Shantaram полностью

‘I dunno, mate. I seen them talkin’ with some of the street boys, but then they got in a taxi and took off. They’re fuckin’ big lads, I tell ya. They filled that taxi, with a bit of flesh to spare. Fairly bulgin’ out the windows they were, know what I mean?’

‘What’s it about?’

‘No idea, mate. They didn’t say nothin’ what they’re on about, Lin. They’re just lookin’ for you, and they got trouble in mind. I’d watch my back, and I’d watch my step, sunshine.’

I reached into my pocket, but he put a hand on my wrist.

‘No, mate. On the house. I mean, it’s not right, whatever their game is.’

He sauntered off in pursuit of a passing trio of German tourists, and I walked back into the restaurant. With Gemini George’s warning to support the first, I was worried. It took me longer than usual to finish my meal. Soon after, there was a third visitor. It was Prabaker.

‘Lin!’ he said, his expression frenzied. ‘There is a bad news!’

‘I know, Prabu.’

‘Three men, African, they are wanting to beat and kill and beat you! They are asking questions everywhere. Such big fellows they are! Like buffalos! You must make a lucky escapes!’

It took me five minutes to calm him down, and even then I had to invent a mission for him -checking for the Africans at the hotels he knew well-in order to prise him from my side. Alone again with Didier, Vikram, and Abdullah, we considered my options, in a lengthening silence. Vikram was the first to speak.

‘Okay, so we find the fuckers, and break their heads, yaar,’ he suggested, looking from face to face for support.

‘After we kill them,’ Abdullah added.

Vikram wagged his head from side to side in agreement.

‘Two things are sure,’ Didier said slowly. ‘One, you must not be alone, Lin, at any time, until this is resolved.’

Vikram and Abdullah nodded.

‘I will call Salman and Sanjay,’ Abdullah decided. ‘You will not be alone, Lin brother.’

‘And two,’ Didier continued, ‘the others, whoever they are, whatever their reasons, must not remain in Bombay. They must go-one way, or the other way.’

We got up to pay the bill and leave. Didier stopped me when the others walked to the cashier’s desk. He pulled me down into a chair beside him. Sliding a napkin from the table, he fumbled under the table’s edge for a moment and then slid a bundle across to me. It was a pistol, wrapped in the napkin. No-one knew that Didier carried a gun. I was sure that I was the first to see and handle the weapon. Grasping it tightly in the napkin wrapping, I stood and joined the others as they left the restaurant. I looked back over my shoulder to see him nodding gravely, the curly black hair trembling about his face.

We found them, but it took us all the day and most of the night. In the end it was Hassaan Obikwa, another Nigerian, who gave us the decisive clue. The men were tourists, completely new to the city, and unknown to Obikwa. He had no precise idea of their motive-it was something to do with a drug deal-but his network of contacts had confirmed that they were determined to do me harm.

Hassaan’s driver, Raheem, almost fully recovered from the injuries he’d suffered in prison, discovered that they were in one of the Fort area hotels. He offered to resolve the matter. He was conscious of the debt he owed me for buying him out of Arthur Road Prison. With an earnest, almost shy expression, he offered to have the men killed, slowly and painfully, as a personal favor to me. He seemed to think that it was the least he could do, under the circumstances. I refused. I had to know what it was all about, and I had to put a stop to it. Clearly disappointed, Raheem accepted the decision, and then led us to the small hotel in the Fort. He waited outside with our two cars while we went inside. Salman and Sanjay remained with him, watching the street. Their brief was to stop the cops, if they arrived, or slow them up long enough for us to leave the hotel.

One of Abdullah’s contacts smuggled us, whispering, into a room adjoining that taken by the three Africans. We pressed our ears to the connecting wall, and could hear their voices clearly. They were joking, and talking about trivial, unrelated things. Finally, one of them made a remark that tightened the skin on my skull and face with dread.

‘He got that medal,’ one of them said. Around his neck. That medal is gold. I want that gold medal.’

‘I like them shoes, them boots he got,’ another voice said. ‘I want them shoes.’

They went on to talk about their plan. They argued a little. One of the men was more forceful. The others agreed, at last, with his idea to follow me from Leopold’s all the way to the quiet car park beneath my apartment building and then beat me until I was dead, and strip my body.