Chapter Three

Times up. I got out of the car and first scanned for the jettisoned dog. It was nowhere in sight, but damage has been done. I need to wash the tire.

I took my camera and the keys, copies Pushpa made, and had no trouble maintaining silence when opening the outside gate, and the door grill. Smooth as a cat, Shankaran, just don’t get someone to step on your tail.

Familiar interior, all looked like they were where they belong. There was a slight muffled noise upstairs. Of course, no prize for guessing what’s happening.

Setting my camera to automatic, I walked up the stair. Silent as a pussycat. Apt metaphor Shankaran, pussycat. What’s new pussycat, wowowo….

The sound was coming from master bedroom, the girl of course. Combination of asthmatic wheezes, yelps, yowl and lots of screaming “yes”. I held the door know and twisted it slowly. It’s not locked. I suddenly recalled an early scene in the first James Bond film: Sean Connery would open the door to his apartment quickly and go on his knees whipping out the Walther PPK.

I did the same, only this time with the camera, no thrilling background score, and me going, “snappity snap snap”.

            The man, in his birthday suit, stood, with a gaping mouth, was standing beside the bed and took some time to absorb my presence. The girl rolled all over the bed grabbing the bed sheet and wrapping it around her slim athletic body. It was a body to remember when you are lonely.

            The man, then, coolly reached for a pillow and placed it in front of his most vital biological instrument.

            “What the...” His voice staggered and he couldn’t continue anymore. He stared at me with a pair of wide eyes and a knitted brow, with his mouth opening and shutting like the door of a spoilt elevator. The girl crept around and stood behind him.

            I rose slowly. I wish I could stay long with that pose but it was bad for my once-injured knee. I straightened myself, and with my left hand I produced my business card which I had always kept in handy in case I need to pick my teeth. I lowered the camera and flicked my card towards them.

            “Oh, don’t stop,” I said, “not on my account. I’ll be downstairs in the kitchen.”

With springs in my step, I walked down the stairs and headed for the kitchen. I checked the fridge, yes, Pushpa’s husband, George, had it well stocked. I reached for a can of Carlsberg, cracked it open and took a large gulp. Job well done, Shankaran, you deserve this.

            In five minutes, the man, clad in the white shirt and black slacks he was wearing earlier, strolled into the kitchen smiling nervously.

            “Beer?” I asked. “No, I suppose you prefer Milo.” He grimaced for a moment and shook his head briefly. He had a healthy looking black hair, perfectly dyed, and a slightly crooked nose, which didn’t deter the good look he had. His eyes were slightly droopy with light crowfeet, under a pair of short thin eyebrows. He wore a neatly trimmed black beard and a thin moustache. I could notice the sagging skin between his chin and the neck, and that helped me to guess his age. Between fifty-eight and sixty-two.                 

            “I.... Well, I suggest you start first, err...” He looked at my card which he was holding and said, “Mr. Shankaran. You are a private investigator, huh? Who hired you? I know it’s not George.”

“You know George, then. He gave you the copy of the keys?” I took another gulp. The chill went right down to my stomach and I almost heard some angelic choir.

            “Yes. Who hired you?”

“Who cares. Why not the hotel, Mr...”

            “Krishnan.” He sighed and took out his own wallet. He handed his business card. Yes, civilised bunch of people we are, we exchange cards no matter where, public lavatory included.

            I looked at it and couldn’t help smiling. He is a goddamn lawyer. “Her idea. She didn’t want hotel. Somewhere more private.”

            “Your home?” I walked towards the hall. He followed.

            “Sure, if my wife’s willing. I thought you’re smart enough to know that.”  

            “That’s the trouble,” I said, while walking out of the kitchen, to the hall, and taking a seat on one of the couch. He followed. “Everybody thinks the same thing. The truth is I am not smart. If I was smart,” I looked at him with a grin bigger than the Joker’s, “I would have been a lawyer.”

“That’s not funny.”

            I waved the comment aside with my palm. “Too many lawyer jokes. Stale. George was kind enough to let you use the house. That’s nice of him. Does he use your house when you are away for vacation? You know, the trading stuff.”

            “No!” His face flushed red. “He is a decent man.”

            “O-oh! You have just described yourself,” I took another swill. “I got the photo, and I saw. It goes to my client.”

            His eyes narrowed when he said, “Is that Mrs. George? Pushpa?”

            “Who’s the chick?” I asked.

           “The girl is only twenty five. She works in my firm. She is my partner’s daughter. One of the younger batch. You know what will happen if this thing comes out.” He didn’t look embarrassed anymore. There was fear now.

            “Just doing my job, Mr. Krishnan.”

            “Is there anything I can do. I mean...”

            “Yes, change the venue next time.”

            “No, dammit! Anything so that you don’t have to tell what really happened.”

            “You want to bribe me? Go ahead. I already got paid good sum, enough for me. I too have some moral code.”

            “Yeah. Honesty, discipline, integrity, and all those shit. Don’t give me that crap, you lousy private dick.”

            I sighed and finished the beer. “ All I am going to do is to report what I had seen to my client. She…or he will decide what to do next. From then onwards, I am out of the picture and forget about this whole thing. You get me?”

            “How would I know that you would not tell others?” 

            “Because I got better things to do than go around and telling people about a cheap affair between a top lawyer and his partner’s daughter.  I’d rather clean the septic tank than have fun bitching about your shit!”

            He looked relief, the same way as one, who just realised that he’s not in the danger of being eaten by a crocodile, just saw an alligator nibbling his toe.