Different Senses (43 page)

I showered and shaved, then
checked the news reports. My rumpled face and clearly just out of
bed hair was all over the media channels, along with unseemly
speculation about my relationship with Tushar. The attack itself
was covered in full, though the focus had shifted to Benay’s arrest
and the vigil outside Ursemin’s house. One channel reported that a
statement was expected from Tushar’s manager at eleven.

Nothing about Benay being
charged. That was one bit of good news to mollify Shardul. Loonies
or not, the one known loony had been exposed and taken out of the
equation. Gave the indigenous community and me some breathing space
to come up with a way to keep their golden child out of trouble and
safe.

The dull and unexceptional chai
house which had been my unofficial office for a couple of years and
still made a discreet place for client meetings, served again
today. Shardul strode in as if he owned the place, and the owner,
who habitually paid no attention to anything happening in her
place, blinked at his appearance. He gave her a brilliant smile.
“Chai, please, unsweetened and no dairy.”

She stared at him until he
shrugged and come over to where I was sitting. He sat down and
glared. “Well?”

“Hang on, I want to hear this.”
I pointed to the media screen at the table.

“Javen.”

“Shhh. It’s important. You’ll
want to hear it too.”

The video cut to Ursemin,
reading a prepared statement, Tushar standing at his side. “We wish
to thank the police and Tushar’s fans for their support and good
wishes. Tushar is recovering well and performances will resume
tonight.”

A shift of camera shot showed
there were at least twenty reporters covering the story, and the
crowd of female fans who’d greeted me outside the house, looked as
large and devoted as it had earlier that morning.

“Sri Ursemin, any leads on who
carried out this attack?”

“You’ll have to ask the police
about that, I’m sorry.”

“Sri Tushar, how are you
feeling?”

Tushar gave the camera a wobbly
smile. “Much better, thank you. I’d like to thank my doctor for his
kind treatment, and thank my friends who are listening, for all
their prayers.” Prolonged cheers and applause greeted this, and he
waved to his fans.

“Sri Tushar, what’s your
relationship with Governor Ythen’s son?”

“Sri Ythen is working for me,”
Ursemin answered.

“He’s a friend,” Tushar added.
“And that’s all.”

“Sri Tushar, will this attack
make you reconsider public performances?”

“Not at all. I’ll stop
performing when my audiences ask me to, not before. Do you want me
to stop?” he asked, batting his eyelashes, prompting a few laughs
from the reporters, and rowdy denials and shouts from the
crowd.

“Don’t think so,” the reporter
who’d asked the question said. “Will you be able to give your usual
performance?”

“The doctor tells me I mustn’t
dance just yet. Yes, I know,” he said, as the crowd groaned. “But
I’ll sing more songs to make up for it!”

The programme switched over to
another item, and I closed the screen. “He handled it well, I
thought.”

Shardul raised an eyebrow as he
sipped his chai. “They’re making the most of a bad situation. Why
are reporters pestering me about you?”

“Er, because they probably want
my alleged fiancé’s opinion about my new lover.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I spent the night at Sri
Ursemin’s, keeping an eye on Tushar. The kid was a mess. He needed
someone to get him through the worst bit.”

“I see. And someone told the
press. Did you learn nothing from that fiasco at the ball?”

“
A fiasco
you
set
up, so cut the lecture. Yes, someone tipped them off. I had other
things on my mind.”

“Like getting into Tushar’s
admitted delectable salwars?”

“No! You didn’t see him. He was
in shock, real shock. Terrified. At least we’ve caught the bastard
who did it. It was the guy we fingered as the stalker.”

“Hmmm. Convenient.”

“And what the hell does that
mean?”

He sipped his chai again, and
radiated irritating inscrutability. “What I said. Convenient to
solve two crimes with one man.”

“Well, yeah. But there are
other people out there who’d love to take a shot at our boy, so if
your people plan to do something to stop that happening, now’s the
time to do it.”

“Plans are being made. And what
are yours?”

“What do you mean?”

“Regarding Tushar.”

“I’ve done what they wanted,
and found the stalker. If they want more, they’ll have to ask.”

“Right. A relationship with a
Kelon raises many issues for him, you realise. Especially a Kelon
with your connections.”

“There is no relationship,” I
snapped. “But if there was, then we’d deal with it. It’s none of
your business.”

“It is if your relationship
causes problems for my people, Javen.”

“It wouldn’t be the first one
between our races. What’s the real issue? Are you jealous?”

He laughed in derision. “Of
whom—Tushar?”

“
No, me.”
But what an interesting
assumption.
“Look, you’re making an ocean
out of a kid pissing in a puddle. Nothing’s going on between us.
Back off, Shardul.”

He swallowed the rest of his
chai, and set the cup down with delicate precision. “I reserve the
right to say ‘I told you so’.”

“Fine.”

“And I have appointments.”

“I figured.”

He arched his eyebrow at my
cold tone. “I’ll forward further media enquiries to you. I suggest
you dissuade anyone from contacting me on this subject, if you have
that power.”

I waved to indicate “Yeah,
whatever.” “See you.”

“
Perhaps. Good day,
madam,” he said to the owner, and gave her a formal bow. She stared
at him in horror as he walked out.
Show-off
.

What the hell was his problem,
crapping at me over something that never happened and never
would?

Better
not
happen, anyway. Sometimes I wondered if Shardul was an
empath too. He was just a little too good at reading my real
emotions and motives.

But he was
wrong
. I
hadn’t slept with Tushar except in the purely literal sense, and
even if I had, I wasn’t a complete fool. A bit of one for not
thinking about the press interest but I’d spent years making people
forget who my Dad was, and a lot of time I forgot myself.
Especially now, when I was disowned in practice if not in law. Of
course if the press found out about the estrangement, that would
only make them more ravenous. Bloody reporters.

~~~~~~~~

The stupidity went on for a
couple of days, fuelled by the announcement that an individual had
been charged over Tushar’s attack. The involvement of the
governor’s son in said arrest and charging had regrettably leaked
out, and we’d had an uptick in enquiries, even a couple of genuine
ones. Tushar bravely returning to the stage to sing, though not to
dance. The news reports the next day were full of quotes from
rapturous fans praising his courage, and saying how honoured they
were that Tushar had made such an effort for them.

The irony of all this
favourable commentary from Kelons being heaped on a member of the
normally despised indigenous race wasn’t lost on me, and I doubted
it had been lost on Shardul. I wished I knew for sure, but Shardul
wasn’t talking to me. How did I know that? It was normal for days
to pass without hearing from him, after all. But I just knew he
wasn’t. Shardul’s shunning had a way of getting its point across
without him doing anything at all.

Tushar had apologised very
sweetly for all the trouble the mess had caused me, and ruefully
asked if it meant I’d never come visit again. “Of course I will,” I
assured him. “But later, when things are back to normal. How do you
feel?”

“It’s still very painful, but
the doctor put the synthaskin over the wound, just like you said,
and gave me some pills for the shows. Those drugs are awful,
though.”

“I know. Maybe it’d be better
to take a week off performing.”

“I can’t. People have been so
patient and kind. You should see the flowers they’ve sent, and the
messages. I feel very loved.”

“Good, but I don’t think they’d
want you in pain.”

“I’m a dancer. Pain is part of
what we do. I’d like to dance for you again, Javen.”

It was like he had a
voice-operated remote control that worked exclusively on my cock.
He only had to drop his voice a little as he said my name, with
that subtle hint of
something
lush and a little
forbidden, and suddenly my underwear was too tight. “I, uh....” Now
what could I say to that? “I could drop over and watch you from
backstage.”

“Yes! Please, Javen, do that.
The doctor says I can dance again in a week. So in one week, you
come to the concert hall.”

“You’ll still be playing?
That’s a hell of a run.”

“
I know. Lalit booked
three extra shows and they sold out in an
hour
. The press have been so
kind to us, it’s amazing.”

“They can turn on you just like
that. Especially—”

“On a Nihan? Yes, I know. Lalit
says we have to use what we have now while we can. It’s not just
me, you know. The dancers and musicians, they’re being booked and
recording deals have been made. We’ve even had interest from Kelon.
I have to make sure they have their chance too.”

“You’re a great kid, you know
that? I’ll definitely be there next week.”

“And come back with me?”

“Maybe.” After all, the case
was closed, Ursemin had paid our bill, and Tushar was no longer a
client. And Shardul would have to deal.

“I’m looking forward to that,
Javen. Spirit guide you,” he said, and closed the call.

Spirit be damned. My gonads
were doing all the guiding right now.

~~~~~~~~

Eventually things got back to
something approaching normal, for which Madan and I were grateful.
We had things to do, and clients paying a lot more than what I’d
charged Tushar. With the kids still on leave, and Devraj, the temp
clerk, still finding his feet, I had to spend more time than I
cared for just handling office crap.

After I’d gone through the
morning’s messages, I took a call from one of our clients, Shrimati
Reindi. She wasn’t happy, which surprised me because we’d proved
her husband had a mistress, just as she thought. “But you didn’t
find the other one!”

“The other? Shrimati Reindi,
you didn’t mention he—”

“I didn’t know he had two!”

“I see. But surely—”

Our office crashed open, and a
man mountain blocked the doorway, his broad face red, radiating
rage. “Call you back, Shrimati Reindi,” I said, and closed the
call. I stood. Madan was already on his feet. Devraj, eyes huge in
terror, scooted out of his chair and bolted for the kitchen out
back. Couldn’t blame him.

“Can I help you, sir?” I kept
my voice level and calm, but my hand went to the butt of my gun in
its holster.

“Which one of you is Ythen? I
want him.”

I moved forward a little,
giving Madan the cop signal for “call for help” behind my back.
“That’s me. Who are you?”

“Phanindra Benay. You set me
up!” He smashed his fist down on top of Devraj’s desk.

“And how did I do that, Sri
Benay? Why don’t you take a—”

“I never hurt that boy! I’d
never hurt anyone!”

“I’m sure—” I stopped,
surprised. Under the rage was a burning sense of injustice. But the
man had.... “You admitted sending threatening letters.” In the
distance I heard sirens, hopefully coming towards the office.

“I...I sent some notes. But I
never hurt him! I didn’t touch him. I never went near him!” He
smashed his fist down again. “You told the police I had.”

“No, I didn’t. Now I need you
to calm down, Sri Ben—”

He came around the desk, his
meaty fists raised in intent. I drew my gun. “That’s far enough.
Sit down!”

Madan approached, and out of
the corner of my eye, I saw he had his gun out too. “Sri Benay, do
as he says. Sit down, and then this won’t have to go any
further.”

Benay’s eyes darted between the
two of us. “I didn’t do it!”

“Okay, I believe you,” I said.
“Now sit. Sit!”

He obeyed. The sirens were
louder now. “I’d never hurt him,” he mumbled.

“Why aren’t you in
custody?”

He looked up in surprise, as if
he’d forgotten me. “Bail. Wearing a tag. It’s legal.”

If it was, he’d undoubtedly
violated his bail conditions, but I was more interested in the
man’s emotions. If he was lying, I couldn’t detect it, and if he
was, I could see no point to him being here. “Why did you send the
notes, Sri Benay?”

The angry flush on his face had
faded, and he looked a good deal less insane. But the glint of
madness still lurked in his watery eyes, so I kept my weapon handy.
Madan didn’t move. “Answer me,” I said quietly.

“He’s a filthy slut. He should
go back to his home, leave decent folk alone.”

“So you tried to scare him off,
and when it didn’t work, you attacked him with the knife the police
found on your property.”

“
No!” His hands twisted
as if he was in pain. “I’d
never
. I’ve never
hurt—”

“You have a criminal record for
assault, Sri Benay.”

“I was being picked on. Kids
calling me stupid, fat. Slow old bugger, they said.”

I nodded. “Maybe you felt Sri
Tushar was taunting you.”

“No! You don’t understand! I’d
never hurt him! I....”

“You?”