ANTI-SOCIAL NETWORK (11 page)

Instinctively, Virkar reached out and pressed a single key on the shiny keyboard. The screen sprang to life to show a teenage boy and girl making out, obviously unaware that their actions were being recorded by a webcam and relayed to the iMac for Virkar and rest of the police party to watch. As the policemen continued to gawk at the scene in front of them, Virkar realized that things had gone far enough. He reached behind the computer and pulled out the power cord with a jerk. As the computer hummed to a stop, the staring policemen dropped their gaze in a mixture of shame and embarrassment. They shuffled out, leaving Virkar alone in front of the silent computer. For a few moments, Virkar was tempted to call Richard to take a look at the computer, but then he decided to follow protocol and dialled the number for the Mumbai Police Cyber Crime Cell.

D
evendra Brahme had been a sports shooter once upon a time. He had almost made it to the Indian shooting squad for the 1998 Asiad, but politics had worked against him and he was left out. Bitter and disappointed, he had given up shooting and anything to do with guns, till hard times had knocked on his door. Having had no source of income, he had become easy prey to the illegal arms network that operated in Mumbai. All he had to do was apply for an import license for sports model guns—a license that was easily issued to him as he fell under the category of ‘Renowned Sports Shooter’. He was allowed to import any pre-approved firearm and up to fifteen thousand cartridges per year duty-free. Of course, he was under no obligation to reveal how he utilized the ammunition he imported; nor did the authorities really check upon the actual details of the guns he imported. Brahme had worked out a system where he only declared the details of the calibre of the gun and imported assault models instead of sports models.

Brahme was able to conduct a tidy little business that fetched him enough to live well. He was careful to screen his buyers, making sure that they were out-of-towners who would disappear after the purchase and use the gun in a far away state so that it could never be traced back to him. The sale of a couple of guns a year, with a few packs of cartridges, was enough to get him through the entire year.

But this year had been lean. Customs had started cracking down on imports and his contacts in customs had warned him off. As a result, he hadn’t been able to bring in an assault gun for fear of getting noticed. Six months into the year, he had decided to sell one of his own sports guns to sustain himself until things became easier. Now it had almost been nine months since his last sale and he still hadn’t got a customer that fulfilled all his requirements of a ‘safe’ buyer.

Today, though, his luck seemed to have turned. He had received a call from a man with a strong Punjabi accent who had said that he urgently needed a gun with a silencer to fire at a close range. ‘Where are you going to use it?’ was the only question that Brahme asked, not interested at all in what it would be used for. ‘Punjab,’ was the single word answer that was music to Brahme’s ears. Setting up the clandestine rendezvous was easy. The Darukhana ship breaking yard had served him well as the maze of rusted metal and timber had long been his tramping ground. The ease with which he could slip in and out undetected had been no match for any customer unfamiliar with the terrain.

But as he pocketed the money and handed over the Swiss-made Hammerli sports pistol with a crude country-made silencer and a box of .32 wadcutter cartridges, a sliver of doubt entered his mind.

His fears were confirmed as the young buyer cracked open the gun’s bullet chamber and loaded it with the wadcutters even before he could turn to leave. The man raised the Hammerli and lined it to the centre of Brahme’s head. Brahme shivered, unable to believe that what he had been expecting every time he stepped out for his transactions over the past twelve years had finally happened. Shutting his eyes tight, he braced for the silenced pop of the gun. But just then, the buyer’s cell phone rang. The few seconds of distraction were enough for Brahme to duck behind a shed and then into the unused porta-toilet that led into the hidden open mouth of a man-sized cast iron pipe. He had always imagined that his would be his escape route should things ever go bad and today, they were as bad as they could be. As he ran headlong through the length of the pipe, he could hear the gun-toting buyer desperately trying to find the entry point into the pipe. Frustrated at not being able to find the pipe’s mouth, the buyer ran alongside the pipe, taking random pot shots at it, hoping to hit Brahme. But, of course, the cast iron pipe was too thick for the wadcutters. Brahme reached the end of the pipe and plunged headlong into the open hull of the MV Matrubhoomi, an old rusting ship from the south that had just about enough skeleton left to offer Brahme the protection he needed. During all this time, the buyer’s cell phone had been ringing; at the base of the hull of the ship, he finally stopped to catch his breath. Shooting one final round of wadcutters into the iron maw of the old ship, he picked up the call. In the still of the night, the voice on the other side of the phone was clear enough to be heard.

‘Are you on the train?’

‘Not yet,’ the buyer panted into the phone.

‘Why are you panting, any problem?’

‘No problem.’

‘Are you sure, Akhbir?’

Akhbir, the buyer, replied, sounding slightly irritated now, ‘Don’t question me. I don’t report to you any more.’

The voice on the other side of the phone didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Crouching low in the shadows, Brahme could hear Akhbir breathing heavily as he waited. After almost thirty seconds of silence, the voice crackled through the night again. ‘But I will still look after my best man. Just leave everything to me, go and lie low in Punjab. I’ll get your share to you.’ Akhbir seemed to be considering this; he spoke after a few moments, ‘Okay. I’ll do what you say. But not until I finish what she started.’ He sounded calmer now.

Now the voice on the phone became agitated. ‘What are talking about? Don’t do anything foolish. Just do as I say and leave Mumbai tonight…’

Akhbir cut the line. The phone went silent but Akhbir didn’t turn and leave immediately. He stood there listening, waiting to hear anything that would have give him an indication of Brahme’s location. Brahme held his breath in an attempt to minimize all sounds that could betray his whereabouts. Fortunately for him, his shooter’s training still held him in good stead and, after a few minutes, he heard Akhbir turn and leave, his footsteps crunching on the debris strewn on the ship breaking yard’s uneven floor. Only when the steps were completely out of earshot did Brahme dare to take his next breath.

S
uperTrance Nightclub. The name pierced Virkar’s grogginess, making him sit up with a jerk. He had been tossing and turning in bed for some time when the name had suddenly popped into his mind. Reaching for his cell phone on the bedside table, he checked the time and, to his surprise, saw that it was only 11 p.m.
What am I doing in bed so early?

Suddenly, it all came back. He had left Akhbir’s apartment in Byculla with some members of the Cyber Crime Cell. They had taken all the computer equipment to their office at the Crime Branch Headquarters. Frustrated after a fruitless discussion with the officer-in-charge who had told him to leave everything in their hands and not to interfere while they went about examining Akhbir’s computer, Virkar was tempted again to ask them to allow Richard to assist them. At the last minute, though, he decided against it as he realized that he would open a can of worms by declaring his association with a teenager who nursed a cocaine habit and a penchant for hacking.

Now, as he stared at Naina’s soft, sleeping body on the bed next to him, he remembered how he had headed straight for Naina’s apartment and rushed into her willing arms. They had made love and he had fallen into a fitful sleep, only to be woken by the sudden thought of the visiting card. The fact that he had found the visiting card of a nightclub near the garbage chute outside Akhbir’s apartment somehow seemed relevant. In all probability it had fallen out from somebody else’s garbage bag but he just couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Virkar tossed about in bed for another five minutes and then cast a glance at the sleeping Naina. Making as little sound as he could, he reached for his clothes that were lying on the ground beside the bed. He sifted through his pockets and luckily found the half-crumpled card. Using the light from his cell phone, he read and reread the name Philo Garlosa a few times, trying to remember if he knew that name from somewhere. He flipped the card and saw that the address was printed on the back. The Super Trance nightclub was a part of the old Sahyadhri Cloth Mill situated close to Deepak Talkies in Lower Parel.

He hesitated for a few more seconds then dialled the club’s phone number printed on the card. After a couple of rings, a voice answered his call, ‘SuperTrance.’

‘This is Inspector Virkar from the Crime Branch. Is there any problem there?’

The voice on the other side replied, ‘Sir, it’s only a few minutes past eleven. We are allowed to operate until 1 a.m.’

Virkar immediately changed his tone. ‘No, I did not mean that kind of a problem. I was wondering if you’ve seen any suspicious-looking characters there.’

The voice did not answer for a few seconds and then replied curtly, ‘Sir, most of our customers are from good families. If you like, you can check with ACP Shahane of Zone-III. Shall I give you his phone number?’

‘No thanks,’ sighed Virkar, ‘it’s okay.’ He hung up.
It’s no use talking to this stupid man, he thinks I want to extort money from him, which is why he’s dropping names
. But the question that was nagging him popped back into his mind.
If the card wasn’t Akhbir’s, then why did he have it? Who is Philo Garlosa?
Virkar felt like a drowning man, clutching for straws.
Should I call someone from the Crime Branch and send him to enquire about Philo Garlosa?
Virkar realized that if he were to rush into the nightclub with a drawn gun, he would spark off panic and create a situation that could take a very bad turn. Making up his mind, he redialled the number.

‘Can I speak to Mr Philo Garlosa?’ he asked when the call was picked up.

‘Philo is not a “Mister”; she’s a “Miss” and she’s busy right now,’ the voice said brusquely.

Virkar put down the phone.
How was this girl Philo connected to Sagarika?
He glanced at the address again—from Naina’s apartment in King’s Circle, it was just about ten minutes away at that time of the night.

He grabbed his clothes and pulled them on, making as little noise as he could so as to not wake Naina. He was about to rush out of the flat when a question popped into his mind:
Why am I going there?
Virkar felt a little sheepish for not having asked himself this earlier, realizing that perhaps it was his sleep-deprived state that had led to this knee-jerk reaction. He realized that there was only one way he could do this—he needed a trusted pair of eyes and ears inside the nightclub, eyes and ears that would relay information to him outside. He glanced again at the sleeping Naina, knowing that he would have to drag her into this potentially dangerous situation. But he had no choice and, in any case, Naina had made herself an integral part of this investigation and there was no turning back now. He reached out and shook her shoulder, trying to convey urgency through his touch. But it was only after she had mounted the Bullet and Virkar had touched 130 kmph that he began to go over his plan with her.

T
he girl with the pixie haircut had been dancing non-stop, her tight halter-top struggling to contain her sinewy, writhing body. Her painted-on jeans began far below her naval and ended far above her ankles. A casual observer at the SuperTrance Nightclub might wonder if she found it difficult to breathe with such tight clothes on, but she seemed to be handling them just fine. In fact, she was quite oblivious to the stares that were directed towards her. Her eyes were shut and her Ecstasy-induced smile seemed to be flashing a ‘come-hither’ to all the young men on the floor. Perhaps it was too early in the night or perhaps it was the fear of their girlfriends, or perhaps she looked a tad too hot to handle, but no guy had approached her yet.

In the darkness of the dance floor, Akhbir broke away from a knot of revellers and walked straight towards her. He swayed with the beat, waiting for her to come out of her self-induced trance. He didn’t have to wait too long; she opened her eyes, perhaps sensing his presence.

‘Remember me?’ he asked.

The girl’s voice was flat as she said, ‘No, should I?’

In the darkness, Akhbir couldn’t see her eyes. For a microsecond, he looked unsure as the girl continued to sway to the music as if nothing had happened. A beam of laser light travelled across her face and suddenly Akhbir was sure.

‘You’re right, I didn’t recognize you at first in your bold new clothes, but I remember your eyes.’

The girl let a sly smile curl around her lips, ‘You like my eyes?’

Akhbir smiled back. ‘Yes, even though you’ve changed your contact lenses, I can still see fear in them.’

The girl now broke into a full-throated laugh. ‘Oh, come on, dude, don’t be so filmy. I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m feeling really sexy tonight. So get your body closer and dance with me.’

Akhbir stepped closer to the girl and she swayed against him, letting her body rub tantalizingly against his. He reached out and held her gently in his arms as he swayed with her. For a few minutes they danced as one, Akhbir playing with the girl’s hair as he manoeuvred her towards the darkest corner of the dance floor. As she smiled at him, he reached out and held her right hand in his; slowly, he guided her hand towards the lower part of his body. The girl’s smile turned mischievous but she played along. When her hand was just above Akhbir’s crotch, the girl whispered into his ear, ‘Do you want to go some place quiet?’

Akhbir nodded. ‘Yes, but I just want you to feel what I’m feeling.’ He pressed her hand to the crotch of his jeans. Suddenly, the girl’s expression changed to one of abject fear. Instead of what she had been expecting, she could feel something hard and metallic which, she had no doubt, was a gun.