The Mountain Shadow

There was a moment of silence. The Scorpions stared hard, stranded on the wet-red footprint between fight and flight. Witnesses hiding behind stalls were breathing fast. Even the ceaseless traffic, it seemed, was softened.

Concannon spoke. It was a mistake.

‘You fuckin’ ugly, long-haired Iranian cunt,’ he said, showing all of his yellow teeth, and advancing on Abdullah. ‘You and I both know what you are. Why don’t you speak?’

Abdullah had a gun. He shot Concannon in the thigh. People screamed, shouted and scrambled out of the way.

The Irishman staggered, still fighting, wanting to hit Abdullah with the sap. Abdullah shot him again, in the same leg. Concannon fell.

Abdullah fired twice more, faster than my eye could follow. When Hanuman and Danda reeled backwards, I realised that the big Scorpion and his thin friend had been shot in the leg too.

The Scorpions who could still run, ran. Concannon, a born survivor, was crawling away, using his elbows to drag himself between the souvenir stalls toward the road.

Abdullah took two steps, and put his foot down hard on the Irishman’s back. Didier was at his side.

‘You . . . fuckin’ . . . coward . . . ’ Concannon spluttered. ‘Go on! Do it! You’re nothing!’

There was a lot of blood coming from the two wounds in his leg. Abdullah held the pistol over the back of Concannon’s head, and prepared to fire. The few people still close enough to see what was happening screamed.

‘Enough, brother!’ I shouted. ‘Stop!’

It was Didier’s turn to put a hand on Abdullah’s arm, gently pushing the handgun to Abdullah’s side.

‘Too many witnesses, my friend.’ He said. ‘Dommage. Go now. Go fast.’

Abdullah hesitated. There was an instinct working in him. I knew it. I’d heard the voice of that instinct, behind the wall. In that moment he wanted to kill Concannon more than he wanted to live. I stepped in beside him, as men had stepped in for me in prison, guarding my heart as much as my life.

‘The only reason the cops aren’t here,’ I said, ‘is because the Scorpions must’ve paid them to stay away while they attacked the place. That won’t last much longer. We’ve gotta go.’

He took his foot off Concannon’s back. The Irishman immediately began to drag himself toward the road.

Two cars pulled up. Scorpion men loaded Concannon and the wounded gangsters into the back. They sped away, knocking a taxi full of tourists out of the way.

Naveen Adair had his arm around Divya. Sunita, the cadet journalist, was with them.

‘Are you okay?’ I asked Divya.

‘Fucking men,’ she replied. ‘You’re all idiots.’

‘Are you okay?’ I asked Sunita.

She was clutching the red folder of my stories, hugging them to her chest. She was trembling.

‘I’m fine,’ she replied. ‘But, I have a request, and I don’t want to ask it, while you are bleeding. Your face is bleeding, do you know?’

‘O . . . kay. Can we make it quick?’

She handed me back my short stories, and held up the note I’d written to Ranjit.

‘Please let me deliver your note,’ she said.

‘Ah . . . ’

‘Please. You have no idea how much this man has harassed me, sexually, and I’m almost fainting with the pleasure of thinking about giving this note to him. I didn’t have lunch, also, so maybe I’m a little hypoglycaemic, but it feels like a really terrific holiday for me, so, sorry for your face, but please let me give him this note.’

Didier and Kavita joined me.

‘Didier, will you give Sunita your phone number, and escort her to Ranjit’s office?’

‘Certainly, but you must leave now, Lin.’

There was the sound of a gunshot, from not far away.

‘Listen,’ I said to Didier quickly. ‘Lisa’s staying at the gallery, on Carmichael Road. Can you go there?’

‘Of course.’

‘Make sure she’s alright. Stay with her, or keep her with you for a couple of days.’

‘Bien sûr,’ he replied. ‘What will you do?’

‘Stay out of sight. I don’t know yet. Take these stories, and keep them for me.’

I handed him the folder, and ran back to find Abdullah ready to ride, his bike beside mine.

‘Who’s doing the shooting?’

‘Our man,’ Abdullah replied, gunning the engine of his bike.

‘Where are the cops?’ I asked, starting my bike.

‘They were coming, but Ravi fired a shot in the air,’ he replied. ‘They have gone for body armour and machine guns. We must leave now.’

Heading into the afternoon traffic, Abdullah and I threaded our way through creeping vines of cars. From time to time we took short cuts on empty sidewalks, or through petrol station driveways. In minutes we descended the long hill at Pedder Road and were beside the juice centre, in sight of the island monument of Haji Ali’s tomb.

‘We should report to Sanjay,’ I said, when we stopped at the signal.

‘Agreed.’

We pulled into the parking bays at the juice centre. Leaving the bikes with the attendants, we called the mafia boss. He sounded sleepy, as if we’d roused him from a siesta.

He woke up fast.

‘What the fuck? Where are you fucks now?’

‘At Haji Ali,’ Abdullah replied, holding the phone between us so that I could hear.