The Mountain Shadow

‘Trust me,’ Divya said, taking Scorpio’s arm, and leading him toward the waiting taxis. ‘You’ll send a servant to do that. From now on, your servants will do everything that isn’t fun.’

‘Whiskey!’ Gemini said, falling into step behind them, and leaning over Divya’s shoulder.

‘And a long shower,’ Divya said.

‘And champagne!’

‘And a second shower.’

‘And cocaine! Hey, I know! Let’s mix the cocaine in the champagne!’

‘I’m beginning to like you,’ Divya said.

‘And I already like you,’ Gemini said. ‘Let’s get that party started!’

‘You’ll join us, of course, Mr Wilson?’ Divya asked, taking his arm as well.

‘If you’ll pardon the indiscretion, Miss . . .?’

‘Devnani. Divya Devnani. Call me Diva. Everyone does.’

‘If you’ll pardon the indiscretion, Miss Devnani,’ Wilson said, smiling and making no move to disengage his arm from hers, ‘didn’t you advise your friends, not half an hour ago, to kick the shit out of me?’

‘Silly boy,’ she chided. ‘That was before I knew you were administering thirty-five million dollar estates. And it’s Diva, remember?’

‘Very well, Miss Diva. I’d be delighted to share a glass in celebration.’

After the short ride back to the Mahesh hotel, Wilson collected the room keys and arranged to have the desk manager visit Scorpio George’s suite in an hour, to sign in the new guests.

As he was about to leave the reception area, I put a hand on his arm.

‘Are you planning to make a complaint?’ I asked him quietly.

‘A complaint?’

‘About Manav.’

‘Manav?’

‘Your security guard.’

‘Oh, him,’ he smiled. ‘He was rather derelict in his duty. But . . . I think that was because he knew I was in safe hands, with you and young Mr Naveen, even if he did expose me to the risk of Miss Diva.’

‘Is that a no?’

‘It is indeed a no, sir. I will not make a complaint against him.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, shaking hands with him.

I liked Evan Wilson. He was calm, discreet and resolute. He’d shown courage when we’d confronted him. He had a sense of humour, was professional but pragmatic, and seemed to be a good judge of flawed characters, in life’s tight corners.

‘Don’t mention it,’ he said. ‘Shall we join the others?’

‘No, I’ve got somewhere I already had to be,’ I replied, looking at the laughing group, Naveen, Divya, and the Zodiac Georges, waiting by the doors to the elevators.

I looked back to the silver-haired Canadian lawyer.

‘Good luck, Mr Wilson.’

I watched him walk away, and then made my way back to the ground-floor restaurant. Ranjit’s table was empty, and had been cleared and prepared for a new setting.

I signalled the manager.

‘When did they leave?’

‘Some time ago, Mr Lin. Miss Lisa left a note for you.’

He fished the note from his vest pocket and handed it to me. It was written in the red ink she preferred.

Gone to a party with Ranjit, the note said. Don’t wait up.

I gave the manager a tip, and took a few steps, before a thought made me turn and call back.

‘Did they have dessert?’ I asked.

‘Ah . . . no, sir. No. They left immediately after the first course.’

I pushed through the main doors of the hotel. Outside in the warm night air I saw Manav, the hotel bodyguard, standing on duty with another security officer. He noticed me, and searched my eyes expectantly.

He was a good kid, with a nice combination: big, strong and kind. He was worried that Mr Wilson would make a complaint for abandoning a guest of the hotel. It would cost him his job, and end any hope of a better career in the hospitality industry. I signalled him to come over.

‘Kya hal hain, Manav?’ I asked, shaking hands. How are you doing?

There was a tip rolled into the palm of my hand, but he closed his huge hands over mine and resisted the offer of money.

‘No, no, Linbaba,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t . . . I can’t take anything.’

‘Sure you can,’ I smiled, forcing him to clutch at the money or let it fall to the ground.

‘That’s just what Mr Wilson would’ve given you, if you’d finished your shift with him tonight.’

‘M-Mr Wilson . . . ’

‘It’s okay. I just spoke to him.’

‘Yes, Linbaba. I saw you coming inside, before. I was waiting here, but I didn’t have the guts to talk to him.’

‘He won’t make a complaint.’

‘It’s sure, Linbaba? Really?’

‘It’s sure. He told me. It’s okay.’

The gleam in Manav’s black-brown eyes followed me as I collected my bike and rode along Marine Drive to the peak of Malabar Hill.

I stopped at a vantage point looking down on the windowed jewels of light lining the bay-wide smile of Marine Drive. I rolled myself a hash joint and began to smoke it.

A beggar, who made the long, winding climb to the summit every night for a safe place to sleep, came to sit nearby. I handed him the joint. He grinned and puffed at it happily, using his hand as a chillum to draw the smoke without touching it to his lips.

‘Mast mal!’ he muttered, smoke streaming out through his nostrils. Great stuff!

Nodding sagely, he puffed again, and passed the joint back to me.