The Mountain Shadow

to the Zodiac. When you protected them from bullies, you protected the Zodiac from negative energies. And making offerings to the planets that guide us and mess us up is, like, really important. There’s a lotta people out there, baba-dude, who miss the chance to offer something to the Zodiac guys, now that they’re so rich they don’t need it.’

India. Time measured in coincidence, and the logic of contradiction. Jagat pushed me off a perch of equilibrium I thought I’d claimed in India. But that shock happened almost every day, and shook the branch every time. The world I was living in, and not born into, rained strange flowers from every tree that gave me shelter.

‘That’s a lovely story, Jagat,’ Karla said.

‘It is?’ he asked, shyness hiding in a frown.

‘Yes. Thank you for sharing it.’

Jagat, whose name means The World, blushed and looked away, instinctively reaching for the handle of the knife in his belt.

‘Hey, listen, man,’ he said, turning back to me, his scarred young face telling the same stories every time someone looked at him. ‘I don’t feel right, taking all the money from your operation.’

‘You’re doing all the work,’ I said. ‘Why shouldn’t you take all the money? I’m the one who’s in your debt, for keeping it running. I owe you significant on this, Jagat-dude.’

‘Fuck you, man,’ he laughed. ‘I’m putting twenty-five per cent aside for you, every week, whether you like it or not, okay?’

‘Cool, jawan,’ I said, using the Hindi word for soldier. ‘I accept.’

‘When you get back from this spooky place full of tigers and holy men, there’ll be something there for you.’

‘When I get back to your spooky place full of businessmen and cops,’ I said. ‘I’ll be damn glad to get it.’

‘Let’s ride with Jagat to the highway and back,’ Karla suggested.

‘Good idea. Want some company, Jagat, or you wanna go fast?’

‘Let’s glide all the way down, baba-dude.’

‘Kruto!’ Karla said.

‘What’s this? Has Oleg been teaching you Russian?’ I asked, taking my bike off the stand.

‘Sprosite yego,’ she laughed.

‘Which means?’

‘Ask him.’

‘I will,’ I said, and she laughed harder.

A motorcycle is jealous metal. A motorcycle that loves you always knows when you even think about another motorcycle. And when she knows, she won’t start. And because I’d looked at Jagat’s bike, my bike didn’t start for me, even after three kicks.

Jagat thumped his bike into slow staccato motorcycle music, the 350cc single-piston engine like a drum that gets you from place to place, so long as you let it play its own tune.

I tried the kick-starter again, but all I got was a derisory cough.

Karla leaned over, hugging the tank of my bike, her arms around one of the handlebars.

‘A trip down the mountain and back again will be so good for you, baby,’ she said to the bike. ‘Let’s go for a ride.’

I kicked, and she started, jamming the throttle for a second, showing off.

We rode with Jagat, coasting downhill side by side on the deserted forest road, to the beginning of the fiercely determined highway. We waved him away, and turned back.

We rode through an evening forest, shifting from daytime daring to nighttime cunning. Birds were returning to roosts, insects were rising from slumber and bats as wide as eagles were waking for the feast.

We rode the long road to the caves as slowly as the bike would allow. We rode through soft wind in shadows, hiding and revealing the sky. The young night was clear. The first stars woke, rubbing their eyes. A leaf-fire somewhere sent earth perfumes into the air. And we were two happy fugitives, together and free.

Chapter Eighty-Two

We reached the summit car park, happy and free, and found Concannon waiting for us. He was sitting on the trunk of the red Pontiac Laurentian, and wearing a white shirt. I wanted it to match the car.

‘Hold on, baby,’ I said to Karla, sloping the bike to a stop.

I spun the bike around, and sped down the hill a few hundred metres before stopping again.

‘What are you doing?’

‘There’s a hollow tree just through there,’ I said. ‘Wait for me.’

‘Hide?’ she asked, as if I’d asked her to give blood to Madame Zhou.

‘Just wait. Until I get back.’

‘Are you crazy?’

‘That’s Concannon, back there.’

‘That’s Concannon?’ she said, intrigued by intriguing people.

‘Wait here, Karla,’ I said. ‘I’ll be back soon.’

‘I repeat, are you crazy? I’m the one with the gun, remember? And I’m a better shot. And I thought you said we were in this together, never apart.’

It was a tough call. When your enemy is ruthless, losing begins where mercy ends. But she was brave, and probably be the last woman standing in any fight.

‘Alright,’ I said reluctantly. ‘But don’t take any chances with this guy. He talks as good as he fights.’

‘Now I have to meet him,’ she said. ‘Let’s make an entrance, Shantaram.’