Doosra (18 page)

'The one from England.'

'I have no girlfriend in England at this point in time.'

'Scotland then?'

'Nope.'

'Northern Ireland?'

'Nope.'

'The Netherlands.'

'That's not even in the United Kingdom.'

'But you have someone there?' Rita raised her eyebrows for effect.

'No. What's this now, an interrogation into the life and times of Ash Mattel? I thought you had an important case you were working on.'

'I am a woman, I am programmed to multi-task.' Rita took off her linen jacket, the gun in holster showing.

Ash turned around and took her in his arms.

The kiss lasted several minutes. Tongues met, entwined, explored each other's mouth, performed a serpentine ballet while their hands explored the bodies till Ash's slid down and traced the gun in the holster.

'I always wanted to see an attractive woman carrying a gun in just her lingerie,' he said as the mouths detached after the oral probing.

'You've watched too many episodes of Xena the warrior princess.'

'She didn't wear just lingerie.'

'She didn't wear much if I remember correctly.'

Rita unhooked her Smith & Wesson, pointed it towards the ceiling and carefully unloaded the cartridges while doing a mental count to ensure she didn't leave any inside the chamber. Ash hadn't used the safe locker provided in the room yet, so she placed the gun and cartridges inside the solid steel receptacle and locked it for the night.

'There I've just killed your dream.' Rita gestured towards the locked safe.

'Only part of the dream I hope.'

They kissed again.

The room was actually a suite. Rita always wondered why hotel rooms had such serious looking furniture made of solid wood. She got the wear-and-tear part but wouldn't they want to change stuff every so many years? An ornate writing desk that no one used these days. A bed strong enough that elephants could make love on it. The bed wasn't facing the window; the window with the view was on the left. And the view wasn't just another ocean view, it had the ocean as the only view unless one came really close to the windows and looked down at the street and the traffic. Both of them drifted towards the window and admired the seascape. Rita stood in front, Ash behind her with his arms around her trim waist. The sun having retreated, it was dark outside now. The famous Queen's Necklace was visible down below, the lights diffused in the slender mist that tended to envelop everything when it was adjacent to the sea. Mumbai went to bed and got up early; it didn't sleep, it merely took power naps. There were still vehicles on the road below but the vertical distance between the traffic and them on the fifth floor muted all unwanted sound. The iconic Gateway of India, which was roughly two kilometres from the hotel, was right behind them in a straight line. Till the far vista it was only dark waters with a few twinkling lights of patrol boats.

'So is it a sea or an ocean?' Ash asked. Rita could sense his fingers unfastening the top button of her shirt.

'It's rhetoric. It isn't like land that humans own and create boundaries. How can anyone really determine where the Arabian Sea ends and where the Indian Ocean starts or draw a line between any two bodies of water for that matter? It's not like the colour changes as one crosses that imaginary line.'

Rita's shirt was totally unbuttoned now. She felt Ash's breath on her neck as he raised her arms and slipped her out of it. From there on it was a matter of minutes before he unbelted her and let her jeans drop like they were several sizes too big. She stepped out of them like a coy Barbie, still facing the sea or ocean despite him having unfolded his arms around her; the clang of the metal buckle and the rustle of clothes behind her back conveyed to her he was undone too.

'You look spectacular,' he softly murmured in her ear.

Rita closed her eyes.

'The Lord Almighty did a real major design fault,' Ash whispered when both were absolutely sans clothes with him still behind her.

'Do enlighten me.' For some strange reason both had dropped their voices to whispers. It wasn't like someone stood outside Ash's hotel room with one ear to the door to hear what they discussed. Or did.

'You see, he should have made a woman taller than the man.' He explicated, his hands now on her waist and moving upwards.

'I'm not sure I am following you.'

'With the woman being taller than the man, the man wouldn't have to bend.' His tongue was in her ear like a viper lapping into a rabbit burrow. 'But, I guess man has improvised on God's design, that's why women wear high heels, isn't it?'

'What—' Rita was already in a pleasant delirium with Ash's hands and tongue all over her; her body was several degrees warmer now than when she had arrived at the hotel. She had wanted to ask what he meant by bending, but his next action left no room for questioning. Ash had bent his knees to align his torso beneath her, pulled her closer with his right arm around her abdomen and with his free hand he steered himself into her. Rita let out an involuntary gasp, she stretched her arms, splayed her legs a little and rested on the reinforced windows to bend her torso forward and provide Ash the leverage. Within seconds, both were in a sort of symphony of moment.

The lovemaking was intense, feral. They came like teenagers. Like some fountain that had been abeyant for a while and then, unexpectedly, the main valve broke somewhere and passion pushed open the gates with the enormous pressure. A much craved release of animalistic lust. Rita hadn't been with anyone since she had been with Ash last. Ash's breathing showed he hadn't been sleeping around either. She pressed her lower lip under her teeth to stifle the scream. His seed gushed in and, with her still vertical, navigated out and rolled down her thigh. Despite the air-conditioning both of them were sweating. And spent. He finally withdrew and she pirouetted and came into his arms.

How long could this last?
Rita was reminded of all she had pondered while driving to the hotel in the evening, in the throes of passion when Ash was moving in her she had almost cried out
love you
but Sinatra had warned of such circumstances for generations now:
“don't go and spoil it all by saying something stupid”.

'It was amazing,' is all she said.

'I'm off to New Delhi tomorrow, and will be back over the weekend,' Ash mentioned when they lay on the bed. Still sans clothes, but refreshed after the lovemaking.

'Is that an invitation for me to revisit you?'

'Why don't you stay with me over the weekend?'

''My boyfriend might not like that.' Rita yanked his chain again.

'You have a boyfriend?'

She burst out laughing. 'OK Ash Mattel, you have had your dinner, I haven't and I'm starving. Order something for your date while I have a shower please.'

'What'll you have?'

'Eggs, beans and toast.'

'And Champagne?'

'I can be persuaded,' she smiled.

Ash picked up the room service menu from the bedside table. Rita thought about covering herself with a sheet or walking in the nude. The clothes still lay commingled in a pile near the window where they had come off. She contemplated for a minute, then got up without covering herself and started walking towards the en suite bath.

'Has anyone told you you've got an ass to die for?' Ash had the room service menu in his hand still, but he was gazing at her rear.

'Thanks, that makes my day.'

'Thought it would be impolite not to compliment.'

'I wouldn't have minded at all.'

'Yes. I thought so but, your ass might.'

'Asshole.'

'Thank you. So that's how you take a compliment, girl.'

The bathroom was stocked with more soaps and shampoos and conditioners and moisturisers and lotions than Rita or Ash could possibly consume. What a waste of resources. Rita stepped into the shower and turned it on. As the first sprays hit her she reflected, once again, on her relationship with Ash. Sex with Ash Mattel was frighten-ingly good; it heightened her pathos of solitude further, the feeling of falling even deeper into the lonely crevasse. In her opinion, sex was much maligned when it was the purest of natural acts. But where was it headed? One day, she knew, she'd get a phone call from Ash telling her he'd found someone else in London. What then? She wasn't getting any younger, and she had no plans to die a spinster. And there were only as many times she could find an old college friend to romp with.

She stepped out of the shower. There was an overabundance of towels too. Possibly finest Egyptian cotton. White and thick. Thick enough that if one laid five of them on top of each other it would become a mattress. She dried herself and looked in the full-length mirror. Smooth, toned and in shape. She could see her effulgent self, looking back at her; she was happy and she looked it. What was wrong with that?

She walked out in the bathrobe.

'I ordered your dinner.'

'Thanks. Ash, let's make a pact…'

She could see Ash straighten up like he saw something serious in her eyes.

'What kind of pact?'

'If we're both single when we hit forty one of us will quit and move to the other.'

'You mean if we do not find someone else by then?'

'Yes.'

'Don't know about you, but I have too many women chasing me all over the world.'

'You're such a bastard. I'm being serious here.'

'You know, I've always liked smart, strong women, not daft and delicate ones. I truly appreciate your candour, your straightforwardness, I like that you know what you want. And I concur. It's a deal. But remember what they say: be careful what you wish for.'

'But what happens if I still want to work?'

'I will quit. I can always sit home, write papers, and travel as required.'

'That's the best thing someone's said to me in years. Thanks.' She kissed him, but before anything could happen there was a knock on the door.

'Room service.' Ash got under the sheets. Rita wrapped the bathrobe tightly and opened the door.

***

The eggs and beans and toasts were over. The Champagne was almost finished too. Both sat in bed. Ash still hadn't bothered to get back into his clothes, and Rita still donned the bathrobe.

'So what's bothering you?' Ash began.

'The current case.'

'Care to tell me about it?'

Rita pondered a moment. Could she involve an outsider in a current investigation? She had in the past, but that had been with blessings from her then supervisor, Joshi. She couldn't just pick up her phone and call
Sexy
to check if she could consult a criminal psychologist without explaining. And what would she say she was doing with him at this hour?
“We're part time lovers... strangers by day, discussing criminal cases by night?”

She decided to consult. Ash had been a great help then, Ash could be a great help now. She trusted him. To hell with the textbook.

She summarised the case to Ash carefully: Sishir Singh, his murder in Brussels, and his doppelgänger Honey Singh. She also narrated about Handlebar following Honey Singh, and that Handlebar had no idea who was making him perform that task. She told him about the computer wizardry.

'And you were chosen to lead this case because...? Ash asked when she finished.

'I'm told it was based on merit, but past success can be really scary sometimes.
Sexy
doesn't recognise that success is the coming together of skill and luck, and who would underwrite luck for me every time? I'm sure you know sometimes it's all about luck, and talent — or whatever you might want to call it — just gets a free ride. But, the downside of success is that it sometimes gives a false feeling to others about you being invincible. They think whatever goes up doesn't feel like it would ever come down. I haven't got a fucking clue how to crack this one. Seriously. Tell me what you think?'

Ash sat quiet for a few minutes like he was filing the information in his brain, shelving it in proper order to make sense. When he spoke his voice was very measured, his countenance serious, business-like.

'I have a feeling something else is at work here.'

'Like what?'

Ash went quiet again. Rita waited him out.

'Something doesn't add up. Someone wants to know enough about Honey Singh, but we don't know who it is and why he is interested in him. And for the love of God, I can't think why the killer would want to know that. If the killer wanted to know more about Honey Singh he would have studied the subject prior to the robbery, not after it. You with me?'

That is why she admired Ash; he made her think, he made her organise her thoughts better, word them, think the reverse and the obverse.

Ash nodded. 'As a matter of fact, the killer needn't be in the picture here. Think about it. The killer — for the time being, at least — has got away with the diamonds and the homicide. Why should he care if we arrest or hang Honey Singh? Him tracking Honey Singh might only lead us back to him if he makes some mistake. So the question is why would someone keep tabs on Honey Singh at all?'

'Someone else who thinks Honey Singh is the killer. Someone who has a vested interest in the diamonds that were stolen—'

'Hold on a minute,' Ash interjected. 'The surveillance was set up after the murder, and as you rightly pointed out in your summary, most probably as a consequence of the murder.'

'But how does the guy who hired Handlebar know that the guy who murdered the diamond merchant in Belgium looks like Honey Singh?'

'That is what you need to find out. I have a feeling that's the answer to most, if not, all of your questions. Want my hunch?'

'Go on, tell me.'

'The killer or killers knew about the existence of Honey Singh before the caper. Honey Singh wasn't discovered after the crime. Have you met Mr Honey Singh yet?'

'Not yet, but very soon. I wanted to know everything about him and around him before approaching him. We didn't want him to get alerted before we completed our searches. If he knew we are looking into him we might get a tainted picture.'

'Makes sense.'