ANTI-SOCIAL NETWORK (14 page)

The cool night breeze that brushed against his face as he rode his Bullet on the highway lifted Virkar’s spirit to some extent. For the past week, he had been coming up with nothing; all leads had dried up and there was no silver lining in sight. Deep inside the pit of his stomach, an ugly feeling had begun to sink in—the fear that the case would turn cold. Virkar slammed the breaks on the Bullet and drove it to the side of the highway. When he came to a stop, he pulled out his mobile phone and dialled a number.

After a few rings, the call was picked up.

‘Hello, Naina.’

Before Virkar could say anything else, Naina said, ‘So this is what I have become to you—a night-time phone call.’

Virkar stuttered. ‘N-n-no. It’s not like that. I’ve just been caught up with the case.’

‘So caught up that you couldn’t even call me once over the past eight days?’

‘I…I…I…’ Virkar continued to stutter.

‘It was clear to me right from the beginning that you didn’t know how to deal with a woman, but I didn’t expect you to be an absolute dhakkan.’

Virkar wanted to reply but found no words. On the other hand, Naina was in full flow. ‘And I suppose now you’ve hit a wall and suddenly thought of me as a way to divert your attention.’ Virkar listened shamefaced as she continued, ‘I bet you thought that some sex will change your mood and clear up your head?’

Virkar gulped.

‘I want a truthful answer from you, Virkar. Just a plain yes or a no.’

For a few seconds, the only sound that could be heard was the whoosh of a passing car.

‘Yes,’ Virkar finally said.

‘Yes what?’

‘Yes, that’s what I thought,’ Virkar admitted.

Naina was silent for a few seconds. Finally, her voice sounded over the line, ‘Well, at least you’re honest. I’m at home. Come over.’

R
ichard smiled as he lounged casually on a soft single-seat sofa in a corner of the Starbucks behind the Taj Mahal Hotel in Colaba.
Three days of partying free of cost will put anyone in a good mood
, Virkar thought resentfully as he approached him.

As Virkar took the seat facing Richard, he saw that there was a steaming cup of black coffee already on the table in front of him. ‘I took the liberty of ordering a coffee for you, since you don’t like to waste time. Black coffee fine with you?’

Virkar eased up a little and picked up the cup. ‘Yes, it’s fine.’ He picked up two packets of sugar from the tray and tore them together, spilling their contents into his cup. He took a sip and nodded. ‘Yes, it’s fine,’ he repeated.

Richard smiled once again. ‘I had a good time in Manali. Blew my mind on the purest of maal…’

Virkar cut in, ‘Forget about Manali. Tell me about the cocaine buyer.’

Richard sighed. Virkar had called him the day before while he was in Manali and asked him to find out who Akhbir was buying cocaine from. Richard had balked at taking up such a task because it involved gathering information from the nefarious characters involved in the cocaine trade. But Virkar had insisted and Richard had realized that he owed Virkar a favour since he had not delivered on the SIM card information Virkar had required earlier.

Richard had called up his cousin X and WhatsApped him Akbhir’s display picture with the message:
Have any of your friends sold stuff to this guy or anyone with him?
A day later, just as Richard was entering the Delhi airport on his way back to Mumbai, he got a message from X saying:
A business associate has dealt with the man in the picture and a friend of his
. Richard had immediately called and taken the description of Akhbir’s friend from X. As soon as reached Mumbai, he had called Virkar who had asked him to meet in Colaba and give him the information.

‘A youngish guy with short hair, clean-shaven and of average build,’ said Richard.

Virkar continued to look at him expectantly. ‘Anything else? Any distinguishing marks?’

‘No.’

‘What about the way he spoke?’

‘According to my contact, he didn’t speak at all. It was Akhbir who made the deal.’

‘Well, now that Akbhir is gone, has the other guy got in touch with your contact on his own?’

‘No,’ Richard said.

‘Come on! You’re hardly giving me anything,’ said Virkar, sitting back in his chair in exasperation.

‘This is all I have, Inspector. I thought you would be happy to know this.’

Virkar shook his head in irritation. ‘This is just another dead end.’

Richard felt a little sorry for him. ‘Look, at least we know that Akhbir had another member in his group.’

Virkar shrugged in resignation. ‘My gut tells me that this mystery man is behind all these killings. He is the man behind the Anti-Social Network’.

‘For all you know, this mystery man has already left town and disappeared forever,’ Richard said.

Virkar just nodded in agreement. For a while they sat without speaking, sipping their coffees. After a few minutes, Richard glanced at his watch and began to rise from the sofa, but Virkar waved him back into his seat.

‘You may be wrong, you know,’ Virkar said, half to himself. Richard stared at him, bemused. ‘If I were a mastermind who had managed to hide myself so well that no one even knew of my existence, would I leave town?’ Richard was silent, letting Virkar’s words sink in. Virkar, however, was not expecting a reply as he continued, ‘No. I would continue as normal, secretly observing the investigation of the case, enjoying the fact that I had fooled everyone.’

Richard nodded in grudging agreement. ‘That makes sense. We humans are vain.’

Virkar suddenly threw him a strange look. ‘Now you’re starting to sound like Naina.’ For a couple of seconds both of them looked at each other and then burst out laughing. A few guffaws later, Virkar said, ‘Look, Richard, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll get a friendly police sketch artist to make a sketch of the mystery man based on your contact’s description. You ask your contact to share this sketch with all his other close “associates” in this business and ask them to report to you immediately if this guy shows up with anyone. There shall be a reward in it for you if do this for me.’

Richard raised an eyebrow. ‘What’s the reward?’

Virkar smiled, ‘If you get caught for possession of cocaine, all you have to do is give me a call and I’ll make sure that the arresting officer goes easy on you.’

Richard looked blank. ‘What makes you think I’ll get caught for possession of cocaine?’

Virkar simply fished out his cell phone and showed him a message from an Inspector Joshi. The message said: ‘At Richard Menzes’s house. As per your information, four grams of cocaine found hidden in the brick wall. Awaiting your orders.’

Richard sat back in the sofa gritting his teeth. Trapped, he had no choice but to say, ‘Please call the sketch artist. I’ll speak to my contact.’

P
latform number chhe ki gaadi yard mein jane wali hai
. The bored voice on the PA system droned in Virkar’s ears as he stood in the middle of the passenger concourse at the Churchgate railway station. He had been standing at the same spot for the past fifteen minutes. It was nearly 5.30 p.m. and the station was buzzing with activity. Local trains arrived and left the station in quick succession. People jostled past Virkar, paying no heed to his stationary position. The stench from the moist armpits of the men and women who had put in an honest day’s work and were how going home began to tickle Virkar’s nostrils but Richard, who was standing next to him, wore an air of nonchalance, as if he was used to doing this regularly. He shifted his position with expertise to avoid brushing against eager passengers rushing to catch their regular evening local.

Earlier that morning, Virkar had received a call from Richard that an associate of his had some information on the sketch he had circulated. Virkar had wanted to rush to meet the associate immediately but according to Richard, the unnamed associate was ‘shy’ of the police and would only meet with them at his choice of venue. In the given circumstances, Virkar had no choice but to agree. But now, as he stood amid the evening rush hour crowd, Virkar regretted his decision.

All of a sudden, a thin young man appeared in front of them. He was wearing a cricket cap with the logo of the Mumbai Indians on the front and large plastic-rimmed dark glasses that hid most of his face. A Superdry T-shirt, three-quarter pants and ID brand shoes completed his ensemble. At a single glance, Virkar knew that the young man belonged to the community that, in Mumbai slang, was known as ‘Bandra Macapau’. Richard’s face lit up with recognition but before he could say anything, the Bandra Boy held up a photocopy of the sketch. ‘Is this the person you’re looking for?’ he addressed Virkar directly.

Virkar nodded.

‘He’s come to me a few times,’ the Bandra Boy said.

‘Come to you for what?’ asked Virkar.

‘To play with my grandfather’s
tadgolas
,’ said the Bandra Boy with a straight face, causing Richard to burst out laughing. Virkar was taken aback by his response but before he could say anything, the Bandra Boy, too, broke into a smile. ‘What men, Inspector, what else will he come to me for? To buy coke, what else?’

Virkar’s ears went red with embarrassment at having been made to look like a fool. He resisted the temptation to come back with a cutting reply, realizing that the information that the Bandra Boy had was more important than satisfying his own ego. Glaring back at him, he asked, ‘Is he expected to come back?’

‘I suppose he will after his maal gets over,’ the Bandra Boy replied.

‘When do you expect that to happen?’

The Bandra Boy shrugged. ‘Look men, Inspector, he doesn’t have any pattern or time. Nor does he come to meet me.’

‘What do you mean? Does he send somebody else sometimes?’ Virkar was puzzled.

‘No, I mean he calls me from some random local telephone number and gives me a time and place for me to meet him and give him the stuff.’ The Bandra Boy was getting a little irritated.

‘But what if you’re busy at the time?’ Virkar pressed on.

‘He always pays me extra so I make sure I’m free. He doesn’t waste my time asking me faltu questions.’ The Bandra Boy looked at Virkar pointedly.

Richard, who had been quiet so far, now butted in. ‘Ron…’

The Bandra Boy raised his hand cutting him off mid-sentence. ‘I told you—no names.’

‘Sorry, bro,’ a sheepish Richard said. ‘I just wanted to ask if you could help the Inspector further.’

‘In what way?’ asked the Bandra Boy, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

Virkar cleared his throat. ‘I’ll just put a small tap on your phone so that as soon as he calls you we will know his location and can start tracing him.’

The Bandra Boy looked incredulous. ‘You dhakkans think I am
paoli kam
or what, to let you know all my business affairs? Time for me to
vatkao
.’ He took a step back and was immediately swallowed up by the swirling crowd of passengers all around them.

Virkar took a step forward to follow him but Richard put a hand on his arm and held him back. ‘Let him go, Inspector. You’ll get what you need.’

Virkar looked desperate, trying to pull away from Richard’s grip. ‘We need to catch this mystery man.’

‘Calm down, Inspector. Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll get the other senior members of X’s network to talk to him and I promise you that as soon as he hears from the mystery man, he will call us and tell us the location of the meeting. All you have to do then is go there and grab the guy.’

Virkar’s eyes squinted, ‘And I suppose you’ll want something in return for this favour?’

Richard smiled. ‘You’re right, Inspector.’

Virkar sighed. ‘Why do I get the feeling that I’ve been set up?’

Richard replied with throaty chuckle, ‘
Aankh khuli aandhe ki
…’

Virkar shook his head and smiled back good-naturedly, completing the phrase, ‘…
vaat lagi dhande ki
.’

‘T
he Horniman Circle Gardens in fifteen minutes.’ As soon as Virkar heard these words, he was out of the door of his office at the Crime Branch. He signalled to the two plainclothes constables who had been pacing outside his door, ready to spring into action. Virkar got on to his Bullet and the two constables rode behind him on a scooter. At 11.30 a.m., the office traffic generally eases in the Fort area that lies between the Mumbai Crime Branch, at Crawford Market, and Horniman Circle. Virkar covered the distance in seven minutes flat. Making sure that he parked the Bullet a safe distance away from the park that lay across from the Bombay Samachar building, he changed his pace to a relaxed saunter and calmly made his way towards the massive ornate cast iron gate that led to the gardens. Just outside the gate, he paused and picked up a cone of peanuts to complete his plainclothes disguise of a morning stroller in the park.

Once inside, Virkar made his way to a park bench and positioned himself in such a manner that he could see all those who entered and left the garden through its single gate. He then arranged the expression on his face to look as though he was deep in thought, and displayed no emotion when the two plainclothes constables entered, chatting animatedly about local politics with newspapers tucked under their arms, giving the impression that they were concerned citizens out on a quick walk.

Two minutes later, Virkar saw the Bandra Boy enter the garden. His clothes were exactly the same as the ones he had been wearing three days earlier, when he had met Virkar at Churchgate. Virkar wondered if he had been wearing the same clothes since that day, belatedly realizing that the Bandra Boy was actually making sure that Virkar recognized him. Smart boy, Virkar thought to himself, even though he had no doubt he would have recognized the Bandra Boy even if he had worn a dhoti and kurta.

The Bandra Boy walked directly towards the water body around the metal tree-of-seagulls sculpture that stood in the middle of the garden. Ignoring the sun that had begun to beat down by now, the Bandra Boy parked himself on the China tile parapet that bordered the water body. Virkar concentrated on his peanuts but kept one eye trained on the Bandra Boy.