the driver, the driver shook his head. ‘Then why the fuck did you have to come to Bangalore?’ The auto driver demanded, as the watchman lit up his beedi. ‘No jobs there. Full politics. Full violence there. Wife’s sister works in Indira Nagar. She said you get paid five thousand rupees a month just to walk a dog twice, once in the morning and once in the evening. So we moved’ The watchman narrated the story of his life between hard pulls on the rolled up tobacco leaf. ‘I don’t understand how wives know so much about the world even though it is us men going out and working and earning money for the family’ The auto driver lamented. ‘You have TV and cable connection?’ The watchman inquired. ‘Got it in dowry’ The auto driver answered.‘That’s how! See, we men, what do we do?’ The watchman waited for the auto driver to answer to his rhetoric question. The driver kept quiet, waiting for the watchman to explain further. ‘We men, we go out, we see the world, we try and see where we can earn enough money so that the stove keeps burning and how we can get a drink or smoke and forget about all the stupid boring things that we do through the day. Like I can’t go to sleep without drinking a quarter of rum every day.’ The watchman pulled hard on the beedi before dropping it down on the tar road and twisting out the burning embers with his toe. ‘But my wife, she goes and washes vessels in all this big, big peoples’ house. She talks to the big madams and their children. And they keep watching TV or doing things on the computer. Then she comes home, cooks for the kids and watches serials. And when I come home, she tells me that the kids don’t have eggs with toys in them. The cable bill has to be paid. I shouldn’t drink so much. I should act more like the big people. And seeing me, the kids will also act like that and we can move up in society. We don’t care for such things. What we need is a warm body and enough booze to let us sleep in peace. Women, even they don’t know what they need’ the watchman explained. The two men shared a moment of silence. Only to be broken by the loud rat-ta-tat sounds of four-stroke CNG engines of autorickshaws. The English speaking auto driver got off his auto. His neck wrapped around with a foamy skin colored brace. The dangerous looking men got off the other four autos. The other auto drivers were in a worse condition that the English speaking one. One auto driver even had a crutch to support himself, his leg taped up with makeshift sticks and heavily bandaged together. The goons threw their pre-mixed bottles of cheap whisky and mineral water down by the side of the road. They were ready for some action. ‘Where?’ The English speaking auto driver inquired, his question, more a threat than a question. ‘Third Floor, Apartment 3A’ The watchman answered, his mind racing for an excuse to account for his absence when things got hairy. ‘Anybody come in or go out?’ The English speaking auto driver interrogated the chatty auto driver. ‘No!’ The driver answered, his head shaking vehemently to support his statement.


*8* ‘Hospital! NOW!’ Somebody yelled as the autos were hurriedly started, broken bleeding bodies hauled themselves in as they scampered into the traffic. The inside of Apartment 3A looked like a crash site. Broken glass, furniture littered the marble floors with blood splayed across the walls. The man lay on the floor clutching his sides. His face bruised and cut. He pulled himself off the ground and trundled with great effort into the bathroom to take a look in the mirror to ascertain the extent of his injuries. He knew if he didn’t close the opening in his gut, he would bleed and die in the next seven minutes. He shoved the tube of toothpaste between his teeth to clamp down on as he gingerly pushed his index finger inside the bleeding wound. He remembered his battalion commanding officer’s words at the end of his long first day at training camp.‘Pain is your ally. Pain is going to be your one true friend for the rest of your life. Pain is going to be that motherfucking whore son of a bitch who is going to tell you when to call it quits. Eighty Nine percent of you numbskulls are going to fail this program. It’s a fact. Out of the remaining eleven percent, only two will get selected to mount missions on their own. I am looking for just two men, two men who will treat pain like it’s their first pubescent orgasm. Two men who will grin and clap their hands when painpresents itself like a nymphomaniacal whore in Manila tripping on ‘shrooms begging for your cocks. Because gentlemen!’ The instructor paused for dramatic effect, his eyes sweeping up and down on the uniform rise and fall of his troops up and down, while screaming the push up count. ‘Because if you are feeling pain, it means you are still alive and you should be happy! And I want to see smiles on your ugly faces’ The instructor barked. The man grinned as his fingers felt around the gooey mess that was his innards. He tried hard to keep his eyes open even as he slumped on the floor, to conserve energy. His eyes vaguely made out the plastic box of dental floss. If he could just reach it, without letting his index finger moving from the open artery, he still had a chance. He tried pulling himself up, using the washbasin for support.
The washbasin broke. Water sprayed. He lay on the wet floor, unconscious. 

Chapter 6 - The Man With No Name

*6*      The man checked the address twice before punching in the address into the GPS. The female android voice prompted him the way. He diligently followed the lefts, the rights and the straights, till he reached a road impossible for any vehicle to traverse through. The android woman insisted on heading straight for another 500 meters to reach destination. He found a spot by the side of the road to park. He unclipped his seat belt, checked the gun and the spare magazine. Pulled the phone of its holder on the dashboard, closed the program with the android woman and stepped out. He stood out like a vestigial tail flopping around in the wind. Kids playing cricket on the streets, men drinking tea and women gaily chatting amongst themselves stopped themselves and stared at this abrupt interruption in their routine. He walked to the group of men who held their cups of tea in their hands and cigarettes hanging from their lips. He pulled the cigarette from a man’s lips and shoved the phone screen in his line of sight. Residents crept out of the crevices they called homes to look this creature. ‘Prasanna?’ The man queried as he pulled hard on the cigarette. ‘Prasanna?’ The man asked around his peers who sat next to him.‘Auto driver!’ The man offered to clear their confusion.‘Why? What do you want? Tell me, you want women? Grass? Coke? Booze?’ The tea drinking, dhoti and baniyan clad man gleefully inquired, sensing quick money from the skin tone and the cut of the suit as he handed the phone back The man pulled out the tin lid covering the glass jar filled with biscuits to go with the tea and smacked it hard against the man’s cheek. ‘Prasanna, auto driver. Where?’ The man repeated his question as he shoved the phone back into the man’s hand.The man pointed in the general direction. The man smiled as placed the lid back over the glass jar and pocketed his phone. The man found the kids who till moments ago were engrossed in a game of street cricket helping him with directions as they ran and cleared the path for him. One of the kids ran into the house and called out to his mother. ‘Amma! Amma! Some white fellow is looking for appa!’ The boy yelled as he tugged at his mother’s nighty. The woman annoyed at this misplaced excitement slapped the kid to settle down. The man bent down and entered the low doorway. He saw the kid smiling and hiding behind his mother. ‘Prasanna?’ The man questioned.‘Eh! Who are you? Get out!’ the woman admonished the man for having entered her sanctum Sanctorum. The man ignored the woman’s hysterical shrieks and looked around the small confined space. His eyes found what he was looking for. A cheap family portrait taken right after the kid was born in a studio framed in a garish frame surrounded by stickers of Mickey and Minnie mouse. There staring at him was the smiling face of Prasanna. ‘Get out before I call my husband!’ the woman shrieked as she searched around for things which she could use for defense and attack this intruder. She found a steel ladle in the kitchen. The man picked up the family photo and studied it with intent. The years had not been kind to Prasanna. The wife came charging at him, waving the ladle threateningly. The man turned and slapped the woman hard, cutting the inside of her cheek against her teeth. The boy hid himself behind the wall. ‘Your husband?’ The man pointed at the family portrait. The woman nodded as tears rolled down her eyes, wiping the blood from the corner of her mouth. A huge crowd stood outside the small one bedroom kitchen set up, witnessing everything that transpired. Nobody stepped forward or exercised their vocal chords.‘Your husband… Where is he?’ The man questioned, with appropriate hand gestures for the woman to understand. ‘I don’t know! I haven’t seen him for the last two days’ the woman wailed, ‘What has that demon brought upon me now?’     The man looked around the room, his eyes rested on a pencil and a notebook. He penciled in his number and thrust it towards the woman.‘Your husband. Call me! Urgent. Understand?’ The man spoke as he saw the woman study his handwriting. He ventured into the kitchen, rumbled around till he found a pair of scissors. He caught hold of the woman’s hair from behind and turned her head around so that she could see his green flaming eyes. ‘Do you understand?’ He questioned again as he snipped the scissors in the air. The woman nodded as she wet her nighty, a puddle of piss streaming towards the doorway. He let go of her hair and she dropped on the floor in shame and despair. He pocketed the happy family portrait.The crowd parted the way Moses parted the red sea, as he stepped out of the house and made his way back to the car. Nobody wanted to mess with an insane white man. Dealing with their own kind was more than enough.

Chapter 5 - The Man With No Name

The man swiped the keycard through the electronic slot and heard the whirring of the lock opening up. He stepped inside and slid the keycard in the slot. The room lit up. He saw the aluminum case resting on the bed. He opened the wardrobe and saw the line of tailored suits, shirts still in their plastic covers with the tag still hanging off them. He pulled open the drawers and smiled as he ran his fingers over the rolled ties and boxes of cufflinks. He kicked off his shoes, removed his socks, stripped and entered the bathroom.      As the hot water sprayed from the shower, he watched the blood run down his body and swirl around the drain. He lifted his head to feel the hot water fall on his face. The tears got swept away with the hot water as his fingers circled his chest where the chain usually lay on his neck. The place he had earmarked to tattoo the tombstone inscriptions of his loved ones the day he retired. He turned the knobs, pulled the towels off the shelf and dried himself. He walked barefoot to the bed where the aluminum case rested. The case was protected with a three digit number lock. He turned the dials and clicked open the case. He surveyed the contents, a capped syringe with Ricin, flashlight, dissembled Berretta model 70 with .22 caliber long range bullets - the model known around the world as the terminator used by the Mossad, with a spare magazine and a digital camera with encrypted software for the man to send over evidence of a job done to his superiors. The man quickly and efficiently assembled the handgun and loaded the magazine. Having laid all the instruments of death he would need in the next twenty minutes, he walked over to the wardrobe. Seven minutes later, he walked stealthy across the carpeted corridor, as he screwed in the silencer over the muzzle of his Berretta. He stood by the side of room 614 and knocked gently, just as room service would. In his right hand he held the berretta and in his left he held the card key to the room. He heard the muffled sounds of footsteps approaching the door. He could feel the partial weight of a body leaning against the door to peer through the peephole. This was the moment the man was waiting for. Two swift pulls of his index finger on the trigger. He quickly swiped the key card and pushed against the dead weight behind the door. He hurriedly surveyed the room, the bathroom, the balcony and the wardrobe. He found the laptop resting on the study table. He flipped over the laptop, pulled a Philips screwdriver from inside his jacket pocket and swiftly removed the hard disk from the laptop’s innards. He clicked the required pictures on the digital camera, logged on the hotel Wi-Fi and sent them half across the world. He closed the door behind him and hung the ‘Do Not Disturb Sign’. Intel suggested that his body wouldn’t be found till Thursday. The man put the safety on the gun, tucked it in his shoulder holster and entered the elevator. He asked for the Hotel Concierge and instructed him where the laptop hard disk needed to be delivered. He then collected the keys and the valet ticket for his ride from the reception desk. He sighed and chuckled to himself as the valet bought the car to gate. It was a dinky little car colored bright neon pink, which the locals called as ‘Tata Nano’.

Man with no name - Chapter 4

The server arrived with the bill, which the tall man signed for. 

The Man With No Name - Chapter 3

*3*
The moment the firang savaristepped off the auto, the driver vroomed away to safety. The man pulled the last cigarette from the pack before crumpling it and kicking it to the side. The sight of a Caucasian male in this part of town was a rare one. Street urchins surrounded him begging him for food and money, laughing and giggling all at the same time. Their empty curled fingers pawed at him, appealing him to reach into his pocket with all them dollars. Few of the kids even had some change clinking in their hands, giving him a subliminal message. He looked at them, smiled before snatching the change from them and kicked them away. The kids ran away screaming murder as he pocketed the change, twelve rupees. The man made his way to the Shri Hari Lodge’s reception, manned by an octogenarian with betel stained teeth and glasses perched on his nose fashioned out of 1980s’ coke bottles. ‘Aleem?’ he inquired pointing to the register on the table. ‘200 rupees for an hour. No AC. No hot water. No credit card. Only cash’ The old man recited the memorized spiel in chaste English as he turned his head to search for a room with a key hanging on the board on the wall. The old man searched for the appropriate key to hand over in exchange for money. Just then, a burly looking dark man entered the lodge through the main gate, followed by the coterie of kids. One of the kids tugged at the big man’s tight shirt and pointed at the man who had dared raise a hand on them. The man turned around to see what he imagined was a blinged out water buffalo with a thick gold chain, earrings, long hair dyed a cringe inducing blonde color with side burns thick as hotel mattresses. The old man stopped his search and looked curiously over the Foreigner’s shoulder at the big dark bundle of muscles dressed in gold. ‘What happened Jasper?’ The old man inquired in Kannada as he watched the big man motioned to the kids to disappear. Jasper ignored the big man’s question and brought his tree trunk sized hand on the white man’s shoulder. Before the big man who resembled a gangsta water buffalo named Jasper could begin his interrogation of what happened, the man reached out for the earring dangling from the man’s ear and pulled hard. Skin tore. Earring came away. Pain dictated Jasper’s next move as he let go of the man and clutched his bleeding ear. The Firang turned around to pick up a paper weight placed atop the register and smashed it hard against Jasper’s head. For added measure, the man kicked Jasper straight between his legs. The big blonde colored water buffalo crumbled like papier-mâché. The man turned his attention to the old man and repeated his question, as he carefully placed the paper weight back to where he picked it up from. ‘Aleem?’‘Third floor, room number 324’ The old man mumbled, his stare transfixed on the bleeding Jasper. # The man read the room numbers partially painted over atop the doorway. #320… #321… #322… #323…#324!The man leaned against the door to listen in. A door on the opposite end of the long corridor opened, a middle aged man exited and checked his zipper. He sheepishly smiled at the Firang and gave him a thumbs up sign. The Firang allowed himself a smile and a nod. He waited for his well wisher to head towards the stair before placing his ears on the door. He could make out noises emanating from the television and nothing else. He knocked on the door with his ears firmly planted on the door. No response.  He stepped back and studied the door. His body pressed hard against the door, he felt the tension on the top and the middle. The door had been double latched. He raised his foot and kicked it just hard enough to make a booming noise. He heard the angry murmurs of a woman and the jangling jiggles of her bangles. He heard the rustle of the human body getting off the bed and the groan of disturbed sleep. He heard the top latch being slid down away, and the latch in the middle being pulled to side. He stepped back, and this time kicked with all his might. The door caught the wrist of the woman standing behind as it swung back with force. She stood still, her face a curious mixture of surprise and pain. His palm caught her cheeks, pushing her to the side. The room looked like a poster of debauchery, empty bottles of booze, half smoked reefers, empty cigarette packs, half eaten foils of kebabs and biryani. The Firang saw his phone laying atop the television set. He turned around to see the man who had stuck him from behind last night, lying on the bed naked and spent. The ruckus had woken him up from his stoned blissful sleep. He stumbled around the room for cover yelling incomprehensibly in his native tongue. The man took a deep breath as he walked over the television set and picked up his phone. ‘My chain’ The man spoke as he looked at Aleem’s blood red eyes encased in puffy flesh. Aleem scrambled and pushed himself against the wall, hoping that the wall open itself up magically, giving him room to run. The man didn’t understand what the naked guy said. So he mimed, ‘Chain’, ‘My chain, where is it?’.‘No! No!’ is all Aleem could say. The man opened the bathroom door and saw Oriental styled toilet, with a flimsy metal chain hanging off the flush. He eyes caught sight of a wrench placed on top of the flush. He entered the bathroom and jumped up to grab the wrench. Seeing this, Aleem found the opportune moment he had been praying for. Aleem scrambled over the bed and headed for the door. The man turned around, sensing that his prey was getting away from him, threw the wrench at it. The wrench caught Aleem right in the middle of his back. Aleem screamed in pain as he collapsed. The man walked over to Aleem, picking up the wrench and stood over the winching and moaning figure of Aleem. ‘Where is my chain?’ The man spoke clearly and softly, just loud enough to put the fear of god in Aleem. ‘No!’ Aleem cried as he violently shook his head. The man stood over the crouched Aleem, his knee pressing on Aleem’s naked hairy chest, ‘My chain’. Aleem continued to cry and plead for mercy in his native tongue. The man studied the wrench, rolling his thumb across the wheel opening the wrench’s jaws. He placed his left hand over Aleem’s knee, straightening his leg. His knee still pressing hard against Aleem’s chest. He raised the wrench and brought it with all his might on his shin. Aleem screamed in pain. The man let go of Aleem’s knee and repeated his statement posed as a question, ‘My chain’.Aleem cried and spoke hurriedly in his native tongue as clutched his splinted shin in pain. The only thing the man caught was the name ‘Prasanna’. The man pulled out his phone from his pocket and handed it to Aleem. ‘Prasanna. Phone number. Address’ He directed Aleem with his eyes, chin and the wrench held menacingly in his hand. Aleem hurriedly typed in everything he knew. The man smiled as he pulled the phone away from his hand and stood up. He walked over to the table with the weed and the half empty pack of cigarettes. He lit a cigarette, walked over to where Aleem lay splayed on the floor and kicked him repeatedly between his ribs before he walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.As the man made his way down, he found a big mob assembled. He saw Jasper signaling a police constable at him. ‘Oi! What the fuck do you think you are doing?’ The constable queried authoritatively in the native tongue. The man smiled as he pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and flicked it at the constable before walking past him, pushing his way through the assembled crowd. The constable caught hold of the man’s shirt. The man turned around and stared at the clenched fist and into the constable’s eyes.
‘I just want my chain back’ the man stated as he caught hold of the constable’s wrist and applied pressure. The constable felt shooting pain, his fingers let go of the man’s t-shirt. The man pulled the constable close to him, studied his watch before giving him a full body search. The man pulled out the constable’s wallet, pulled the money out of it and flung the empty wallet on Jasper who still sat on the floor clutching his bleeding head. 

The Man with No Name - Chapter 2

*2*The morning office rush looked at the man with judgmental eyes. The man stretched his back, the white t-shirt now blotted with splotches of dried blood cracked away from his back. He gingerly touched the back of his head and felt the matted hair clumped together. He looked around and found his empty wallet flung to the side of the road. He looked down at his feet and realized that somebody had stolen his shoes and socks. He bent down to pick the wallet up and felt pain shooting down the side of his shoulders and back. He dusted the wallet and put it back into his back pocket.A generous middle aged commuter, overcome with a surge of humanity stopped his bike and inquired if he could give the man a lift.‘Fuck off!’ the man whinged. The commuter shook his head and took off while hurling abuses at the man and his presumed country of origin. The man picked up an old newspaper by the roadside, tore it up before folding it and putting it inside his wallet. He walked till he reached the ring road. He knew his way from here.
The early bird on his way to office stepped out of the ATM only to find himself walking straight into a firang. He apologized and trashed the ATM receipt. The Firang apologized as well and offered a handshake. The early bird didn't mean to be rude. The firang stood in front of the solitary cash dispensing machine as he watched the man he had just bumped into get on a bike and merge with the traffic. He pulled out a wallet, it wasn’t his. He pulled the driver’s license, the face on it was the same one as the man he had bumped into. Instead of a wallet stuffed with sheaf of torn newspaper, he now had three hundred odd rupees, a debit card and two credit cards. He folded the money and pushed it down his front pocket. He pulled out crumpled receipts from the trash can next to the ATM machine and placed them inside his new wallet.He walked across the road to the tea shop.‘Classic milds’ he pointed at the pack of cigarettes lined neatly against the shelf with his chin.He lit up the cigarette and pulled hard on it. He eyes read the minute and the hour from the shopkeeper's wrist. Half past nine.He walked as he puffed on the cigarette. There was one more ATM down the road. Wallets were exchanged and this time it yielded a cool five grand. He smiled as he thumbed the notes. Nobody suspects a foreigner.  He made his way to the mall which had just opened its gate. The security at the gate looked on suspiciously at this barefooted firang. He walked through the gates, spread his hands as security waved the metal detector wand around him. He climbed on the escalator and headed straight into the restroom. He washed his face, combed his hair with his fingers and tucked in his t-shirt. He walked into Lifestyle, quickly found the aisle with t-shirts and shelves lined with jeans. He left his old clothes in the changing room and walked out of the store. The employees were still getting their bearing around in the morning.He walked into McDonalds and placed an order for Hot cakes, sausage egg muffin and a black coffee. He paid cash. Having done with his meal, he lit up a cigarette. One of the employees came running in as the smoke swirled up in the air from his nostrils.‘No smoking sir!’ The employee pleaded. The man raised his eyebrows, his lips enveloped around the cigarette butt as he pulled hard. The employee stared as the paper burnt and the man’s chest swelled. The man got up from his chair and pouted smoke in the poor underpaid employees’ face. He made his way to the Adidas store, pulled a pair of size 11’s from the rack, a roll of new black socks and handed the credit card to the store attendant. The name on the card read, ‘Jaganathan Swami’. The store attendant didn’t notice, but the cashier did.‘Sir, what is your name?’ The cashier inquired.‘What does it say on the card?’ The man replied as he watched the female store attendant walk in through the door. The girl was late, but when she saw the firang standing next to the cash counter, her flustered face blushed.The cashier didn’t care. The sale was approved. That’s all that mattered. The man scribbled a signature on the merchant copy, picked up the credit card and walked out.He called out to an auto standing in the auto stand.‘Shalimar’ The man gave the address.‘300/-’ The auto driver replied. Firangs always meant easy money. The man nodded and got in.The auto weaved in and out of traffic. The auto driver occasionally kept looking into the rear view mirror. The firang had spread his legs, with one foot right on the driver’s seat. The driver didn’t say anything. Not when he was getting 300/- for a fare which otherwise would have earned him just 80/-.‘Saar, Shalimar’ The driver stuck his head out of the auto and pointed the hotel where the man and the girl had stumbled out of last night.The man got of the auto and headed to where autos and radio taxis stood waiting for patrons to step out of the hotel corridor.‘Saar! Money?’ The auto driver called out from behind.The man turned around, smiled, pulled out the wad of money. He pulled out a fifty rupee note and thrust into the driver’s shirt pocket and good naturedly slapped him on his cheek twice. This didn’t bode well with the driver.‘Two fifty more’ the driver pulled out the fifty rupee note with his left hand from his pocket and caught hold of the man’s left hand with his right. The man raised his right hand and brought it hard on the auto driver’s cheek. The driver’s head banged against the side of the auto. The man turned around and started walking towards the auto stand. The auto drivers, some standing and some sitting and chatting watched the whole thing. Few of them walked towards the man as he approached them. The auto driver who had just been slapped was nursing his reddened cheek and hurling abuses in the native tongue.‘KA 93 B 2304’ The man calmly mentioned the number plate.‘What? What happened?’ An auto driver, fluent in English, demanded to know as he pointed to the fellow angry auto driver behind the man. The man turned his head and stared at the screaming auto driver. It was clear that the auto driver was making threats about the man’s life and his family’s well being. The man smiled and waved goodbye to him before turning his attention to the auto driver who spoke English. The English speaking auto driver was soon surrounded by fellow auto drivers.‘I am searching for the auto driver who drives KA 93 B 2304’ The man looked behind the crowd and saw the auto with the number plate he was looking for.‘Why? What you want? Why you slap him?’ The driver demanded to know. The man pushed past the crowd and stood next to the auto which had caught his attention.‘Who is the driver of this auto?’ The man pulled out the pack of cigarettes and tapped it on the back of his wrist.The English speaking driver was losing patience. He slapped the pack of cigarettes from the man’s hand.‘I am asking you. You…’ The driver demanded and the chorus of angry irate auto drivers grew louder, bringing the attention of the hotel security.As the driver was mid sentence, the man closed his fingers in a fist and punched him straight in the Adam’s apple. Seeing this act of violence, the other auto drivers jumped on the man. The man caught the index finger of the first one who jumped on him and twisted it sideways. The second one found a finger lodged deep in his left eye. The third felt a sharp kick to his knees causing him to buckle down and fall. The fourth and fifth auto drivers who wanted a piece of action were left two broken ribs and an ear bitten off.The man stepped to the side and picked up his pack of cigarettes. In all the chaos, somebody had stepped on the pack, he tsk-tsk’ed. He pulled out a flattened out cigarette from the pack and searched his pocket for a light.‘Light?’ He signaled for a box of matches to the couple of auto drivers who had held back, not wanting any trouble. One of the auto drivers gingerly extended his hand with a lighter.‘Thanks!’ The man smiled as he lit his cigarette and pocketed the lighter. He pointed to the auto, ‘Who drove this auto last night?’‘Prasanna’ One of them offered.‘Where can I find him?’ The man questioned as he squinted his eyes to avoid the smoke.The drivers, who were still standing shook their heads, murmuring to themselves as they looked at their comrades wincing and whining in pain. Passerbys slowed their vehicles to take in the sight. The man was losing patience. He stepped on the fellow with the broken knee and applied pressure.‘Where can I find him?’‘I don’t know… He was with Aleem’ the man cried out.‘And where can I find Aleem?’ the man questioned as he lifted his foot off the man’s knee and flicked the cigarette at him.‘Shri Hari Lodge, Majestic’ One of the auto drivers reflexively answered with fear. The man smiled as he walked and good humoredly slapped the man on his back and got inside the auto. The auto drivers looked on at each other, unsure of what to do.‘Let’s go!’ The man urged as he slapped the side of the auto.As the auto driver started his auto, he didn’t bother turning the meter down. One of the other drivers hurriedly began to dial on his mobile phone. The others rushed to the aid of their fallen comrades. The man stuck his head out of the auto and looked at the man hurriedly speaking into the phone.
‘Tell him I want my chain back!’ The man yelled as the auto driver merged into the traffic.

The Man With No Name - Chapter 1

*1* ‘It was fun! Ladies night at Shalimar is always fun’ The girl gushed as she swept the hair away from her face.‘You are cute… I like you’ her speech slurred with girly giggles as she leaned forward with pouted lips and closed eyes.‘You are drunk!’ The man pushed her to the side, careful enough to not push her out of the moving autorickshaw. The autorickshaw driver looked in the mirror over hanging over his forehead and grinned lecherously at the girl.‘Madam fullu tight-ah?’ The driver chuckled as he mustered all the English he knew into a comprehensible sentence. It was more a statement than a question. The man ignored the driver and lit up a cigarette. He should have left the girl alone. He should have gone back to the hotel. But the girl was drunk, and people had seen him with her. He had considered his options. Leaving her behind would ensure that people would remember the two of them long enough to discuss them the next day over brunch. Taking her along meant that people would remember the girl and not him. The auto driver continued alternating his gaze between the dimly lit roads and the rearview mirror. With the wind blowing through the side of the auto, the driver could see the side of the girl’s exposed breast as she leaned against the foreigner’s shoulder. She was wearing one of those plastic bras, the kinds which women wore under skimpy clothes when they visited discos. The man was a foreigner, cropped hair along the sides, with the first traces of stubble showing on his chin. All foreigners looked the same to him. They all wanted the same things, women, booze and weed. They were all the same, paying triple the amount of fare and never bargaining. ‘Turn left! Turn left!’ The girl directed, suddenly waking up from her alcohol induced haze. The auto driver followed as instructed. ‘Stop! Stop!’ The girl tapped the driver’s shoulder. The auto stopped in front of a big gated community. ‘You want to come in?’ The girl invited the man, a leery smutty smile pasted across her face as she stumbled out of the auto as she pulled her skirt down. The watchman got off his chair and smiled as he watched the girl stumble and saunter out of the auto. The man ignored the girl and tapped the auto driver to move. The driver promptly followed the man’s directions.‘Ladies, drinking firstuh then wanting sexuh. Bad no?’ The auto driver commented. The man closed his eyes and leaned his head back, ignoring the social commentary. ‘Saar?’ The driver spoke in hushed tones. The auto had stopped in the middle of nowhere. The man opened his eyes and looked around, it was no place that the man recognized. The auto driver held a pen knife in his hands and a humble smile on his face. ‘Give money!’ The driver requested. The man raised his left ass cheek off the seat. ‘Slow… Knife sharpuh’ The driver informed. The man pulled out his wallet and handed it to the driver. The driver pulled open the sleeves of the wallet and pulled out the cash and the cards. ‘Pin numberuh?’ ‘4523’ The man replied. ‘Phone? Watch? Chain?’ The driver motioned with the pen knife. The man handed over the phone and removed his watch.‘Now drop me home’ the man calmly replied. ‘The chain!’ The driver demanded, his voice rising. ‘No!’ The man responded, his eyebrows converged over his green eyes underlining the monosyllable. ‘Out!’ the driver directed with the knife. The man followed. Right before the driver drove off, he gave a loud shrill whistle. As the man mentally noted down the number plate, he heard rustling noises from behind him and felt a sharp pain at the back of his head. The man fell down as a heap. He felt the chain from around his neck being yanked hard. The man tried opening his eyes, clouded by tears of pain, he saw another man hurriedly get inside the auto before it sped away.