‘Are you talking sleepovers?’ she asked, knowing I’m no good at that game.
‘I’m gonna leave the sleepovers to another conversation. But I bought new locks for your doors, and installed them.’
‘
‘Ah . . . yeah. If you take the rooms.’
‘You must’ve been pretty sure I was gonna say yes.’
‘Ah . . . ’
‘How many locks did you put on?’
‘You mean, on the
‘How many doors are we talking about?’
‘All of them. Bathroom, bedroom, balcony, all of them.’
‘O . . . kay,’ she smiled. ‘Any other surprises?’
‘I put a first aid box with a surgical suture kit in the bathroom. You can sew up a sizeable wound, if you have to.’
‘And they say romance is dead,’ she laughed.
‘And I got some other stuff.’
‘Other stuff, huh?’
‘Yeah, the neighbourhood has some great shops. I had the manager put a small refrigerator in your room, and stocked it with vodka, soda, lemons and the nastiest cheese I could find.’
‘Nice.’
‘And I taped a knife under the desk drawer. If you open it right, someone standing in the room wouldn’t see you slip it out.’
‘Won’t see me slipping it out, huh?’
‘And your bed has painted iron tubes.’
‘My bed has tubes,’ she laughed.
‘Yeah. I checked the end caps. They came unscrewed on the head-end of the bed. I put a roll of money in one, and a skinny knife in the other. Just in case.’
‘Handy.’
‘And I bought you a sitar.’
‘A sitar. What’s that for?’
‘I’m not sure. It was in the music shop downstairs, and I couldn’t resist it.’
‘You know –’
‘There’s no room service,’ I said, cutting her off. ‘But there’s a sitar store downstairs, and the manager upstairs is crazier than I am, and all in all I think it’s a good idea for you to move in with us, Karla. Are you game?’
‘Honey, for the rest of your life, I
‘Do you mean it?’
‘I mean it.’
‘Good, let’s get you settled, neighbour.’
She rode back with me. We followed Randall, as he returned to the hotel. I resisted the impulse to swing the bike out and pass. It wasn’t hard. She had her left arm over my shoulder, her right arm in my lap, and her head resting on my back. I wanted to keep on riding until the bike said enough.
‘You know,’ I said, as I walked with her to a quiet corner on the steps of the Taj hotel. ‘We could just keep on riding until we’re far enough away, or the bike says enough.’
‘I have things that I have to do, Shantaram,’ she smiled. ‘And anyway, lost love is the trump card, at least for now. Our first official bureau case is Ranjit, and we’re gonna find that rodent, wherever he is.’
‘Official case?’
‘I registered us with the police, as a bureau. I fast-tracked it, using Ranjit’s man. He’s a corporator, and he was glad to see me. Since Ranjit’s disappearance, the juice has stopped flowing. When I went to see him I had all the right American fruit. He’s a nice guy, except that sometimes his face is greedier than his mind.’
It was my turn to laugh.
‘Let’s talk about it later,’ she said, pulling me to her and holding me close, shell-within-a-shell perfect.
‘Get a good night’s sleep,’ she said, beginning to pull away from me.
‘Okay . . . what?’
‘You’re gonna need all the sleep you can get,’ she said. ‘If you’re turning me down at the bureau, and going out as a freelancer.’
‘Wait a minute. I can’t come back and see you, later tonight?’
‘Certainly not,’ she said, pushing free and walking the last steps to the door. ‘And anyway, it’ll still be there, in the morning.’
‘What’ll still be there in the morning?’
‘Lust,’ she said, pausing at the door. ‘You remember Lust, don’t you, Shantaram? Pretty girl, lotta fun, no scruples?’
The door closed. I was confused again. Then I smiled again.
I rode back to the Amritsar hotel in a predicament, and found the manager in a quandary: his face was in a large box, labelled
‘What’s the dilemma, Jaswant?’
‘There’s supposed to be a phaser pistol in this box,’ he said, looking up at me absently, his hands still searching through foam packaging. ‘Ah, here it is!’
He pulled the toy pistol from the box, but his triumph faded quickly.
‘This is all wrong! The photon emitter is in the wrong place. And the deflector shield is missing. You can’t trust anyone, these days.’
‘It’s a toy, Jaswant,’ I said.
‘A replica,’ he corrected. ‘And not an accurate one.’
‘It’s a replica of a toy, Jaswant.’
‘You don’t understand. I’ve got a Parsi friend who said he could make a
He stared at me, sorrow burning him, as sorrow always does, even when it shouldn’t.
‘Please, Jaswant,’ I said sincerely. ‘Don’t make a laser pistol.’
‘A phaser pistol,’ he corrected. ‘And you could use one. People walk in and out of your rooms all day and night, like it’s Buckingham Station.’
‘Only people with a key.’
‘Well, there are two key holders in there now.’
I found Naveen in the chair, near a desk I’d bought from the trophy store downstairs. He was playing my guitar, and better than I played it, but that put him on a list of anybody.
