Age of Vice

by Deepti Kapoor

He squeezed the lemon, threw away the husks, added fresh slices, tossed in the ice, poured the vodka freely, carried the drinks over. “What kind of host would I be if I let you bleed?”

Dinesh smiles. “You know what I mean.” “What are you?” Sunny says after a long pause. “My shrink?” “Do you have one?” Dinesh replies. “Do you want one?” “Jesus.” “Either way, the question stands.”

But when a tipsy young woman objected in her own brash manner, the man pulled a revolver on her, waved it around the crowd. Then Dinesh was up and out before you knew it, defusing the situation.