MONEY TREE (23 page)

‘Now these are what I call coders! Very clever! What do you think of this routine? And this one?’ Finally they sat back.

‘I’ve got just the silver bullets our friends need. Don’t you think? I’ll put them up on our web site and send our friends the links to strengthen their firewall. That should block the next 50 moves of Viper and his gang. Unless they do something different for a change. But why would they show any originality at this stage of their unremarkable careers? And then…
then my gorgeous little redskin, we’ll plan the counter-attack.’

They worked through the day and long into the night
on the virus control software. The Lone Ranger recording software chugged away in background, amassing phone calls and emails at GA’s head office. Crucially and almost fatally, it meant that Oscar and Albert didn’t catch the initial coded instructions to the team in New Delhi to waylay Erin Wishart and her companion. It was only in the early hours, when they’d paused for cake and coffee and checked status that they found out about the unsuccessful attempt.

Oscar’s panic calls to
Ted and Erin reached them at four am in the hotel. Erin and Ted convened in her room and huddled together in dressing gowns on her couch. In front of them on the coffee table they had her cell phone on speaker and her laptop open and receiving.

‘Really, we’re fine, Oscar,
’ Ted was saying. ‘A bit shook up, but fine.’

Erin
concurred. ‘It’s not your fault, Oscar. For god’s sake, who would have thought it?’

‘If they’d succeeded. . . I’d never have forgiven myself. Look, here’s the clip. Listen for yourselves.’

Erin reached forward and clicked on the attachment. Through the speaker, came the snarling voice of Warwick Stanstead:

‘I don’t want fucking excuses! I want results!’

‘Boss. If the dame had been alone, it would have worked fine. She had a pal. A big guy. We’ve tracked him down. We know who he is.’

‘Who?’

‘A reporter. The guy who’s been writing about the bank in the Tribune, you know? The one we got Stacks to call. Saddler, Ted Saddler. Seems he pulled a gun on our team and hijacked a fast car. Our guys only had knives, you know? Otherwise it wouldn’t have looked right. And the local cops would have pulled up the drains if there had been a big shoot-out.’

‘Yeah, yeah. I guess. But what’s she doing with this Sir fucking Galahad? What’s his angle? What’s going down
, Joey?’

‘We traced things back, boss. Saddler’s over there covering the trial and he’s been talking to the top guy at People’s. We think Miss Blabbermouth has been spilling to him. If you take a look at the Tribune’s web page you’ll see he’s stopped picking holes in People’s and started a love-fest. Coincidentally with miss blabbermouth’s arrival.’

Pause. . .

‘It’s going to be hard for another ‘accident’ to be arranged, Joey. They’ll be warned. Assuming they link it with us. But they can’t prove a damn thing.’

‘Not a thing, boss. We’re clean. Trust me.’

‘We can’t chance this. Joey, get yourself over there. Take charge of the local team. Finish it. And don’t fuck up this time. There won’t be a next. For any of us.’

A phone slammed into its cradle.

S
ilence.

Erin
was hunched on the couch, her face held in her hands. Ted was chewing his knuckle.

‘He’s aff his heid.’

‘What?’

‘Off his head. He’s a dope head. Psychotic. Unbelievable.’

‘Better believe it. I think it’s time we disappeared, Erin. Don’t you?’

She hauled herself forward
and spoke at her phone.

‘
We’ve got the bastard, right, Oscar? This is proof.’

‘
Leaving aside all minor stuff about legality of our taps, sure. All safely tucked away on our web site. Are you guys heading home?’

Ted
said, ‘No. But we’re not leaving a forwarding address.’

The
y disconnected and stared at each other.

‘
Madhya Pradesh?’ he asked. ‘Wherever that is.’

‘
The train leaves at six. See you in the lobby.’

A
nila brushed the floor twice and shook the rugs three times. She ground enough maize for several meals, all the time waiting for the sound of the agent’s lorry. Other women from her syndicate kept dropping by – casually, just passing, no reason  – but really to share their misgivings and add to the suspense. By mid afternoon Anila had convinced herself she would not see the agent that day. Maybe he wouldn’t come back? Maybe Chowdury had already got to him and warned him off? That was it! He’d sent one of his men to intercept the agent and tell him they had nothing to sell him this time, or maybe next time, or the next. She was going mad.

Then through the sounds of the children calling and the animals bleating and the villagers chattering to each other, she heard it. Different to Mr Roy’s straining engine and clashing gears. A smoother, more powerful motor driven by someone who knew how. She tried not to run. With nerves breaking she walked inside and gathere
d up her few flimsy offerings. Now they seemed tawdry and ill-made. How could anyone want to buy these? Nevertheless she lashed the four small stools together and hoisted them on a sling round her shoulder and over her back and walked towards the meeting point.    

Others were already gathered by the well surrounded by their handicraft. They aimed to meet the agent before Mr Chowdury could get to him and infect his mind. When the remainder joined her, looking excited and worried in turn, Anila led her little band of women to where the land opened out at the edge of the village. The ground was beaten flat and soiled with oil stains from other lorries that, like the agent’s, were too big to drive into the centre. A solitary neem tree softened the picture and offered some shade. They arrived at much the same time, the lorry and the women. They set out their work alongside the lorry while Anila explained the new situation.

She tried as hard as she could to show confidence. She knew that fear on her face would at best get her a bad deal, at worst make him refuse to treat with her.

‘Good afternoon Mr Bedi. We were expecting you today.’

‘I can see that,’ he swept a hand round, indicating the line-up of women and their wares. ‘But where is Mr Chowdury? I do not see him. I want to finish my business quickly today and get back to Udaipura.’

‘There has been a change Mr Bedi. Mr Chowdury is not coming today. Do you remember I asked you and Mr Roy the wood gatherer, if you would deal with me directly?’ He looked quizzically at her. ‘Well, that is now the situation here. This is the Chandapur Women’s Cooperative. All these women here are members and we have come to sell you our work.’

‘I see. I see. Well this is a big surprise. I am not sure I want to deal with a cooperative.’ He made it sound like a dirty word. Anila’s heart fluttered but she held on to her calm face.

‘But it is just the same Mr Bedi. It is the same work by the same women. All that has changed is that there is
no longer a man in the middle.’

She took the risk, even though it gave away so
me of her negotiating position.

‘This means we
can do a better deal for you.’

The fact was that none of the women knew what the old miser had been getting for their work and how much profit he’d been making from them over the years. Anila would have to prod carefully.
The agent’s eyes took on a gleam.

‘Well
, that may be true but I have to tell you the price Mr Chowdury got was very fair, you know. It would be difficult to better it. And I also need to be sure about the quality. How am I to know that the goods will be of the same quality as before? I have very demanding customers. Very demanding.’

He began to walk slowly down the line of hunkered women, picking up a table here, a chair there, fingering a basket and testing a fly swat. He made humming noises and sucking noises but no words. If anything of course, the little offerings were even more carefully made than ever. They were on show, direct to the agent. They
had to be good.

The agent had quickly acclimatised to the new state of affairs but made a long pretence of incomprehension just to see these women plead with him some more, and make a fuss of him. The idea of a cooperative was not new to him. He could see he had several advantages dealing direct with the workers. There was definitely a better bargain in it for him. But he mustn’t show his enthusiasm.

‘So who am I dealing with? I cannot deal with every single person individually, you know. I am a busy man. Are you their representative?’ he confronted Anila. She looked round at her colleagues. They looked back and nodded at her.

‘Good. Then here is what I will do. I will give you a good price for each of the articles and you must tell me how many you are selling and then we will agree on the price for each set. Do you understand? My price is very fair but you must remember that I am taking a big risk dealing with you. I do not know if this cooperative thing will work and if it doesn’t then what? What am I left with? So I must build that into the price, you see?’

Anila did see. She saw exactly his game, but had to play along with it. But she was determined not to let her desperate financial position make a fool of her. Unless they started on the right foot with the agent, they would never catch up.

They squatted in the dust a little way from the line of women using the long shadow of the lorry for shade in the late afternoon sun. They called each woman over in turn and she brought a sample of her wares. The agent set a ludicrously low price
and Anila came back at him. The battle raged as the shadows lengthened. The agent found this woman with the sad eyes a tough bargainer. She argued their case well and didn’t cave in to his early ranging offers. Item by item, they wrangled a deal which seemed to satisfy both sides. He negotiated a nice cushion for future haggling – better than old Chowdury’s - and the women seemed grudgingly happy. Maybe he should have pressed harder? But it was the first time. Anything could happen from now on.

They helped to pile their goods on to his lorry and watched it trundle out of sight before they surrounded Anila and embraced her and praised themselves for being such fine businesswomen. Anila was reeling with relief. She had died a thousand times as the agent had pressed her. She would have taken his first offers if necessary. Even that would have just about covered their costs and she could have paid her two friends back. But she had drawn on an inner toughness to go for a better deal and it had worked. She could have held out for a little more, but she was sure her heart would not have stood it. Next time.

The women sat about under the solitary neem tree and worked out their individual profits and costs. It was noisy, uncontrolled and occasionally heated. Anila could see they would have to manage things better in future. They needed to write things down in a ledger, not make scratches in the dust with sticks. This was no way for a professional cooperative to work. She had been taught to write and do sums at the little village school and she was sure she could learn how to keep accounts. Her mother could help her. She wondered where she could get a book or at least some sheets of paper to write the transactions down. Next time she would have her ledger ready for Mr Bedi. The thought made her heart pound.

By the end of the reckoning, everyone was satisfied and agreed that Anila, as their representative, should be given the money to buy next day’s materials. Anila stumbled back to her hut, her legs rubbery and her eyes wide with exhaustion. The bag round her neck was filled with the repaid loan to her fellow workers. Not only did she now have enough to pay back Leena and Divya but she had made a little profit on her own investment, enough to please even her mother. That, plus the money for tomorrow’s wood gave her over 4000 Rupees to mind. She put the money in the pot and placed the pot in the hole in the mud wall of her hut and covered the hole with the small carving of Krishna to protect it. She made a simple prayer of thanks to the god and bowed to the carving.

Her daughter found her lying on her mat, her limbs tossed around like an accident victim. Aastha pulled the cotton sheet over her sleeping mother and watched her for a long time before lying down beside her, carefully and quietly, like a smaller spoon. Anila’s arm came over and pulled her daughter to her without breaking the rhythm of her deep sleep.

T
he hotel lobby was empty at five in the morning, except for CJ Kapoor and a vexed young woman who was haranguing him with hands on hips.

‘Why is my father so keen to
weigh me down with this reporter? Americans are for shopping malls. Out here they are whales in the desert. I will have to nanny him everywhere, like a baby! Most of them don’t even have a passport, though they can afford to go anywhere in the world. They have no idea of real life. Shanty towns. Starving kids. AIDS epidemics. Bribes for everything.’

‘I know, I know
, Meera,’ he pleaded. ‘But your father thinks this will help him. Please understand. Look, they are coming. Smile!’

Ted
and Erin were walking towards them, talking. Ted was pushing a trolley with two glaringly new and bulging backpacks on it.