

SEX, DRUGS & GOAN TRANCE

By Thomas Jacob

Ronny: But why Goa?

Krati: I had to get away from it all. And this seemed like the perfect escape. I thought I would find my sanity in the midst of the madness.

Ronny: And did you?

Krati: Nope. There was too much sex, drugs and Goan trance.

# AUTHOR'S NOTE

Goa is the land of beautiful beaches, lush paddy fields, casinos, resorts, cheap alcohol, parties and fun. For many young Indians, it's a mental and emotional retreat, an escape from the dusty, noisy Indian cities and their normal, troubled lives.

Goa was the last stop on the hippie trail of the sixties: a journey that, for many, started in Europe and went through Turkey and Afghanistan before ending in South Asia. The hippies found what they were looking for in the quiet beaches of Goa. Many stayed back, formed communes and flirted with Indian spirituality.

But that was a long time ago. Although a little of the old charm still remains, modern Goa is a commercialized party place where corruption, drug trade and prostitution run rampant. Yet, for many, it is still the land to escape to. A small oasis of decadence that is tolerated in the larger, strait-laced, conservative, often hypocritical Indian society.

It is a place to forget your problems and maybe even find some answers. Personally, while it's always been a temporary escape for me, I have never found any answers. Just more emotional turbulence and complications every time I have visited. Like a friend once told me: 'Goa always fucks you in the end.'

'We lived through something that was epochal. Not that historians would write about it. But who cares? Fuck the historians.'

– Steve Madras Devas, sixties' Goan hippie

'There was no horizon. People could do whatever they wanted and nobody was there to stop them, which of course doesn't work. There were a lot of casualties.'

– Mr. Michael, sixties' Goan hippie

'There is nothing to believe, man. The best thing is to be completely disillusioned. Have no illusions about anything. Be completely hopeless.'

– Eight Finger Eddie, godfather of the sixties' Goan hippies

# 1

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The hammering was incessant. What the fuck? Ronny opened his eyes and looked around him, confused. Little objects on a nearby table were rhythmically jumping up and down. An oil painting that depicted Portuguese Goa clanged again and again against the wall. Ronny sat up in bed. Is this what an earthquake feels like?

As he was about to jump off the bed, he heard low moaning sounds coming from the neighbouring room. It took him a moment to realize what was happening. He groaned and lay back down on the bed, clasping his head, angry at the noisy lovemaking session next door. Fucking tourists. They won't let me sleep. The bed in the next room was old and the springs were creaking. My grandmother is going to hear this, he thought, dismayed.

Ronny Fonseca was a lean 24-year-old with a pleasant face and a large mop of unruly, curly hair. He banged his fist hard on the wall next to his bed, hoping to quieten the neighbours. The oil painting on the wall came crashing down on him but the sounds from the next room continued unabated.

'Un-fucking-believable!' Ronny muttered, getting out of bed.

He had had a long night and was furious at being awakened by the noise. There was only one thing to do to soothe his annoyance. Ronny quickly grabbed a Bible from the drawer next to the bed and looked at it for a moment. He felt a little guilty. Sorry, but this is the best hiding place. He opened the Bible. Hidden in the jacket of the book was a small packet of marijuana. He fished it out, replaced the Bible in the drawer, picked up his lighter and stormed out of the room.

Ronny walked along the corridor, fuming. The ceilings were high and the walls were tastefully decorated with Goa-themed paintings. He walked past the room where the sounds were coming from.

'Fucking assholes,' Ronny mumbled.

He wondered for a moment if he should pound on the door and ask the occupants to keep it down. But he decided against it. Grandma won't like me fighting with the guests. He sighed. There was nothing he could do. He walked into the bathroom and banged the door shut.

The truth was that his family needed the money. Ronny's parents had died in a car accident when he was just eight years old. It was his grandmother who had brought him up. Letting out rooms in their ancestral Portuguese bungalow during the tourist season brought in a tidy sum. The British and Russian tourists who flocked to Goa every winter would end up falling in love with the place. The guesthouse had a quiet 'homestay' setting, spacious rooms and beautiful gardens. But what the tourists adored the most was Ronny's grandmother's delicious Goan cooking, especially her pork sorpotel, lamb xacuti and beef croquettes. The location of the bungalow was perfect too; the place was just a short walk to the crowded Baga beach and a short bike ride to Anjuna, Vagator and Morjim.

In the bathroom, Ronny expertly rolled a joint and lit it. He took a deep drag as he peed. He exhaled, relaxing. He could feel the tension slipping away.

There was a sudden banging on the bathroom door.

'Ronny! Breakfast is ready,' said Ronny's grandmother loudly.

A startled Ronny dropped the joint into the toilet. 'Fuck me!' he hissed softly. He cleared his throat. 'Coming, Grandma.'

Alicia Fonseca was a 65-year-old lady with snow-white hair and a stately demeanour. She was standing outside the bathroom door with a hamper of clothes.

'Is something burning?' asked Grandma, sniffing the air.

Ronny furiously waved the smoke out of the window. 'No, no. Of course not,' he said nervously.

He waited for a moment and sighed with relief as he heard Grandma walking away. He took a deep breath. What a fucked up stressful day!

Ronny stepped out of the bathroom. He saw the door of the 'noisy' room open. A good-looking, cheerful, hippie-type young man stepped out. Steve Haustein had long, plaited hair and wore a bright saffron kurta with 'Om' symbols on it. Ronny glanced curiously through the slightly open door. He saw a girl sleeping on the bed with her back to him, the white linen sheet only covering her till her waist. The morning sunlight fell on her through a curtain parting.

Steve closed the door firmly and smiled brightly at Ronny. 'What's up, man? Are you also a guest here?' he asked with a German accent.

Ronny studied Steve distastefully. 'This is my house,' he said, not very politely.

Steve was suddenly transfixed. His eyes opened wide in wonder.

'What?' asked Ronny, bewildered.

'It cannot be,' Steve whispered, coming closer to Ronny and smelling him.

Ronny stepped back, aghast. 'What the fuck are you doing?'

'Afghan Elixir,' said Steve, looking at Ronny like he had just seen God. 'That's the hot new thing in Goa!'

Ronny was astonished. 'Jesus!'

'Where can I get some?' asked Steve.

'Can you tell just by the smell?' asked Ronny.

'Of course, I am a... what's the word... a connoisseur,' said Steve, with pride.

Afghan Elixir was not from Afghanistan. A group of college students in Sweden had grown marijuana — organically, scientifically and emotionally. No one knew their exact methods. It was rumoured that they played Bach and Beethoven for the plants. They also kissed, stroked and showered the plants with love. Whatever they did, Afghan Elixir was considered the finest weed in town. European tourists sneaked it into Goa in small batches. It was hard to find and very expensive.

'So where can I get some?' asked Steve.

Ronny was thoughtful. I can make some money. He looked around to make sure they were alone and whispered, 'I deal... sometimes...'

'I knew it,' said Steve, happily.

'What do you mean?' asked Ronny.

'You look a bit like a drug dealer.'

Ronny was astonished. 'What?'

'I meant that as a compliment. There is a Bob Marley, Rasta look about you.'

'It's probably because I'm a musician.'

Steve shrugged. 'And you have a slightly sneaky demeanour.'

'Whatever, dude,' said Ronny, annoyed.

Steve grinned. 'But this is wonderful, man. Can you get me some Elixir tonight?'

Ronny nodded. 'Fine.'

Steve made a wild gesture of celebration. 'Super. I'll see you later then.'

Steve stepped outside the bungalow and walked to his bike, a Royal Enfield Bullet. The Bullet was the favoured transport of the veteran expats in Goa. It was big, powerful and had a personality; the Indian Harley. On Steve's Bullet was painted the famous counterculture era phrase: 'Turn on, tune in, drop out.'

The day was bright and sunny, and Steve took a deep breath as he looked at the clear, blue sky. Life is fucking beautiful, he thought. The girl had been pretty. He had met her at the Copa Bar last evening and it had been a fantastic, satisfying night... and morning! Nothing like good sex to start the day, he grinned.

Steve admired his surroundings. The house was large and constructed in the Portuguese manner, outward-looking and ornamental. A small wooden signboard said: 'Casa Verdana: Rooms for Rent.' A white picket fence surrounded the compound with its neatly kept garden. Steve kick-started the Bullet. He loved the feel of the heavy, pulsing bike. He roared out of the compound.

Steve was from Munich. As a student of psychology at Ludwig Maximilian University, he had gone through an existential crisis which had resulted in him quitting school and travelling around the world searching for the meaning and purpose of life. He had first travelled to South America, then to Africa and finally to Asia. There had been no answers yet but there were enough distractions to keep him occupied.

Steve rode along a narrow, picturesque road which cut across glittering paddy fields and thick coconut groves. He stayed in Arambol, which was an hour's ride away. As the lush tropical scenery zoomed past him, Steve thought of how he could never tire of Goa.

His kurta and his long hair flew in the cool wind as he enjoyed the sunshine on his face. He smiled as he closed his eyes, savouring the moment.

The instant Steve had stepped off the plane in dusty, hot, noisy Mumbai two years back, he knew he was in love with India. It was the energy and the madness. He had never experienced anything like it. India appealed to the brave and the adventurous, the dispossessed and the crazy. He thought of himself as another Shantaram. The thing about India is that you can't save anyone. Not the street kids, not the beggars, not the stray animals. Once you have accepted this, India opens itself up to you. You have to understand that the only person you can save... is yourself.

Steve's eyes were closed a little too long. A bus honked just a few feet away from him. He swerved at the last minute, missing it by inches.

Ronny walked into the kitchen and sat down at the small dining table. He opened the sports page of the Oheraldo. The large, airy kitchen opened onto the back courtyard. Grandma threw a handful of rice outside and a mother hen and her brood hungrily pecked the grains. Rambo and Rocky, two big Rajapalayam hounds, lay snoozing near the kitchen table.

'How was last night's show?' asked Grandma, placing a bowl of porridge and a plate of sizzling sausages, boiled vegetables and bread slices on the table.

'Good,' said Ronny. 'People liked our music. I came back pretty late.'

Ronny was a mandolin musician. He played his gigs in the local bars and restaurants. In the classy, expensive eateries he would play the traditional Konkani folk songs; the Mando, Dulpod and Fell. In the cheaper, rowdier places he would play classic seventies' rock hits.

'We have a new guest,' said Grandma, busying herself in the kitchen.

Ronny looked up from the newspaper. 'Did you give the place to hippies?' he asked, concerned.

'Of course not. It's a girl from Bombay.'

'I just saw a hippie,' said Ronny, surprised.

Grandma shrugged. 'Must be a visitor.'

Ronny was thoughtful. Visitor? That's putting it politely. More like a lay for the night. 'We should have a policy: No visitors allowed.'

Grandma sighed. 'It's modern Goa. Young people these days...'

'The guy was a druggie,' interrupted Ronny.

'How do you know?' asked his grandmother, turning from the stove, a frown creasing her face.

Ronny hesitated. I better be careful. 'Um, I smelt something burning. Must be that hippie guy... getting high...'

'Oh, that burning smell?'

'Yeah.'

Grandma turned back to the stove. 'No, that's not him. I smell that even when there are no guests.'

Ronny gulped. He tried frantically to think of something to say.

'I should get an electrician to look at the switches. It's probably that,' said Grandma.

Ronny was relieved. 'Yes, yes, it must be that.'

A girl walked into the kitchen. Ronny stopped chewing and stared at her. She was very pretty, with tousled hair, in a spaghetti top and a short skirt. She seemed a little uncomfortable and looked around the kitchen uneasily.

Ronny considered her. So she is the one. She looks a little shame-faced. Naturally. It was surprising to see an Indian girl travelling alone in Goa. It wasn't very common. They usually came with their friends or boyfriends. He wondered who she was. She didn't look very friendly so he felt a little apprehensive trying to start a conversation with her.

Grandma smiled at the girl. 'Good morning, Krati. For breakfast we have porridge, orange juice, toast...'

Krati shook her head. 'I'm not hungry, thanks. Just coffee will do.'

The two dogs lifted their heads and studied Krati.

'Please sit. Don't worry about the dogs,' said Grandma, putting water to boil. 'They are friendly.'

Krati sat at the table opposite Ronny and glanced at her phone.

'Sleep well?' asked Grandma.

'Yes,' said Krati, politely.

Ronny guffawed. Krati saw the look on his face. She stiffened. Ronny looked down and hurriedly ate his porridge.

He glanced at her surreptitiously. She was busy messaging on her phone. He looked at her eyes, her full lips, the locks of hair falling on her shoulders. He noticed a line of a bra strap that was visible and followed it down the neckline to her bosom. Her breasts were medium sized and shapely. The hippie guy is lucky. She is attractive.

Ronny looked up and caught Krati's eye. She was glowering at him. He looked away guiltily, feeling foolish.

Grandma brought a cup of coffee for Krati. 'So what plans for today?' asked Grandma conversationally.

'The beach, I guess,' said Krati. 'Which are the good ones nearby?'

'Well, there is Baga, Anjuna, Vagator...' said Grandma. 'Ronny, aren't you going for your choir practice today? The church is right next to Anjuna beach. So drop Krati at...'

'No!' said both of them together.

There was a moment of silence. Ronny and Krati looked at each other awkwardly.

# 2

#

Eight Finger Eddie, the godfather of the Goan hippie movement, had started the Anjuna Flea Market in the early seventies as a place to barter goods and hang out. The market had grown over the years and had now become as 'touristy' as the rest of Goa. There were Tibetan refugees selling prayer beads, vendors from south India hawking miracle 'hair growth' potions and neo-hippies vending their psychedelic paintings. The crowd was made up of foreign tourists, Indian yuppies and hardened Goan expats.

Ronny stopped his bike near the bustling market. A narrow, steep path spiralled down the cliff to the beach below. Krati got off the bike and took in the sights. The bright, blue sea looked spectacular.

'That path leads to the beach,' pointed Ronny. They were the first words he had said to Krati.

She nodded.

Ronny hesitated. 'I'm sorry about... you know...'

Krati looked at Ronny, annoyed. 'Sorry about what?'

Ronny took a deep breath. 'The way I looked at you... like you were some sort of, I dunno, sex object... which is definitely not what you are... you are a nice girl... but I don't mean that you are not attractive... in fact... you are really hot...'

Ronny realized that the apology wasn't going too well but Krati cut him off. 'Whatever. Forget it,' she said.

She got a text and glanced down at her phone. Ronny stared at her for a moment, wondering if he should say anything else. But she seemed preoccupied, so he started his bike. She's definitely not the friendliest or nicest person.

The message was from Krati's bank. It said: ACCOUNT BALANCE RS 2,700. 'Fuck,' she sighed. She thought for a moment and then turned to Ronny, who was about to ride off.

'Hey!' she called.

Ronny looked at her curiously. 'Huh?'

'Do you know where I can sell my phone?' asked Krati.

Ronny reached out his hand. 'Can I see it?'

Krati gave him the phone.

'This is a brand new iPhone,' said Ronny, looking at it with surprise. 'Why do you want to sell it?'

Krati shrugged. 'Because I need the money.'

Ronny handed the phone back to her. 'I know someone. He'll give you a good deal.' Ronny pointed to the spire of an old church nearby. 'Come to that church in the evening. I'll call him there.'

St. Michael's Church was a stocky, majestic, white building that stood in a large, quiet compound, fringed by coconut trees. It was one of the oldest churches in Goa, built in the early seventeenth century.

Inside the empty church, the choir was singing 'Silent Night'. The choir comprised of a dozen young people. Ronny was playing the piano. He kept looking at one of the singers. Angelica was a beautiful girl in a white, knee-length skirt with long hair and a proud, regal face.

The song ended, but Ronny, distracted by Angelica, played on for a few more seconds. The annoyed members of the choir glared at him.

Sister Julia, a heavyset nun in her early fifties, turned to Ronny, her arms crossed, seething. 'If that happens during the Christmas Mass, it's going to be a scandal. Is it so hard for you to concentrate?'

Ronny looked nervously at his hands. 'No, Sister,' he mumbled.

'We'll meet next week, same time. We have three months to practise. But I'm sorry, right now you are all an embarrassment,' she said coldly, gathering a few books and walking out of the church.

The murmuring choir members looked at each other with drooping shoulders. The St. Michael's choir was considered one of the best church choirs in the whole of Goa. For Easter and Christmas celebrations, people would throng to the church from far and wide to take part in the festivities and enjoy the music. The choir members were proud and Sister Julia's comments rankled them.

A guy walked up to Ronny as he was closing the lid of the piano.

'Yo, do you have the stuff?' asked Manuel, keeping his voice low. He was in his early twenties, with tattoos and piercings and hair dyed blonde at the back of his head.

'Yeah,' said Ronny, distractedly. He was observing Angelica walking out of the church. He surreptitiously handed over a few marijuana packets to Manuel and then ran out behind her.

'Hey, won't you talk to me?' asked Ronny, catching up with her.

Angelica kept walking without slowing down. 'It's over, Ronny. Stop bothering me.'

'What do you mean it's over?' asked Ronny, annoyed. 'You wanted to take a break. It's been almost a month. I really miss you. I think we should get back together.'

A 7 Series BMW drove into the church compound and parked near the entrance gate.

'I'm sorry, but I don't love you anymore,' said Angelica.

'You don't mean that!' said Ronny.

'I want something more in my life. I don't want to be around a... drug dealer...'

Ronny was angry. 'A drug dealer? Are you fucking kidding me? I sell a bit of weed and that too only in church. But you know what... OK... I'll even stop that... for you...'

'You've been saying that for four years.'

'I don't want a life without you, Angelica.'

Angelica stopped. She turned to Ronny and took a deep breath. 'I need to tell you something...'

'What?' asked Ronny. His heart was racing.

Angelica bit her lip. 'I'm seeing someone.'

Ronny looked at her, shocked. 'What?' It cannot be. She would not do this to me. She knows we are meant to be together. She has to be lying!

'You are just saying that,' mumbled Ronny. 'You don't mean it.'

Angelica looked away, a little guilty. After four years of being her boyfriend, Ronny knew what Angelica's tiniest gestures or expressions meant. When he saw the look on her face, he knew she was telling the truth. He felt like someone had bulldozed his gut.

Ronny clasped his head. 'Jesus!'

From the parked BMW, a good-looking, tall, well-built man got out. He was wearing a designer T-shirt, stylish jeans and expensive boots.

Ronny felt like he couldn't breathe. He was desperate to know more. 'Who's the guy? Do I know him?'

'It's not important,' said Angelica.

'How long have you been seeing him?'

'It's not important.'

Ronny grabbed her hand. 'How could you?'

'Let go of my hand!'

'You fucking bitch. Did you do it? Did you fucking do it? Did you kiss him? Did you sleep with him? Oh my God... did you suck his...'

'Hey!' said a voice.

Ronny turned and saw the BMW guy. The guy suddenly punched him hard on his face. Ronny fell down, astonished. What the fuck... He looked up, confused, holding his face.

Angelica looked scared. The guy tenderly wrapped his arms around her.

'Are you OK, baby?' asked the guy, giving the startled Angelica a quick kiss on the lips.

So this was the new boyfriend! Ronny lunged at the guy. There was a furious brawl as they rained blows on each other. The choir members rushed out of the church to separate them.

It was early evening. The tiny trinkets, glass ornaments and colourful jewellery in the stalls were shining brightly in the yellowish-orange glow of the sun. Krati wandered around the flea market taking pictures on her phone. The sights, sounds and smells were a welcome distraction from the problem she was facing. She had run out of money. She didn't know how she was going to manage for more than a couple of days with 2,700 rupees.

I have to sell my phone now. There is no other way. The phone was a birthday present from her parents. How had it come to this?

Krati Shah was an aspiring actress struggling to make it in Bollywood. The daughter of a powerful Indore-based bureaucrat couple, she had lived the protected, pampered life of the rich and the powerful in India while growing up. She had excelled in her studies, topping her Board exams, but instead of going to the prestigious IITs and IIMs, she had decided to pursue a career in Bollywood.

To fulfil her acting dream, she had to lie to her parents about what she was doing. They thought she was working for a multinational corporation in Mumbai. After four years in the seedy wilderness of Bollywood, living hand-to-mouth, constantly being propositioned to 'compromise', which was the Mumbai code word for the casting couch, by married, middle-aged men, she was sick and tired of it all.

Rethinking her Bollywood dream, she was confused, hopeless and angry. She felt like she was facing an emotional black hole. What am I to do with my life now? She had failed. Her dream had died. A recent ugly break-up with Kunal, her cheating male model boyfriend, added to her distress. She had to get away from it all. She packed her bags and headed to Goa hoping for some sort of escape. She had no plan. Selling her phone would help her survive for a couple of weeks. Then what?

Krati walked into the St. Michael's compound. The place had a calmness and serenity that comforted her. She stepped inside the church, said a small prayer and then walked around the building, taking pictures. She saw Ronny sitting on the steps that led to the church vestibule. She walked up to him. He looked up, teary-eyed, with a black eye and a torn shirt.

'What are you doing here?' asked Ronny, annoyed at seeing her.

Krati looked at him, concerned. 'What happened?'

'Nothing. Why are you here?'

'You asked me to come. To sell my phone.'

'Oh,' said Ronny.

'You forgot?' asked Krati.

Ronny nodded, looking away. Krati rolled her eyes. She thought for a moment and then sat next to him.

'Were you in a fight?' she asked.

Ronny nodded again, looking at the thick cluster of coconut trees rising up at the edge of the compound.

'Is that why you were crying?' asked Krati.

'I wasn't crying,' muttered Ronny.

'It's OK. I don't know why men are so embarrassed about crying.'

'I wasn't fucking crying because I was in a fight. That's ridiculous!' said Ronny angrily.

Manuel walked up to them, playing with a rubber band, making patterns with his fingers. 'His girlfriend left him,' said Manuel matter-of-factly.

'Oh, sorry,' Krati told Ronny.

'Why did she leave, dude?' asked Manuel.

'She said I was a drug dealer,' said Ronny sorrowfully.

'What fucking nonsense,' said Manuel. 'Anyway, this Sunday there are going to be about a dozen guys.'

Ronny nodded. 'I'll get it.'

'Great,' grinned Manuel. He turned and started walking away.

'Hey, where's my money?' Ronny called out.

'I'm partying tonight, man. I'll pay you on Sunday,' said Manuel.

'I need the fucking cash for the drugs, dude.'

Manuel grumpily handed Ronny some money and walked off.

Krati studied Ronny thoughtfully. 'Why do you do this?'

'Do what?'

'Sell drugs in church. It's really weird.'

'Oh. It's complicated,' said Ronny.

'What do you mean?' asked Krati.

'OK, firstly, it's not really drugs that I sell. It's just weed.'

'Is there a difference?'

'Of course. When has weed ever killed anybody? And it's legal in many places.'

'So why not sell it outside? Do you have to do it inside the church compound?'

Ronny rolled his eyes. 'Are you kidding me? I'll be killed by the real drug dealers. Every place, every club, every beach, has a gang controlling the drug supply. If they find out you are selling in their territory, you are dead, man...'

Krati was contemplative. 'How much do you make selling drugs?'

'Weed, not drugs,' Ronny corrected her. 'Twenty thousand rupees a month. And that's the problem. The guy Angelica has started seeing is fucking rich. He drives a BMW. If only I could make more money she would come back to me...'

'Maybe it's not the money she sees in him.'

'Of course it is. There is nothing else to that guy.'

Krati knew better than to argue the point.

Ronny was wistful. 'She might be with him right now... holding hands or making out or...' He covered his head with a sigh. 'I wish I was dead.'

'Things will get better, you know,' said Krati kindly.

Ronny took a deep breath. I'm not giving up yet. He rubbed his face and got up with determination. 'Yeah, I know,' he said. 'Because I'm going to win her back.'

Krati didn't say anything.

# 3

Sandy's was a two-floored structure made of bamboo sticks and perched on a small slope next to Anjuna beach. It was the most popular expat hangout in Goa. There was loud rock music playing inside and a foreign crowd surrounding the entrance, smoking, drinking and chatting.

Ronny sat inside the crowded bar with Manuel, Rohit and Anand. He gloomily gulped down his vodka shot. The band was playing Pink Floyd's 'Comfortably Numb' and the whole bar was cheerfully singing along. Ronny looked around. The multicoloured lanterns that hung from the ceiling gave the place a psychedelic feel. The walls were covered with sheets that had bright, kaleidoscopically swirling patterns. He felt nauseated.

This was where he had taken Angelica on their first date four years ago. It had been the happiest day of his life. He desperately wished he could go back in time. I will never find anyone like her again. His world had completely fallen apart. He had known Angelica since they were kids. They had grown up together. She had been his best friend. He had been in love with her for a long time before he had had the courage to tell her how he felt. They had started dating and one day she suddenly wanted to 'take a break'. He wondered what had gone wrong. She met the BMW guy, that's what! She was a fucking whore.

Winning her back was easier said than done. She didn't seem to love him anymore. How was he to change that?

The band started playing fast dance music and there were shrieks of delight from the crowd. His friends tried to drag him along with them to dance.

'Fuck this shit. I'm not interested,' Ronny protested.

'It'll help you forget her,' said Manuel.

Ronny looked at him, annoyed. 'I don't want to forget her.'

Rohit pulled him to his feet. 'Come on, dude!'

Ronny grimaced as he reluctantly made his way to the dance floor. The four friends started dancing.

Krati walked into Copa Bar. Located in a narrow pathway near Baga beach, the club was a drab, whitewashed building that looked like a cheap motel from outside. But the interiors were spacious, lush and velvety. Like many Indian clubs, there was no entry charge for girls and a fat 5,000-rupee fee for guys. Krati was glad. The club was crowded with mostly Indian and a few foreign tourists, all of whom seemed the young, wealthy type. The music was psy-trance and the DJ for the night was a hot Russian act, XP Vodoo.

Her phone rang. It was her ex-boyfriend, Kunal. After everything that has happened, does he really expect me to talk to him? She ignored the call. She knew she had to control her mind or else a torrent of memories would break the old wounds open. She was amazed that the guy still had such a powerful hold over her. I'm not going to think of him! I'm not!

Krati stood near the bar counter, looking at the brightly lit array of bottles on the bar shelf, trying to decide what to drink. She went down the menu, looking for the cheapest drink:

Tombacco Pinot Grigio I.G.T Veneto (glass) – Rs 800

Yellow Tail Chardonnay, Australia (glass) – Rs 750

Blue Hawaii – Rs 700

Caipirinha – Rs 700

Long Island Iced Tea – Rs 650

Toroloco Blanco Tequila (shot) – Rs 550

Villa Vercelli Tequila (shot) – Rs 550

Absolut Vodka (shot) – Rs 450

Eristoff Vodka (shot) – Rs 350

Breezer – Rs 200

Krati sighed. It would have to be a Breezer, which wasn't even a real drink. With 0.8 per cent alcohol, it was more fruit syrup than booze. Maybe I'll get a sugar high.

She heard a voice behind her. 'What are you drinking?'

Krati turned to see a young British guy, dressed smartly in a white shirt and blue jeans with neatly gelled short hair leaning against the bar counter next to her. She hesitated. Should I let him buy me a drink? She knew where it would lead. But Felix was good-looking and she made her decision.

'Vodka,' said Krati.

He smiled. 'Shots?'

'Sure,' said Krati.

He called out to the bartender, 'Smirnoff shots, please.'

They gulped down their shots.

'Where is your boyfriend?' asked Felix with a sly grin, pretending to look around the bar, searching.

'I don't have one,' Krati smiled. 'And where is your girlfriend?'

'You are my girlfriend tonight,' Felix laughed.

It's strange, thought Krati. Talking to foreigners was so easy. She could meet a random stranger and flirt without any inhibitions. With Indian guys, she was always cautious and defensive. Maybe I'm afraid I'll be judged.

Felix ordered more shots and they gulped them down. He held Krati's hand and led her to the crowded dance floor. The music was hypnotic. They started dancing. On the dark dance floor, in the midst of hallucinatory lasers and disco lights, Felix danced close to Krati, their bodies touching.

She could feel his breath on her shoulders. He held her waist lightly. She moved closer to Felix, their bodies rubbing, as they danced, intoxicated by the music, lights, vodka and the burning sexuality between them.

All her problems disappeared. She was in the moment, savouring the experience. Felix kissed her neck and moved his hands from her waist down to her thighs and under her skirt.

She didn't stop him.

Ronny haphazardly rode his bike into his compound and braked to a halt. He noticed Steve sitting on his Bullet. The Bombay girl's lover is prowling around again. Ronny glared at Steve and stumbled into the house. Steve followed him inside.

Ronny strode up the stairs. His high was coming down and he began to feel gloomy again. Thoughts of Angelica were resurfacing in his mind after the distraction provided by the drinking and the dancing. I should've had more alcohol! He looked back and eyed Steve, who was following him along the corridor towards his room, suspiciously. Why is this fucking hippie stalking me?

Ronny stepped into his bedroom, threw away his shoes and collapsed on his Easy Boy. Steve walked inside.

'The girl's in the other room,' said Ronny.

'Actually, she is out,' retorted Steve.

'OK, so why are you in my room?' asked Ronny, looking around for a weapon in case the hippie tried to rob him.

'I've been waiting the whole day for my stuff, man,' said Steve, perturbed.

Ronny was confused. 'What stuff?'

'Afghan Elixir. You told me to come tonight.'

'Oh.'

Steve looked very worried. 'Don't tell me you didn't get it!'

'I'm sorry, man. I had the worst day of my life. I... I forgot.'

'What the fuck?' Maybe you've some hidden away in the house,' said Steve, desperately.

Ronny shook his head sadly. 'No. It's actually over. I can't tell you how badly even I wish I had some right now.'

Steve groaned as he collapsed on Ronny's bed. 'I'm fucked.'

Ronny eyed Steve distastefully. 'Do you have to lie down on my bed?'

'Well, tell me about this problem,' said Steve. '...that has completely fucked up my day.'

'No,' said Ronny.

'I studied to be a psychologist. So you can tell me.'

Ronny was surprised. 'You? A psychologist?'

'Yeah.'

'So how come you are a hippie now?'

Steve shrugged. 'Now, I'm trying to find out the truth.'

'What truth?'

'Exactly.'

'I don't get it.'

Steve closed his eyes, reflective. 'How can I pretend to understand and help somebody else when I don't understand myself? Why am I here? What's the purpose of my existence?'

They heard a door opening and hushed whispers.

'Krati's here,' stated Ronny. He thought for a moment, curious. 'So are you, like, her boyfriend?'

'No. Just lovers,' said Steve.

'How long have you known her?'

'Just one day.'

Ronny whistled. 'She's a bit of a slut,' he said softly.

'What?'

'Nothing,' said Ronny. I just hope she is quiet tonight.

Krati and Felix kissed passionately as they banged the door shut. They took off each other's clothes urgently. Felix lifted her up and carried her to the bed. He climbed on top of her and nibbled at her neck. She closed her eyes, her fingers tightening around his hair as he moved down her body.

And then a Skype call broke the mood. The open laptop was placed on the bed near them. Krati glanced at the screen to see that it was her mother calling. Her profile picture was looking at her.

She tried to ignore it but couldn't. 'Stop,' she whispered.

Felix continued to kiss her legs, caught in the moment.

'Stop. Stop,' said Krati, sitting up in bed.

Felix was confused. 'What?'

'I can't do it with my mom watching.'

Felix leaned over and closed her laptop. 'There you go.'

He had started kissing Krati again when her phone began to ring.

'I'm sorry. I can't do it. Give me a minute,' she said, looking at the phone. It was her mom again.

Felix collapsed on the bed, disappointed. 'Just turn off the phone,' he sighed.

Krati answered the call, wrapping a blanket around her, suddenly self-conscious.

Felix shrugged. 'I've already seen you naked.'

'Hi, mama,' said Krati.

'Are you at home?' asked her mother.

Krati hesitated. 'I... yes...'

'Then come on Skype. I have to show you something.'

'I'm actually in the middle of... um...'

'It's important,' said her mother, strictly, and hung up.

Steve got up from Ronny's bed. He started taking off his clothes. 'The solution to your girlfriend problems is that you should learn to love all women, not just one woman,' he said wisely.

Ronny looked at Steve, aghast. 'What are you doing? Fuck!'

Steve stood in his tiny, leopard-patterned briefs. 'What?' asked Steve nonchalantly.

'What do you mean "what"?' asked Ronny. 'Why are you naked?'

'I'm going to meet Krati. Since you don't have any drugs, I might as well have some sex.'

'Fuck me,' said Ronny, exasperated. This guy is crazy.

Steve grinned. 'Sorry, but you are not my type.'

Steve walked out of Ronny's room, grinning widely. He liked the joke he had just made. He knocked on Krati's door expectantly. He started planning out their lovemaking session. Last night had been conventional. Tonight, he wanted to try out some of his favourite Kama Sutra sex positions. He would start with the Rocking Horse, then the Glowing Triangle, then the Nirvana and finally, if Krati was up for it, the Splitting Bamboo. Just thinking of it was making him hard. He looked at his bulging briefs proudly.

Inside the room, Krati sat covered in a blanket, talking to her mother on Skype.

'This is the dress your sister will be wearing for the wedding,' said her mother, showing her a beautiful lehenga with intricate patterns made of gold and emerald lace. It looked spectacular.

'It's beautiful,' said Krati, distracted and uneasy.

'Are you sick?' her mother asked. 'Why are you covered in a blanket?'

Krati felt like an idiot. Because I'm naked. 'I've a cold,' she said. 'I think I should rest now. I'll talk to you tomorrow.'

Her mother was worried. 'Are you taking care of yourself, beta? Did you go to a doctor?'

'Yes, yes... it's not too bad.'

'You've also changed your curtains,' said her mother.

I told her I was in my house! 'Yes, I did, actually,' said Krati. 'I like this better.'

Steve knocked again on Krati's door. Felix sighed as he got up from the bed, put on his jeans and opened the door.

Felix looked at Steve standing at the door, grinning in his bulging leopard-skin underwear, with absolute astonishment. Steve's grin faded when he saw Felix.

'What the fuck?' Felix mumbled, looking Steve up and down.

'Who are you?' asked Steve, equally amazed.

Felix was dumbfounded. 'Who the fuck are you?'

Krati's mother heard the commotion at the door. 'Who is that?' she asked her daughter.

Krati realized that things were spiralling out of control. 'It's nobody. Just...'

But Steve had heard. 'I'm Steve,' he said loudly.

Krati's mother was shocked. 'Is there a guy in your house? At this time of the night?'

'Yeah,' continued Steve loudly. 'Nice to meet you.'

Steve walked into the room towards the computer.

Krati was horrified. 'No, stop, stop...'

'I want to see who the guy is. Turn the computer around,' said her mother sternly.

Felix grabbed Steve. 'That's her mother,' Felix told him in a whisper.

Realization dawned on Steve. 'Oh. And I'm not dressed appropriately, am I?'

'You should leave,' said Felix.

Steve stood there, unsure what to do.

Krati desperately came up with an excuse. 'He's my roommate's... boyfriend. I can't stand him. He's... into drugs...'

'Asha has a boyfriend?' asked her mother with disapproval. 'I hope you are not following in her footsteps.'

'No, mama, of course not.'

Steve whispered to Felix. 'Are you going to be with her tonight?'

Felix was irritated. 'Could you please just leave?'

Steve walked to the door and then suddenly got an idea. 'Hey, we could have a threesome!'

Krati's mother heard Steve. 'What did he say?' she asked Krati, shocked.

'Nothing. Nothing...,' said Krati frantically.

'This is mental,' said Felix. 'I'm out.'

Felix grabbed his shirt and stormed out of the room.

Krati called out to Felix. 'Wait. Don't go. I'm sorry...'

Her mother was furious. 'Krati, don't call him back! He wanted to have a threesome with you and Asha.'

Krati slammed the laptop screen down. She covered her face, completely embarrassed. 'Oh, God!'

Steve looked at her for a moment. He wondered what he should do. He could try and seduce her. No, that wasn't a good idea.

He quietly tiptoed out of the room.

There were six guys crouched close to each other in the bell tower of St. Michael's. This was Ronny's special spot. High up in the air, ensconced by the thick white walls with an impressive view of the hills and the beach, the belfry was a peaceful place.

The group passed a joint around.

'Good stuff,' muttered Terrence, taking a deep drag.

Ronny threw a few packets of marijuana to Manuel. 'For the others.'

'Respect,' said Manuel, happily. 'By the way, how is the Bombay girl?'

'She is crazy, man,' Ronny whistled. 'She's been with two foreigners already.'

'Unbelievable,' said Ashwin.

Terrence shook his head with great disapproval. 'What a slut!'

Anand had other ideas. 'Introduce us, dude,' he said with a wink. 'What are you waiting for?'

'She's super fucking hot. Have you tried anything?' Manuel asked Ronny. 'She seemed to like you.'

'Well, she was sweet to me,' Ronny agreed. 'But I am with Angelica.'

The group exchanged glances. Anand rolled his eyes sarcastically.

Ronny peeped down from the bell tower into the compound. 'People have started to come. It's time for Mass...,' Ronny saw Angelica and her parents walking towards the church. 'It's Angelica!' he said, his heart suddenly pounding.

Ronny raised his head higher to get a good view. Manuel pulled him down instantly. 'Careful! Someone will see you,' he scolded Ronny.

Ashwin took a long drag and made smoke rings as he exhaled. 'Ronny, do you know who her new boyfriend is?'

'Some rich guy,' said Ronny, immediately feeling his heart sink at the mention of the boyfriend. He wanted to throw up every time he thought of the guy.

'Dhruv Ramankar,' Ashwin continued. 'His father is a multimillionaire. An illegal iron mining baron.'

'And she called me a criminal,' Ronny muttered, preparing a new joint.

The group had already smoked five joints but Ronny wanted to forget the iron mining boyfriend.

'How high are we planning to get?' asked Anand, a little concerned.

'Just one more,' said Ronny.

Thick, white smoke rose from the belfry as the group passed around the Afghan Elixir joint.

'Maybe you should let her go, man,' said Manuel. 'These mining guys are basically gangsters. Don't fuck with them.'

Ronny was unmoved. 'No way. She's the love of my life.'

Manuel took a deep drag and shook his head sadly. 'Love. One day it's going to fucking destroy you.'

Ronny and his friends stood in church, attending the service. Their eyes were all glazed, their faces full of bliss. Anand was beaming and staring at the young nuns in the opposite aisle. Manuel looked at the ceiling and enjoyed the sensation of flying towards it.

Ronny was looking at the priest with droopy eyes. The priest raised the wafer-thin host and the goblet of wine. 'For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him...'

Ronny looked on, surprised, as the white wafer slowly began to change colour. It was becoming reddish-brown. What's happening? The priest continued, intoning, 'Just as the living Father sent me and I have life because of the Father, so also the one who feeds on me...'

Ronny stared at the sight in front of him with horror. The wafer was slowly turning into a piece of flesh. The goblet suddenly overflowed with blood. Startled, he gasped loudly.

The church members turned to look at him. Sister Julia glared at him suspiciously. Ronny realized that it was just a lucid dream. Under the glowering stare of the congregation, he walked to the side door of the church and stepped out.

Ronny walked into the bright sunshine. He shook his head, trying to think clearly. He took a deep breath. He could see Angelica through the large church windows as she stood piously, eyes closed, prayer book in hand. She had rolled her hair up and a few strands fell on her face. Ronny had never found her more beautiful. He stared at her longingly. He wanted to run to her and hold her in his arms. How could she leave him? No one would love her like he did.

Ronny turned away, suddenly realizing that he was getting teary-eyed. He walked despondently towards the main gate of the church. Angelica left me because I am a failure. What had he done with his life? Nothing. His music career was going nowhere. He had no prospects. How would he earn his living two, three, five, ten years from now? Selling a little weed? It was shameful.

I have to prove that I am somebody. I have to get respect. I have to make money. Lots of money. That's the only answer to my problem. That's the only way I can get Angelica back.

At the church entrance, he saw Krati and Steve sitting on the Bullet, evidently waiting for him. He looked at them suspiciously. They are trouble.

'What are you guys doing here?' asked Ronny warily.

'Do you want to get your girl back?' asked Krati.

'Yeah...,' said Ronny, a little confused.

Krati looked excited. 'For that, you have to make lots of money.'

Ronny nodded. 'I know.' Where is this going?

Krati smiled. 'I have a plan.'

# 4

Steve was desperate to smoke the Afghan Elixir. Ronny led him and Krati to Red Dragon's Massage Parlour, a small, dilapidated building with red Chinese lanterns hung outside. The structure was perched precariously on a cliff edge between the church and the beach.

Steve studied the shady building, not very happy. 'We can smoke on the beach,' he suggested.

'It's too sunny outside,' Ronny complained.

'Or in any of the restaurants here,' Steve continued. 'It's safe. No one cares if we do.'

Ronny shrugged. 'Yes, but someone I know might see me.'

Steve looked disappointed. 'Well, I need the right environment to enjoy the Elixir experience. Not this haunted, creepy, dingy burrow. I'm going to end up having a bad trip, man.'

Krati was annoyed. 'Guys, can we just get this over with?'

Ronny smiled wisely. 'Trust me, this is the right place.'

They walked into the massage parlour. Steve and Krati looked around at the sleazy interiors with a mixture of curiosity and revulsion. Red bulbs lit up the main room. Old torn posters of B-grade films and voluptuous women in various stages of intimacy covered the walls. The place smelled of sweat, incense, urine and sex. The massage cubicles were separated by fluttering pink curtains. The owner, a heavy Kashmiri man with a pale face, was reading a soft porn magazine. Around him, three masseurs, all of them young men in their late teens, sat chatting.

The owner looked at Ronny expectantly. 'Hi, Ronny. Is this a customer?'

Ronny shook his head. 'We are going to smoke in the verandah. We'll be out in five minutes,' he said.

The owner tried to sell his services to Steve. 'Nothing like a good gulaabi maalish to start the day,' he said with a wide grin.

'A... what?' asked Steve, confused.

'Five minutes,' said Ronny to the man and quickly ushered Krati and Steve through a narrow, grimy passageway to the verandah at the back of the building. The owner went back to his magazine, disappointed.

The verandah was a spacious area that overlooked a deep drop to the sparkling sea. A thick coconut grove screened them from the road. They could see the beach stretching out into the distance below them. Krati leaned against the railing, her hair flying in the strong breeze. 'Wow,' she said, impressed.

'I told you,' said Ronny.

Steve was pleasantly surprised. 'What kind of place is this?' he asked curiously.

Ronny grinned. 'It's a sex parlour.'

'So where are the women?' asked Steve.

'This place is only for gay men,' Ronny laughed.

Krati rolled her eyes at Ronny. 'And you were worried about someone seeing you in a restaurant?'

There were plastic chairs to sit on and the three of them made themselves comfortable. Ronny reached into his pocket and took out a piece of paper and a small packet of marijuana.

'So what's the plan?' asked Ronny, starting to roll a joint. Steve stared at Ronny's hands greedily.

'It's the simplest thing,' explained Krati. 'We sell drugs to rich foreign tourists. Then we show up pretending to be the police. In exchange for not getting arrested, they have to pay us a fat bribe.'

Ronny thought for a moment. 'The real police actually do that here,' he said. 'Dealers tip off the cops about their drug sales in exchange for being allowed to operate freely and the cops conveniently catch and blackmail the unlucky tourists.'

Krati looked at him expectantly. 'So what do you think?'

'It's brilliant... almost poetic,' said Steve.

Ronny frowned. 'I don't know. It seems a bit dangerous.'

Nothing could dampen Krati's excitement. 'It's not. Think about it...,' she said. 'The tourists won't suspect a thing. And even if they do, are they going to complain about the fake police to the police? They would have to admit that they bought drugs in the first place.'

Ronny lit the joint, took a drag and gave it to Steve. Steve grabbed it eagerly.

'But is it right?' asked Ronny.

Krati was irritated. 'Are you seriously going to talk about what is right?'

'I know I sell weed,' Ronny protested. 'But this is like a... like a scam.'

Krati shrugged. 'Well, look around you. This is India. Honesty doesn't get you anywhere.'

Steve closed his eyes, relishing the joint. 'Finally,' he blubbered.

Ronny thought of Angelica. He would do anything for her. Making money was the way to get back with her and earn her respect. He had no choice. If not this, then what? Scamming foreign tourists it has to be!

'The things we do for love,' muttered Ronny.

'Is that a yes?' asked Krati.

'I'm in,' he nodded.

Krati and Steve were delighted. Steve gave the joint to Krati.

'I don't—' Krati started to protest.

'Come on, we are celebrating our new business venture,' Steve cajoled her.

Krati sucked some smoke into her mouth and blew it out immediately. She waited for a few seconds to see the effect. Nothing.

'I don't feel anything,' she complained.

Steve guided her through the process. 'Suck some smoke and just breathe it in deeply.'

Krati tried it and started coughing. Ronny and Steve laughed.

Ronny looked at Steve. 'Why are you interested in this? Aren't you a hippie? Aren't you supposed to be against the material things of life?'

'I'm not particularly interested in making money,' said Steve.

'Then why are you here?' asked Ronny.

Steve leaned back and pretended to look Ronny up and down. 'To study the criminal mind. What better way to do that than to be part of a crime?'

'Really?' asked Krati.

Ronny was exasperated. 'Great,' he sighed.

Steve grinned. 'I'm joking. You know, I'm just going with the flow. This sounds like an adventure. And I get to spend time with my lover.'

'We are not lovers,' Krati corrected him.

Steve was surprised at her attitude. 'Well, we have done it,' he said, softly.

'Once.'

'And you loved it—'

'Not really—'

'You told me it was the greatest sex—'

Ronny interrupted them loudly. 'So when do we start?'

Krati shook her head as she tried to think clearly. She looked around. Everything seemed to be moving like colourful wisps of smoke. She felt like she was floating away. She held on tightly to her chair.

She cleared her throat. 'We'll need a few things first.'

Three things were required to put the plan into action:

  1. Police uniforms

  2. A jeep

  3. Cocaine

Ronny ordered police uniforms for himself and Krati from a carnival costume maker on the phone. That afternoon, after their weed high had come down, Ronny, Krati and Steve rode to Old Goa to pick them up.

Old Goa had once been the most magnificent city in the East, the capital of Portuguese India, before a deadly plague had caused it to be abandoned. Although most of the cathedrals and convents from the era had gone to ruin, the old charm still remained.

They travelled through the narrow, quaint streets to reach a small warehouse that was nestled between neat rows of Portuguese-era houses. 'Carnival Supplies' was painted in big, yellow letters on the building. A large, half-done float of a rooster-dragon rose up in the compound. Although the carnival was still months away, the preparations had already begun.

They parked their bikes and walked inside. There were pieces of cloth, sheets of cardboard, sponges and paper littered everywhere. In a corner, workers sat carving out the figure of a demon in polyester. A matronly woman sat on a tailoring machine, occupied.

'Hi, aunty!' said Ronny cheerfully. 'Is it ready?'

The woman frowned. 'Yes, it is. I must say I don't understand your hurry. The carnival is still five months away.'

Ronny tried to be as pleasant as possible. 'We wanted to start practising our dance.'

The woman shuddered at the thought. 'Dancing in police uniforms during the carnival? I've never heard of such a thing!'

'Which is why we thought it would be fun,' said Ronny.

The woman nodded at the uniforms kept neatly folded near her. 'Try them out.'

Ronny took the khaki pants and shirt and walked behind a large shelf to change. Steve tried on different grotesque masks placed around them while Krati sat on a nearby table, dangling her legs.

The woman turned to Krati. 'Are you sure the size you gave me is right?' she asked. 'It's way too large for you.'

'That's what I want,' said Krati.

'Don't you also want a uniform?' the woman asked Steve.

'Nope,' said Steve. 'There is no way I can pass off as an Indian cop.'

Ronny stepped out from behind the shelf dressed in the police uniform, with a stick in hand and a cap on his head.

'How do I look?' asked Ronny, excitedly.

Krati and Steve looked at him, their enthusiasm instantly dampening.

Ronny walked to a mirror placed nearby. 'I look like a kid,' he complained.

'He is no cop,' Steve sighed.

The woman stopped her tailoring. 'What you need is a large moustache and some dark glasses,' she advised.

Ronny nodded. They paid for the two uniforms and stepped out of the warehouse. They looked at each other. Their confidence was dented.

'Will this work?' asked Steve, doubtfully.

Krati shrugged. 'We'll soon find out.'

Sandy's was packed with the regular evening crowd of backpackers and neo-hippies. Waiters scuttled around, bringing locally brewed beer and Goan fish dishes to the patrons. Ronny, Krati and Steve sat at a table, watching belly dancers perform to rock hits. It was a bizarre combination that mesmerized the crowd.

'This place knows how to put on a show,' said Steve, looking at the gyrating bodies, impressed.

Ronny nuzzled his King's beer. He was worried. 'We won't pass off as cops,' he said.

'We will. More than how you look, it's the confidence that matters,' said Krati, wisely.

Ronny was unconvinced. 'I dunno...'

But, after a quick beer, Steve's confidence was back. 'We are not trying to fool the locals, you see. It's the foreign tourists we are after. What do they know about Indian cops?'

Krati changed the subject. 'Where do we find a jeep?' she asked.

Ronny nodded at a man standing at the entrance of the bar. 'He has a jeep.'

Steve was confused. 'You are going to ask Sandy?'

'Yeah,' said Ronny.

'Why would he give it to you?' asked Krati.

Ronny sipped his beer. 'Because he is my uncle.'

'Sandy is your uncle?' asked Steve, looking at Ronny with new-found respect.

Ronny was still worrying about dressing like a cop. 'Yeah,' he said, absentmindedly.

'So does that mean we don't have to pay the bill?' asked Krati.

Ronny shrugged. 'Nope.'

'I'm ordering more then,' she said, happily.

'The great Sandy is your uncle,' Steve mused.

'I better talk to him,' said Ronny, eyeing his uncle, checking to see if he was in a good mood.

Sandy Pereira was in a great mood. He was chatting up an American girl in her early twenties with an attractive face and the perfect beach body. Sandy was a large man in his early fifties. He had a chocolate cigar in one hand and a beer mug in the other. He was wearing a large red hat, a Hawaiian shirt and cowboy boots.

He was popular among the expats. He threw great parties, arranged for the best weed (after a series of highly publicized overdoses at his joint he had stopped selling cocaine and heroin), had political connections and was lavishly praised in secret whispers by women for his spectacular ability with his tongue.

Ronny walked to where Sandy was standing. He coughed politely. 'Hi, uncle...'

Sandy was annoyed at being disturbed. He gave the girl's hand a long, lingering kiss that promised of all the delights to come.

'I'll be with you in a moment, beautiful,' Sandy told her, softly and seductively. 'Till then, enjoy the food and the drinks.'

The girl smiled and walked to her table. Sandy stared at her ass and sighed.

'How do you do it?' asked Ronny impressed.

'What do you want?' Sandy barked at him, irritated at having his seduction ritual interrupted.

Ronny took a deep breath. I miscalculated. He is not in a very good mood. 'I need to borrow your jeep,' he said innocently.

'Where are you going?' asked Sandy.

'Nowhere,' said Ronny. 'I just want to drive it around.'

'No.'

'I'll just need it for a few hours in the evenings.'

'No.'

'Please.'

'No.'

'But why not?'

'Because I said no.'

Ronny looked at the American girl who was sitting at her table cheering the belly dancers. 'Pretty girl, that,' he said, coldly.

Sandy looked at him suspiciously. 'So?'

Ronny gave his uncle a meaningful look. 'How is my aunt doing? I haven't seen her in a while.'

Sandy grimaced. He thought for a bit. 'Take the jeep,' he said finally, giving in.

Ronny grinned. 'Thanks.'

Sandy glared at him. 'But I want something in return.'

'Sure, what?'

'I heard about what you do in church. It ends now.'

'I don't...'

'It stops, Ronny.'

'All right.'

'All right, what?'

'I swear on God that I won't sell weed again, in church or anywhere else,' said Ronny.

'Good,' said Sandy, satisfied. 'Well, I have made some changes to the jeep.'

'What do you mean?' asked Ronny, concerned.

'You'll like it. It fits better with my personality now.'

Ronny grimaced. 'Oh, no...'

'Done,' said Ronny to Krati and Steve. 'We have a jeep. Let's go out and see it.'

'The jeep is here?' asked Krati.

'It's parked in the back,' said Ronny, motioning to one of the waiters.

Tiklo was a dark, lean guy with a round, innocent face. He scurried to their table.

'Hi, guys!' said Tiklo. 'Do you still want to sell your phone?' he asked Krati.

'Maybe. I'll tell you in a few days,' she replied.

'I need to talk to you,' Ronny told Tiklo. 'Meet me out back.'

Tiklo nodded and left.

'Who is he?' asked Steve.

'Our coke supplier,' grinned Ronny. 'Come on! Let's see the jeep.'

They walked past the belly dancers and the band to the busy kitchen and then out through the back exit.

Vans with crates were parked in the courtyard. Broken furniture was scattered everywhere. The moonlit beach roared nearby. The jeep had a tarpaulin sheet over it. Ronny took a deep breath and uncovered it. The three of them looked at the vehicle. It was a blue off-roader with large, shiny rims that gleamed in the moonlight.

'What's with the rims?' asked Krati, frowning.

Ronny sighed. 'My uncle's mid-life crisis.'

'This is one ridiculous police jeep.' Steve laughed.

'Yeah,' agreed Krati. 'We can't use it.'

'We'll have to work with this,' protested Ronny.

'Ronny, the whole idea is not to draw attention,' said Krati.

Ronny was adamant. 'We'll be using it mostly in the night, correct? I mean, no one will be able to see the jeep properly,' he said.

Steve shrugged. 'We can use it temporarily till we have a better jeep.'

Krati hesitated, then nodded.

'So the only thing we need is the coke,' said Steve.

Ronny laughed. 'This is Goa. There's nothing easier than getting drugs!'

Tiklo stepped out of the restaurant's rear exit and walked to the three of them. 'Hi again,' he said, cheerfully.

'We need cocaine.' Ronny was abrupt.

'Good quality,' added Steve.

Tiklo looked at Steve and Krati suspiciously. 'I don't know what you are talking about.'

'Are you serious?' asked Ronny, annoyed. 'These are my friends. We all smoke up together.'

Tiklo relaxed. 'You got to be careful these days,' he said. 'Good to know I'm with fellow stoners.'

'I'm not,' Krati corrected him. She glanced at Ronny and Steve. 'These two... are.'

Tiklo took out some marijuana from his pocket and started rolling a joint. 'I have to advise you against it,' he said with great maturity. 'The powder is dangerous. Stay with weed, man, and chill.'

'It's not for us to use,' said Ronny.

Tiklo puffed at the joint and magnanimously gave it to Ronny. 'Then it's even worse,' croaked Tiklo. 'Selling coke in Goa is suicide. The gangsters will find out.'

Ronny took a deep drag and passed the joint to Steve. 'We won't exactly be selling the coke. Don't worry, we have a fail-safe plan,' he explained.

Krati looked at Ronny and Steve with disapproval. 'Do you guys really need to get high now? Aren't we supposed to be working?'

'Yes, but we have to enjoy the process or what's the point in life?' asked Ronny.

Krati sighed. 'Right.'

'Smell the roses, baby,' said Steve, offering her the joint. 'It's the journey, not the destination.'

'I'm fine,' said Krati.

'Come on, don't be a spoilsport,' said Ronny. 'Have a puff.'

'Or are you a cop?' asked Tiklo.

Krati gave in. She took the joint from Steve.

'So about the coke...,' said Ronny.

Tiklo shrugged. 'I can't help you, man. I sell weed. I have no idea who to contact for some powder.'

'I read online that it's available everywhere,' said Krati. 'Even here on Anjuna beach.'

Tiklo shook his head. 'Yes, but the stuff you get here is highly adulterated,' he said. 'It's more talcum powder than cocaine. The quality is horrendous. No one's going to get high on Anjuna coke.'

'Quality is important,' Steve reminded everyone. 'Or our... um, customers... might not buy after they've had a taster, and our whole plan will fall apart.'

Krati rolled her eyes. 'I can't believe all you guys stay in Goa and don't know where to get some coke.'

'I'm into chill drugs and psychedelics, not the hard stuff,' Steve protested.

'Well, check out some raves,' suggested Tiklo. 'That's where the drugs flow.'

# 5

The full moon beach party raged on. The crowd danced to the psychedelic trance blaring out of the massive loudspeakers. The two Israeli DJs for the night, Mittens and G-Spot, swayed to the music as they played with the dials on their large electronic equipment. The crowd included hippies, young foreign tourists, relaxed looking Indians and hardened Goan expats. Young boys walked around giving out Old Monk rum mixed with Thums Up to customers.

Ronny stopped the jeep on the beach near the party. 'This looks crazy,' he said, impressed by the large crowd and the flashing strobe lights.

'So this is a rave,' said Krati.

Raves in Goa were usually organized at desolate beaches and forests, far away from prying eyes. Drugs sales were explosive and gangs shared the bonanza with the local legislators and policemen who gave their blessings and protection to the party.

'How far up north are we?' asked Steve, getting out of the jeep and stretching after the three-hour drive.

'We are close to the Maharashtra border,' said Ronny.

They had come from Sandy's after making a few pit stops. First, at a car mechanic's shop, they painted 'Police' on the jeep and Ronny temporarily covered the word by sticking a blue cloth over it. Then, from a dubious electrician's store, they managed to get a red beacon light that could be attached to the top of the jeep whenever necessary. After that, they had raised the investment for the drugs. Fifty thousand rupees. Ronny had convinced Manuel and Anand to loan him the money.

Steve took a deep breath. 'Time to make a deal,' he said.

It was an open jeep and Krati was concerned. 'Do we just leave our stuff in the back?' she asked. 'Someone might try to steal it.'

Ronny pushed the plastic covers with their police uniforms under the seats, hiding it. 'Better? No one can see it now.'

The three of them walked to the party. Ronny stared at a beautiful European girl placing an Ecstasy pill on her tongue. The crowd around them seemed possessed. Glow lights were being waved as strangers made out with each other.

The three of them stood at the edge of the party crowd, looking around in wonder.

'Are all raves like this?' asked Krati.

'Only the best ones,' Steve explained.

'We need to get the drugs,' Ronny stated. 'Where are the drug dealers?'

'Shouldn't be hard to find,' said Krati, observing a group of college students smoking chillums. 'Everyone looks high.'

Ronny nudged a hippie girl dancing alone near them. "Hey!' he said.

She looked at him with bleary eyes, her contented, happy face trying to focus. 'Where can we get some... stuff?' Ronny asked her.

She put her arms around him, pulled him close and whispered into his ears. 'Ono the Bull.'

'What?' asked Ronny.

The girl tightened her grip on him. Their bodies were close together. She smelled of flowers and incense. Ronny felt intoxicated.

'Ask for the Bull and you'll get what you want,' said the girl.

Ronny nodded uncomprehendingly. The girl gave him a quick peck on his lips and a smile full of promises, and went back to her dancing.

Ronny was astounded. He turned to Krati and Steve, excited. 'Jesus Christ, she kissed me, man,' he said. 'I mean, fuck, right on my lips...'

'What about the drugs?' asked Krati.

Ronny shook his head. 'She's tripping. She was talking about a bull.' He suddenly had an idea. He turned to Steve. 'Could the bull be something symbolic? Like sex? Maybe she wants to have sex with me...'

Steve nodded wisely. 'Very likely, man. Take her to the jeep. Do it now before she changes her mind.'

'Can we get the drugs first?' asked Krati, annoyed.

'That can wait,' said Ronny and turned to where the girl was dancing. But she wasn't there. She had disappeared. He looked around him desperately but she was lost in the crowd.

'Fuck me!' Ronny hissed. 'Where has she gone?'

'Find her,' said Steve.

'I'll be back in five minutes,' said Ronny, desperate, and went off searching for the girl.

'What are you drinking?' asked Steve.

Krati was in a bad mood. 'Nothing,' she said. 'Why can't we just focus on the job at hand? Instead he has to go searching for some random girl!'

'Let's chill a little first, take in the vibe and then we'll search for the cocaine,' said Steve in a soothing tone.

Krati shrugged. 'Rum for me then.'

Steve left for a makeshift bar near the DJ stand to get them drinks. Krati looked at the spectacle around her. She had never been to such a party. Most of the clubbing she had done was in the overpriced, staid south Mumbai clubs that attracted the show offs.

Her phone rang. It was Kunal. Of late, he had been calling every day. As usual, she ignored it. Within seconds she got a text from him. Why can't he leave me alone?

She opened the message: 'I know you are angry but I have got you a Black Swan jewellery shoot in Goa. Please confirm with coordinator Shraddha ASAP. It pays Rs 75,000.'

Seventy-five thousand rupees! She desperately needed the money. But she knew she couldn't handle getting entangled with Kunal again. She didn't have the emotional strength. She deleted the message.

She noticed four Indian guys in shorts and T-shirts leering at her. They were on the prowl for solo women and were excited at seeing Krati. They started stalking her and began planning an approach. The group nonchalantly moved closer and closer to her until they were only a few feet away.

Krati could hear them over the music.

'What an item!' said one guy, drooling unashamedly.

Krati sighed. Item! That was Mumbai slang for a pretty girl. It meant an object. Not surprising, considering that the average Indian male is boorish, emotionally underdeveloped and misogynistic. If these qualities are added to the spoilt kids of India's 'nouveau' rich, you have the perfect monster.

Krati fortified herself for the inevitable words she would have to exchange with the group.

'She's mine, yaar. I saw her first,' said a guy in the group.

Another protested. 'No, she is mine!' he exclaimed.

'Well, I have the Audi Q7. So I am the one who is going to talk to her,' reasoned a third guy. The others seem to agree with this logic.

The Audi guy took a few steps and stood alongside Krati. She glanced at him. He was muscular, and wore a tight T-shirt and had carefully gelled hair. He took out an expensive phone, a packet of imported cigarettes and car keys from his pocket to look cool. He carefully arranged the car key in his open palm, hoping Krati would see the Audi logo.

'Hi, beautiful,' he said confidently. 'Why are you alone here?'

'I'm not,' said Krati. 'I'm with friends.'

The guy looked her up and down. 'Don't mind me saying this but you have an amazing figure. Let's party, yaar. Enjoy karte hain. I'm Tarun.'

'Aren't we already at a party?' asked Krati.

The guy gawked at her legs. Krati wished she had worn a longer skirt.

'Do you want to come to our hotel?' asked the guy. 'We'll have a better party there.'

Krati rolled her eyes. 'Nope.' He doesn't beat around the bush.

'Come on, yaar, you get to ride in an Audi Q7.'

'Nope.'

The guy was getting annoyed. 'You really want to be like this? You know, today is a big day for me. I'm celebrating with my three best buddies.'

Krati was still uninterested. 'Good for you,' she said.

'I am expanding my business abroad this month.'

'Your business or your father's business?'

The guy was uneasy. 'Same difference...'

'Sure,' said Krati, sarcastically.

The guy tried to impress her. 'Well, a powerful politician in Mumbai has become our partner. That's why we are expanding. It's supposed to be a secret, but the person is Home Minister Nitin Tadlekarji. So my friends and I decided to hit Goa... party it up!'

Krati couldn't handle it anymore. 'I'm sorry. I've got to go.'

The guy was obstinate. 'Come on, we'll do a line, yaar, and let our feelings take us...'

Krati was suddenly interested. 'You have coke?'

'Yes,' said the guy, surprised at her reaction.

'Who did you buy it from?' asked Krati, curiously.

'We have enough for you,' said the guy, licking his lips as he imagined all the things he would do to her.

'But who did you get it from?' asked Krati. 'I might want more.'

The guy chuckled. 'Look at those trees. You see the Audi parked there? That's my car and inside is the 100 grams of pure powder we just bought.'

Krati was surprised. 'That's a lot.'

'We are taking it to Mumbai,' said the guy, proudly. 'We'll continue our party there.'

'Isn't it dangerous?' asked Krati. 'You'll get arrested if they check your car at the border.'

The guy laughed. 'We have contacts. This is the best country in the world if you have money and power. No one can touch you. You can do anything.'

He is right, thought Krati, suddenly feeling strangely depressed. This is a land where might is right. It's only the poor who pay for crimes. Justice is just an illusion.

'Did you buy it from a drug dealer?' asked Krati.

'Ono the Bull. The black fellow,' said the guy.

'Where is he?'

'Doesn't matter. We already have the drugs.' The guy casually put an arm around Krati. 'You are too hot, yaar. Spend the night with me,' he whispered. 'I can go all night. I'll satisfy you.'

Krati moved away from him. 'I'm not interested. Nice to talk to you.'

The guy was furious. 'Do you know who I am... do you know who my father is... do you know the power...'

Steve came back with two drinks. 'What's the problem?' he asked.

'Nothing,' said Krati. 'Let's go and find Ronny.'

The guy gave Steve a contemptuous look. 'So you only fuck foreigners? Is that it, bitch? I have more money that him, you fucking prostitute...'

Steve suddenly pointed at the sky. 'Hey, look at that...'

The guy looked up, confused. Steve clocked the guy on the head. He fell down screaming in rage. The guy's friends rushed towards Steve, itching for a fight. Steve threw the drinks at them, dropped the glasses, grabbed Krati and pulled her into the dancing crowd.

They ran through the entranced dancers. The guys tried to follow but lost them in the crowd. Steve and Krati got out of the mob of partygoers and hid among a cluster of palm trees near the DJ stand. Steve laughed uproariously.

'He deserved it,' said Krati, grinning.

Steve chuckled. 'They better not find us, though.'

They peeped out from their hiding place.

'We have our coke connect,' said Krati, suddenly.

'Who?' asked Steve, surprised.

Krati pointed at a large, black man swaying with the music.

'How do you know that?' asked Steve.

'The guy you just punched told me about a black guy called Ono the Bull who sells drugs,' she said.

'And you think it's him?'

'How many big, black guys do you see?'

'He is a magnificent beast,' said Steve, looking at the guy, impressed. 'How do you get muscles that size?'

'Let's talk to him,' said Krati.

Steve and Krati stepped out of the palm trees and walked to the black man.

'Hi,' said Steve, politely, keeping a careful watch around him for the guy he had punched.

The man looked at him nonchalantly.

'I was hoping you could sell me some coke,' said Steve.

'What?' asked the man.

'Coke... cocaine... powder,' said Steve.

The man was angry. 'You think I'm a drug dealer?' he growled.

Krati and Steve realized that they had made a mistake. 'Oh... I... sorry...I assumed...' stammered Steve.

The man roared. 'Because I'm black I have to be a drug dealer?'

Steve and Krati stood frozen for a moment. The man's muscles tightened as he grimaced.

'We... we are sorry...,' Krati mumbled nervously.

Suddenly, the man laughed. 'Just joking. Yes, I sell drugs.'

Krati and Steve sighed in relief.

'So you are... Ono the Bull, correct?' asked Krati.

'Nice to meet you,' said Ono, grinning at his prank.

'You scared me,' said Steve, wiping sweat from his brows.

Ono loved to terrify people. He laughed. 'What is life without some fun, eh?'

Ono the Bull was a Nigerian bodybuilder. He had stayed back in Goa after a vacation to help his cousin, Solomon Oyeyibo, with his drug business. He soon realized that he had a knack for crime and helped Oyeyibo decimate the other African drug gangs in Goa. He was massive and was enjoying the music without a shirt. Everyone was staring at his sculpted body with a mixture of fear and awe.

'So can we buy some coke?' asked Krati.

Ono shrugged. 'This is a hot party. I sold out.'

'How can we get some then?' she asked.

'You should have come early,' said Ono.

'Please... we really need it. We came a long way for it,' said Steve, beseechingly.

'How much do you need?' asked Ono.

'How much do you get for fifty thousand rupees?' asked Steve.

Ono the Bull was thoughtful.

'And we'll want more in the future,' Krati added.

'Hey,' said Ronny, suddenly making an appearance. He looked at Ono, awestruck.

Steve nodded at Ronny. 'Oh, you're back?'

'I couldn't find the girl,' said Ronny, gaping at Ono's colossal biceps. 'And who are you?' he asked the Bull deferentially. '... sir?'

'Ono the Bull,' said Steve. 'He might help us with the drugs.'

'So the girl was right,' Ronny muttered.

Ono made up his mind. 'You're not cops, right?'

Steve laughed. 'A white Indian cop?'

Ono wasn't amused. 'I asked you three a question,' he said gruffly.

Steve's cheeriness vanished. 'No,' said Steve.

'No,' said Krati.

'No, sir,' said Ronny.

Ono nodded. 'Good. Then come along. I was about to leave anyway. I'll get you your coke. Do you have the cash with you?'

Ronny touched his bulging pockets. 'Well... yes.'

Ono walked along the beach away from the party and Ronny, Krati and Steve followed him. He made a call, talking in a strange language.

Ronny was concerned. 'Now that he knows we have the money, what if he just kills us and takes the cash?' he whispered urgently.

'If he tries anything, we run,' said Steve. 'A big man like him won't be able to catch us.'

'And what if he just shoots us?' asked Ronny.

'Don't be silly,' said Krati. 'These guys deal in millions, most likely. They are not going to kill for a few thousand rupees.'

Ronny was unconvinced. 'You never know.'

'We have to make him believe that we are more valuable to him alive than dead,' Steve whispered.

Ronny and Krati nodded in agreement.

'I hope we can have a long-term relationship,' Krati told Ono loudly. 'We'll need a lot more drugs in the future.'

'Sure, baby,' said Ono.

They walked along a dark, narrow mud path in a thick forest. The roar of the waves ebbed as they moved inland. The terrain climbed steadily and they walked amidst teak, sal and cashew trees.

'Watch out for snakes,' said Ono.

The moonlight barely made it through the forest canopy and they had to use the torch lights on their phones to illuminate the mossy path. After a thirty-minute journey, they reached an embankment near a small stream.

'Wait here,' said the Bull. 'I'll get the coke.'

The three of them watched Ono walking away nervously. They listened to the hooting of owls and the droning of crickets.

'We can't really run,' said Ronny. 'We are in the middle of a forest and lost. We won't be able to find our way out.'

The three of them waited uneasily, keeping a careful watch around them. After fifteen minutes, Ono came back with a packet of cocaine. He handed it to Steve.

The packet was small. Steve weighed it discontentedly in his hands. 'Is that all we get for fifty thousand rupees?' he asked.

Ono shrugged. 'The quality is good so the quantity is low.'

'Well, how many grams is that?' asked Krati.

'Eight grams,' said Ono.

Steve tried to calculate on his fingers. 'So your rate is...'

'Rs 6,250 per gram,' said Krati.

Steve frowned. '...which is three times the usual price.'

Ono started getting annoyed. 'Like I said, the quality is good. Take it or leave it.'

Ronny, Krati and Steve exchanged glances. There was really nothing they could do. The Bull would not haggle.

'We'll take it... sir,' said Ronny, taking out the wads of cash stuffed in his pocket.

'One moment,' said Ono as he got a call. He began to speak in a language they couldn't understand. The three of them studied Ono. It seemed like he had got very bad news because he looked surprised, then shocked, and then angry. He grunted furiously into the phone. He took a deep breath to calm himself.

'Give me the cash,' said Ono, looking at the three of them very suspiciously.

Ronny quickly handed over the money.

'Follow me,' said Ono and they started walking further into the forest.

'Shouldn't we go the opposite way?' asked Krati.

'I have to make a stop first,' said Ono.

They walked for some time and reached a two-storeyed bungalow in the middle of a forest clearing. There was a tall, concrete wall around the compound. Two Nigerian men were sitting near the gate, warming their hands over a small fire. Two large machetes were placed on the ground near them.

The guards looked at Ronny, Krati and Steve suspiciously. 'Who are they?' one of the men asked.

'The boss wants to... meet them,' said Ono.

The men opened the gate and glared at the three of them.

'Why are we here? Why does the boss want to meet us?' Ronny asked Ono, very worried.

'You'll know soon enough,' Ono grunted.

Steve licked his lips nervously. 'Listen, man, you gave us drugs and we gave you money. I think we better get back to the party.'

'Soon,' said Ono. 'First, the boss will talk to you.'

As they approached the bungalow, two large, mangy Rottweilers went into a barking frenzy from a nearby kennel. A narrow metal staircase spiralled up outside the bungalow to the second floor. There were loud voices and reggae music coming from the house.

'Move,' growled Ono, pointing to the staircase.

'So why are we here?' asked Krati, apprehensively. 'We gave you all the money we had.'

'I swear, sir, we don't have any more money,' said Ronny.

Steve was anxious too. 'Please, man. Let us go. We don't want to meet your boss.'

Ono looked at the three of them thoughtfully. 'Unbelievable,' he muttered to himself.

'We promise to buy a lot more drugs,' Steve continued.

'I'll admit one thing,' said Ono. 'You are the best actors I've seen in my life.'

# 6

Solomon Oyeyibo was tall and muscular. He was wearing a white vest that showed off his strong, tattooed arms. He wore his long hair in crochet braids and had an ugly knife scar on his face. He studied Ronny, Krati and Steve coldly.

Oyeyibo had been a member of the dreaded Black Axe campus cult in Abuja University during his college days. After being wanted by the Nigerian police for a series of brutal attacks on other campus sects, he escaped to India on a student visa. He had a talent for crime and, after a few years of bloodshed and toil, he became one of the prominent drug lords in Goa.

Ronny, Krati and Steve were standing in a drab living room that had plastic chairs and cheap tables littered everywhere. The peeling walls were painted an ugly blue. A broken chandelier acted as a lamp and glimmered brightly from the floor near a plug socket. At least a dozen big Nigerian gangsters surrounded them.

'Incredible,' boomed Solomon Oyeyibo, glaring at Ronny, Krati and Steve. 'Absolutely incredible!'

'What is?' asked Steve meekly.

'You three!' said Oyeyibo, speaking in heavily accented English.

Steve was confused. 'Thanks but I don't understand.'

Oyeyibo narrowed his eyes. 'You thought you could fool me, eh?'

'We just wanted the drugs,' said Krati. 'And we paid a fair price for them.'

Oyeyibo laughed. The other gangsters around him grinned.

'Stop the act. I am not a fool,' Oyeyibo said, dangerously.

'What are you talking about?' asked Krati.

Oyeyibo spat out the words venomously. 'Bitch, you are police!'

'Me?' asked Krati, astounded.

'Let's kill them and be done with it,' muttered Zuna, a small, plump gangster, feeling the edge of his machete. He was the only man in the Nigerian gang who was less than six feet in height. His deep inferiority complex because of his short stature made him extremely belligerent.

'No, wait,' pleaded Steve. 'You've got it all wrong!'

'We... we... are not the police,' Ronny stammered. 'We have nothing to do with the police. I swear on God.'

'We found your jeep,' said Oyeyibo. 'You had covered the police sign with a piece of cloth.'

Ronny, Krati and Steve looked at each other. Realization dawned.

'Oh! So that's what all this is about? We can explain,' said Steve, feeling relieved. 'It's all just a big misunderstanding.'

Oyeyibo sniggered. 'Really? And what about the police uniforms inside?'

'They're fake,' said Krati. 'We planned to dress like the police and scam tourists. We are not the police. We are just pretending to be the police.'

'The lies just don't stop,' said Zuna. 'Let's kill them. They are dangerous.'

'What's with your aggression, man?' asked Steve angrily. 'We are innocent people. How can a white guy be an Indian cop?'

'There have been white informers before,' said Ono, quietly.

'Maybe they are RAW,' said Zuna in a hushed whisper. The gangsters looked at each other, concerned.

'What is a raw?' asked Steve. 'Man, I am not a raw. Just a tourist. Please believe me.'

Oyeyibo played with a large, sharp knife. 'I am impressed. The way you act even now, like you don't know anything. So who are you really? Which department do you work for?'

Ono the Bull slammed the table. 'I think I know what their plan is! They wanted us to find out that they are fake cops.'

'What do you mean?' asked Zuna.

'Notice how they left their jeep on the beach with the police sign and the uniforms. What a stupid, silly thing to do! Now, the real police would never do such a thing. They would be careful and professional.'

'So are you saying that they are not real cops? That their story is true?' asked Oyeyibo.

Ono laughed. 'Exactly the opposite. They wanted us to find the jeep. They knew that we would then bring them in for questioning. And that would give them the opportunity to study our set-up, our hideout, our leader. Then they tell us the fake cop story...'

Oyeyibo looked disturbed. '...we believe them and we let them go,' he said softly. 'And then they come at us with their whole team. The plan is brilliant.'

The gangsters looked around, some not fully comprehending, others mesmerized.

'Devious fucks,' Zuna snarled, frothing at his mouth in anger.

'It's the touches to detail that I like,' continued Ono. 'They even put those outrageous rims on the jeep to support their fake cop story.'

'I don't get it,' said Ronny. 'So are you saying that we are real cops... who are pretending to be fake?'

Oyeyibo whistled. 'We haven't dealt with this kind of devilry before,' he murmured. 'You are going to tell us which department you work for. The local policemen are on my payroll. So you have to be CID, NCB, ED, IB, RAW or Mumbai Police!'

'Please... you have this all wrong,' said Krati desperately.

'Search them, take their phones,' ordered Oyeyibo. 'I want six men to scout around the building. I want to be sure they are alone.'

The gangsters roughly searched the three of them and yanked away phones, purses and the cocaine packet.

'Put these monsters in the storeroom,' bellowed Oyeyibo. 'We'll torture them and find out who they are. Then we kill them and dump them in the sea.'

'No!' Steve protested while Ronny and Krati gulped in horror.

The gangsters grabbed the three of them and pushed them through a corridor into a dark storeroom. They were thrown onto the floor and the door banged shut behind them.

Ronny pounded on the door again and again. 'Let us out!' he shouted.

But there was no answer.

'Stop,' said Steve gloomily. 'They are not going to let us out. It's over.'

Ronny gave up hitting the door and crouched down on the floor near Steve and Krati. 'I'll never see Angelica again,' he said, teary-eyed. 'I am a failure. I haven't done anything useful in my life. What a fucked-up way to die! Murdered while buying drugs!'

'We can't give up,' said Krati. 'We have to convince these gangsters that we are not the police.'

'Impossible,' said Steve.

'Nothing we say is going to make any difference,' said Ronny, sadly.

'Then we must try and escape,' said Krati.

She got up and studied the room carefully. There was no furniture. A blue zero-watt bulb lit the room dimly. There were large sacks piled up on top of each other. She felt the sacks. They were full of rice.

'Why have they got all this rice here?' Krati wondered.

'That's how they bring in the drugs, probably.' Steve sounded listless.

Krati nodded. She noticed that there were no windows in the room. There was a tiny opening near the ceiling for ventilation, too small for anything bigger than a cat to squeeze through. There was a second door at the back of the room. She wondered what was on the other side. She tried to look through the keyhole and although it was too dark to see anything, she felt a cool draft of air on her cheek. She realized that the door must be opening to a balcony of some sort. She checked to see that the door was locked from the inside with a small lock.

'If we break this lock, we can get onto the balcony,' said Krati, excitedly.

Ronny and Steve looked at the lock.

'We need an object of some sort,' said Ronny, searching the room.

'What about my shoes?' asked Krati, taking one off and handing it to Ronny. It looked strong.

'Let's try,' said Ronny.

He hit the lock with the shoe. The heel broke.

'Sorry,' said Ronny with a sigh. 'We don't have anything for breaking the lock.'

'And even if we did, we are on the second floor,' Steve reminded them. 'Are we going to jump from this height?'

Krati slumped down on the floor, all her fight gone. 'There is nothing to do then,' she said quietly.

'How do you think they'll torture us?' asked Steve.

'Jesus!' said Ronny, clasping his head. 'I don't want to think about that.'

Steve grimaced. 'I wish I had never come to India.'

They heard the door being unfastened.

'So it begins,' whispered Steve.

The three of them looked fearfully at Ono the Bull as he stepped into the room. The reggae music was loud behind him. He crept into the room and looked behind to see if anyone was watching. He shut the door silently, took a swig from a Jameson bottle in his hand and studied the three of them carefully.

Ronny's hopes rose for a moment seeing the way Ono had sneaked into the room. He might have come to free us. Maybe he feels guilty. But the look on the Bull's face dashed it.

Ono was drunk and he had a nasty leer. 'I need some sexual pleasure before they kill you,' he said.

Krati looked at him dreadfully. 'What?' she cried.

'You heard me,' said Ono.

Ronny got up. 'Don't touch her!' he said furiously.

Ono was amused. 'Who's talking about the girl?'

Ronny was flabbergasted. 'I... I... I'm not gay,' he mumbled.

Ono grinned. 'You think that's going to stop me? Anyway, I am more interested in the white boy.'

Steve gulped.

'You are an animal,' said Krati. 'We trusted you!'

Ronny felt like he couldn't breathe. 'Oh God, you are going to rape him!' he whispered in shock.

'No one's raping anyone,' said Steve, looking Ono up and down carefully. 'I'll do it voluntarily.'

There was a moment of silence. Everyone looked at him, amazed.

'But I have a few conditions, first we'll kiss... then you give me five minutes to prepare myself... taking off my clothes and such... and then we do it...'

'I think he has lost his mind,' said Ronny.

'Shut up!' said Steve. 'If I want to make love to this magnificent, incredible, beautiful man... a black Greek God... I will...'

Ono was bemused. 'Why should I wait after the kiss?'

'It's Tantric sex,' said Steve. 'An ancient Indian way of making love.'

Ono was thoughtful. 'I could just bend you over and take you right now...'

'Or I could give you the night of your life,' Steve retorted.

'Fine. We kiss. Then I'll give you five minutes and we do it.'

'I didn't know you were gay,' said Ronny to Steve.

'Well, for such an amazing, marvellous, powerful man... I've turned gay,' said Steve.

'Steve, you don't have to do this. If they are going kill us, we might us as well die fighting,' said Krati, pleading with him.

'Shut up, woman!' said Steve, disdainfully.

Ronny and Krati watched in disbelief as Ono sauntered closer to Steve. Steve held the Bull's massive hands gently and moved his lips to Ono's. They kissed, gently at first and then passionately. Steve moved his hands seductively all over Ono's body. Ono was getting turned on. He grabbed Steve roughly and pushed him against the wall.

'OK, stop,' said Steve, teasingly, getting away from Ono's grasp.

Ono's face was flushed with pleasure. Ronny and Krati gaped.

'Five minutes, big boy,' said Steve. 'While I get undressed.'

Ono grinned happily. 'So be it.' He pinched Steve's ass playfully and walked out of the room.

'What the fuck is going on?' Ronny asked Steve.

'Have you lost your mind?' asked Krati. 'Why did you...'

Steve bent over and retched. He spat, looking disgusted. 'I have never kissed a man before. It's horrible,' he said.

'Why then...' began Krati when Steve tossed a phone towards them.

Ronny caught it and looked at it, astounded. 'What the...'

'You took his phone!' cried Krati. 'That's what this was all about! You are brilliant!' She hugged him tightly and kissed him on his lips.

'Not now,' said Steve. 'I taste of the fucking Bull.'

'Steve, you are a fucking genius, man,' said Ronny, impressed. He looked at the phone and beamed. 'It's not locked!'

'Call the police,' said Krati.

Ronny hurriedly dialled 100, the emergency police number. He waited impatiently as the phone rang for what seemed like an eternity.

'Hello!' said a bored, sleepy voice finally. 'Goa Police.'

'We are in danger. We have been kidnapped by gangsters. We need help as soon as possible,' said Ronny hurriedly.

There was silence on the line for a few seconds.

'Hello?' said Ronny.

'We will send someone once the patrol is back. Goodbye,' said the voice.

'Wait. When will the patrol be back?'

'I don't know.'

'What do you mean you don't know?' asked Ronny, exasperated.

'I mean I don't know. We'll send someone once they come back.'

'We might be dead by then!'

'Sorry. I can't do anything else. Goodbye.'

Ronny was desperately trying to stay calm. 'Wait. You don't even know where I am!'

'Didn't you tell me?'

'Jesus Christ... No... I didn't tell you!'

'Oh... Where are you?'

Ronny suddenly realized that he didn't know where they were. 'Somewhere in a forest... I...'

'We'll send the police. Goodbye!' The line went dead.

Ronny looked at Steve and Krati. 'The police won't help.'

'What do you mean?' asked Steve, shocked.

'It's Indian police, Steve,' Krati muttered. 'What do you expect?'

Steve paced around the room in a frenzy. 'Can we maybe call your friends, your uncle?' he asked urgently.

Ronny shook his head. 'It'll take them three or four hours just to reach this area and then they'll have to search for this bungalow. We don't even know where we are.'

'We have a phone. There must be something we can do!' said Krati, seizing the phone from Ronny.

'The five minutes are almost up,' said Steve. 'We better figure something out or else I'm going to be raped by the Bull.'

Krati scrolled through the phone. She went to the contact list and noticed a contact that said 'Boss'.

'I think this is the number of the gang leader. What if we sent him a text stating that this place is about to be raided by the police?' she asked.

'It won't work,' said Ronny. 'The message is going to come from the Bull's phone.'

Krati checked the phone. 'OK... Well, I can access the net so we'll use Ruble.'

'What's Ruble?' asked Ronny.

'A website that can send an SMS message anonymously.'

Steve nodded furiously. 'Yeah, try that!'

'But will the gangsters believe it?' asked Ronny.

'I guess we'll know soon enough,' said Krati.

Krati went through the phone contacts again. She saw a contact called 'Inspector Dhoble'.

'I think this might just work,' said Krati as she logged on to Ruble and quickly typed a message: 'Raid imminent. Encounter squads coming. They are going to shoot to kill. Escape. Leave prisoners. Hurt them and you'll be hunted down. I'm being monitored. Don't call – Dhoble.'

She showed the message to Ronny and Steve and then sent it.

'What about the phone?' asked Steve. 'They better not find it with us.'

There were sounds of the door being unlatched. Ronny quickly grabbed the phone from Krati and threw it out of the small ventilator opening near the ceiling. His aim was good and they heard a dull thud as it fell outside on the concrete of the ground floor.

Ono the Bull stepped into the room expectantly. He looked at Steve, disappointed. 'I thought you would be undressed,' he complained.

'I... yes, I was just about to...,' Steve stammered.

Ono looked at him suspiciously. 'When? Is this some sort of trick?'

'It's Tantric sex,' said Steve. 'First, we'll just sit together for a bit, getting our energies aligned...'

'Fuck Tantric sex! You know what, I actually want to do you while you scream,' Ono spat out the words furiously.

He had taken a step towards Steve when there were loud bangs on the door. 'Ono, are you inside?' asked Zuna.

Ono was puzzled. The music had stopped. There were shouts coming from outside. The gangsters seemed to be in a state of panic.

Ono opened the door. 'What's going on?' he asked.

'We have to get out! Encounter squads are on their way,' said Zuna.

Ono looked at the prisoners. 'And what about them?'

'We leave them.'

Ono was surprised. 'Alive?'

'That's what the boss said.'

Ono and Zuna stepped out of the room and locked the door.

Ronny, Krati and Steve listened to the thuds and bangs as the gang cleared the hideout. Five minutes later, they heard the roar of motorbikes as the gangsters took off.

The three of them looked at each other, not believing their luck.

'It actually worked,' said Krati.

Steve suddenly grabbed Krati and kissed her passionately. Ronny looked away, a little uncomfortable.

'Well, we are safe,' said Ronny.

'We actually outwitted these dangerous gangsters!' Steve grinned.

Krati shook her head in disbelief. "What a crazy night!'

'This is what a second life feels like,' said Steve, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

They let the moment sink in.

'Um, now what?' asked Ronny.

'Oh!' said Steve, looking around the room. 'We are still trapped.'

'And we threw away the phone,' said Krati.

Ronny went to the door and tried to open it. 'It won't budge. It's too thick and strong to be kicked open.'

'Not this one,' said Steve, feeling the balcony door carefully. He hit it with his shoulders.

Ronny helped him. Both of them started banging against the door, again and again. It fell open with a loud crash. The three of them stepped out into the second floor balcony.

Krati leaned over the parapet and looked at the ground below them. It was made of concrete. 'We can't jump from this height,' she said.

Ronny walked around the balcony, looking for pipes or footholds on the wall to help them climb down. But there were none.

'If only we were on the beach,' Steve muttered. 'We could have risked the jump. We'll break our necks on that concrete slab.'

Krati shook her head in frustration. 'I wish there was something useful in the room, like bed sheets, to lower ourselves onto the ground.'

Ronny sighed. 'There's nothing but big, fucking, useless sacks of rice.'

The three of them stood silently for a moment, thinking. An idea suddenly struck Ronny. He walked into the storeroom and looked at the sacks. Steve and Krati followed him.

'It just might work,' said Ronny quietly.

Steve and Krati glanced at each other. They knew what Ronny was thinking.

Steve nodded. 'It might.'

Krati took a deep breath. 'The horror just doesn't end,'

One by one, they lifted the heavy sacks and threw them out of the balcony onto the ground. It was back-breaking work and by the time they were done, they were sweating profusely and sore all over.

They looked down at the rice sacks lying together, hoping they had made a soft landing pad. It was time to jump.

'I'll go first,' said Steve courageously.

He climbed onto the parapet of the balcony and balanced himself on the narrow edge. He looked at the sacks below him. He stood motionless for almost a minute, gathering his courage.

'Aren't you going to jump?' asked Ronny.

'It's terrifying,' Steve muttered.

'Just do it,' said Krati.

Steve took a deep breath. Then he jumped down with a loud scream. He hit the sacks with a thud. He got up holding his ankle and limped away. 'I did it!' he said happily.

Ronny stepped onto the parapet next.

'You can do it, man!' Steve encouraged him.

Ronny stood nervously at the edge, looking down at the sacks.

'Don't be a fucking pussy!' yelled Steve. 'Jump!'

Ronny was angry. 'Dude, shut the fuck up!'

But Steve was too excited by his jump to stay quiet. He continued to try and motivate Ronny. 'Do it!' he cried. 'Courage is not the absence of fear but the triumph over it. A brave man is not one who does not feel afraid but one who conquers his fear!'

The motivation wasn't helping.

'I can't do this,' said Ronny.

'You know what John Wayne said?' asked Steve. 'Courage is being scared to death but saddling up anyway!'

'Wait a minute,' said Ronny, climbing off the parapet. 'The gangsters left in a hurry. They may have left the house open. Come to the second floor and unlock the storeroom door!'

Steve wasn't too happy. 'But you guys have to overcome your fear!'

'Fuck that,' said Ronny.

Steve looked at them with disapproval. 'It's likely that they locked the house.'

'Please just check!' said Krati. 'And hurry!'

A couple of minutes later they heard the storeroom door being unlatched. Steve opened the door. Ronny pummelled the air in happiness.

They stepped into the living room and noticed that the house had been emptied and left in disorder. Chairs and tables were overturned. Anything valuable had been taken. They searched the house hurriedly, hoping to find their drugs. But they were gone. In a table drawer, they found their purses and phones. They quickly went down the staircase. They noticed that the kennels were empty.

Outside the bungalow, there were four paths leading into the thick forests surrounding them.

'Where did we come from?' asked Ronny.

They looked around indecisively.

'Listen!' said Krati.

In the distance, they could hear faint sounds.

'What is that?' asked Ronny.

'It's the party! It's still going on,' said Steve.

'How come we didn't hear it when we were in the forest earlier?' asked Krati.

'It's gotten louder,' said Steve. 'This must be the climax. The party is about to end.'

Krati switched on her phone torch light. 'We follow the music then.'

By the time they reached, the sky had started brightening.

'Dawn is here,' said Steve.

The DJs announced the last track, much to the dismay of the frenzied, drug-addled crowd. The jeep was still parked in the same place and there didn't seem to be any Nigerian gangsters around.

Their elation at escaping had begun to ebb and they were forced to confront reality.

'We lost all the money,' said Ronny.

'I guess this is a dismal failure,' Steve muttered.

Krati nodded at a group dancing nearby. 'There's the guy you punched.'

'The only good thing that happened tonight,' said Steve with a sigh.

Ronny was surprised. 'You punched someone? Why?'

'Long story, man,' said Steve. 'I can't believe we were running away from these idiots!'

'After dealing with Nigerian gangsters, they seem like kids,' said Krati.

'Well, who are they?' asked Ronny curiously.

'A bunch of spoilt children. They were the ones who told me about the Bull,' said Krati. 'They had bought 100 grams of coke.'

Ronny was stunned. 'Jesus. Just for the four of them?'

Krati nodded. 'I guess.'

'I'm surprised they aren't OD-ing,' said Ronny.

'100 grams, eh?' asked Steve, as a thought crossed his mind.

'Yeah,' said Krati.

Steve narrowed his eyes. 'And they have it on their person?'

Krati pointed at an Audi Q7 parked in the distance. 'They said it was in their car.'

Steve grinned. 'Let's see if it's still there.'

'Are we going to steal their coke?' asked Ronny uneasily.

'Yes,' said Steve. 'The battle isn't over yet.'

They walked to the SUV and saw the coke packet lying on the front seat. The music was deafening and no one heard the car alarm as Steve started smashing the front window of the Q7 with a log of wood. The glass shattered.

'I've always wanted to do that,' Steve laughed, as he reached out and grabbed the coke packet. A few partygoers had started to notice the flashing lights of the car.

Steve threw the packet to Ronny, who weighed it in his hands. 'Wow, it's really heavy,' said Ronny, greedily.

'They are coming!' said Krati. 'Let's go!'

The four Indian guys were running towards them.

Ronny, Krati and Steve dashed to their jeep and clambered inside. Ronny started the jeep and swerved it away from the beach just as one of them caught up.

The guy grabbed onto the back of the moving jeep and started trying to climb inside. He looked at Steve, seething with rage. 'I'm going to kill you!' he screeched.

Steve realized it was the guy he had punched.

'We meet again,' said Steve, happily, as he winked at the guy and aimed a careful kick at the fingers clutching the jeep. The guy lost his grip and fell away, screaming in fury.

The jeep sped along a mud path and left the party behind.

Ronny banged the steering wheel in delight. 'We did it! We got the drugs!' he yelled.

'What a crazy night!' said Krati in disbelief.

Steve laughed uproariously. 'This is life, man. This is fucking life!'

They left the mud path and got onto NH-17. The smooth, empty highway cut through coconut groves and paddy fields.

'Look,' said Krati, pointing towards the east.

The night mist was dissipating and the sun peeped out from the horizon. Their hearts were soaring after the adventure and it was the most beautiful sunrise they had ever seen in their lives.

# 7

Steve slung a hammock in the balcony of his cheap motel. He made himself comfortable in it and glanced down at the busy Arambol road below him. It was lined with shops selling the typical hippie fare to tourists, from crystals to leather trinkets and jewellery to handbags. Directly below his building was a taxi stand where the local goons hung out. Although it was the off-season, there were still a sizeable number of Russian tourists walking about. Steve wasn't very fond of the Russians. He thought they were mostly rude and glum.

Steve had got himself a few cold Kingfisher beers in an ice box and a packet of Marlboros for the day. He needed to recover from the night of madness. It had been two days since the rave adventure and he had avoided Ronny and Krati after that. He had to refuel and rejuvenate before he could deal with that type of insanity again. Things might get even crazier, he mused.

Steve sipped the beer and closed his eyes. The afternoon sun warmed his face pleasantly. He took a few deep breaths to get into a meditative state and then turned on his iPod. Nothing was more relaxing and soothing for the nerves than listening to XFM radio podcasts with Ricky Gervais, Steven Merchant and the hilarious philosopher, Karl Pilkington.

SM: I've got a fact for you, Karl. This might interest you. The ancient Babylonians had...

KP: Let me stop you there...

SM: What?

RG: What's a Babylonian?

RG & SM: (Loud laughter)

RG: What do you mean what's a Babylonian?

KP: I've never heard of one.

RG: What is an Evertonian?

KP: Someone from Everton.

RG: So what's a Babylonian?

KP: Someone from Baba.

RG & SM: (Loud laughter)

RG: Karl, you are an idiot, play a record!

Steve grinned. Life is not too bad.

His phone rang. It was Krati. Steve grimaced. He had ignored her repeated calls all day. He finally gave in and answered.

'I'm de-stressing,' said Steve. 'Can I call you tomorrow?'

'It's been two days since we got the drugs!' complained Krati.

'I'm not used to these kinds of... dangers. I need time to rejuvenate.'

Krati sighed. 'So are we meeting tomorrow at least?'

'Yeah.'

Krati hung up curtly. 'Bye.'

The girl is cute but crazy. All this drug-selling nonsense had been her plan. She had serious fucking issues. He regretted joining her gang and becoming a criminal. But it was too late now. He couldn't really quit.

Steve closed his eyes and went off to sleep.

The immediate horror of his break-up had begun to recede. The shock and piercing heartache had been replaced by a dull, throbbing pain. Ronny knew that he had to keep Angelica off his mind, at least till he was ready to win her back again. Or else every day would be an excruciating struggle. The only way he could do so was by completely cutting himself off from her. He deleted her number, which wasn't very useful as he knew it by heart anyway. He took her off his Google Hangouts and Skype accounts. He blocked her on WhatsApp and Facebook.

But at choir practice when he saw Angelica again, everything came flooding back. The pain, anger and hurt. She was wearing a bright yellow kameez and tight jeans that accentuated her slim, perfect figure. For some reason, she wasn't wearing her usual eyeliner and this seemed to make her more beautiful than ever. Why does she have to look like a fucking angel? It took all of Ronny's strength to focus on playing the piano. As Sister Julia badgered the choir to ensure that they got every note of every hymn absolutely perfect, Ronny's mind was exploding with a torrent of thoughts and emotions. Did Angelica think of him these days? Did she wish things were different? She had to feel something for him. After all, they had shared so many beautiful moments together.

Ronny hoped they would at least make eye contact but she was carefully avoiding looking at him. He wondered if she was upset at him for blocking her on his social media accounts. But she didn't look very upset. She was cheerful and seemed to be glowing. The break-up agrees with her, he thought, wryly.

How could she be so casual about the whole thing? It was like she just didn't care about him anymore. How did you deal with someone falling out of love?

Ronny couldn't help comparing himself with her new boyfriend. It was depressing. The guy was better looking than him, in better shape than him and far, far richer than him. So what if the fucking cunt is an asshole? Girls like assholes like him. He has a fucking BMW! I've never even sat in one!

The choir practice ended. Ronny had firmly decided that he would not talk to Angelica. But he just couldn't control himself. His heart seemed to be beating out of his chest as he walked up to her. She was reading something on the notice board at the entrance of the church.

'Hi,' he said, politely.

'What's up?' asked Angelica.

'How are you?'

'Good.'

'I'm sorry about the fight...'

Angelica shrugged. 'Whatever.'

'And the Facebook thing. I just needed to do that.'

'What Facebook thing?'

Ronny suddenly realized that she had not even noticed that he had blocked her. I'm a moron. 'I... nothing, nothing,' he said quickly.

Angelica got a call. Her eyes lit up. 'I need to go,' she said, looking at the phone. 'I'll see you at the dance.'

'Sure,' said Ronny.

He watched her walk to the church compound gate and wait. He felt stupid at having talked to her. She couldn't have been more uninterested in him. She just doesn't care anymore.

The dance! Every year, the Anjuna Catholic Association organized a formal western dance for its members. It was a popular event and, for the past four years, Ronny and Angelica had danced together. This year she would naturally be with her new boyfriend. There was no way he could deal with seeing the love of his life in another man's arms. He wouldn't go.

Outside the church compound, a BMW pulled up. It was the new boyfriend. He got out of the car and Ronny saw Angelica hugging him. She was beaming. She was happy.

It was then that he finally realized the truth. She had moved on. Completely. She was in love with a new guy.

It was over.

Ronny, Krati and Steve sat on some rocks at Anjuna beach. It was a warm, sunny afternoon and the beach was full of tourists who had come for the Wednesday flea market. The beach shacks were playing loud music and the atmosphere was festive.

They look around, searching for the right victim.

'How do we know who wants drugs?' asked Ronny.

'We just have to ask till we find someone,' said Krati.

Ronny studied the vendors and touts who were roaming about the beach and hassling tourists to buy everything from snacks and trinkets to balloons and LED sling flycopters. He knew that any of them could be working as informers for the Anjuna drug gangs, warning them of police raids and the activities of other gangs.

'Watch out for any real drug dealers. If they catch us selling, we are in trouble,' said Ronny.

'What about them?' asked Steve, pointing to a group of six young foreigners.

Ronny and Krati studied them. There were three guys and three girls. They all looked like they were in their early twenties. The group was preparing to pitch a volleyball net on the beach.

'OK, so the plan is to first be friends with them,' said Krati. 'Then sell them the drugs, after which we follow them to a lonely spot and pretend to arrest them.'

Ronny and Krati looked at Steve expectantly.

'What?' asked Steve.

'What do you mean... what?' asked Ronny.

'You have to infiltrate that group and sell them drugs,' said Krati.

'Why me?' asked Steve.

Ronny rolled his eyes. 'Because you are white,' he said.

Steve narrowed his gaze. 'That's racist, man.'

'They'll trust you more, Steve. Besides, we both are going to be the cops,' said Krati.

Steve got up reluctantly.

'Sell below the market rate so they'll be more eager to buy them,' instructed Krati.

Steve nodded. 'If they do drugs at all, that is...'

Steve walked over to the group. Ronny and Krati looked at him high-fiving everyone in the group and joining in their volleyball game. Krati took out her phone and started taking pictures of the sights around her.

'Are you going to sell your phone?' asked Ronny.

Krati smiled. 'Only if our plan doesn't work.'

'What do you do in Bombay?'

'I was trying to be an actress.'

'Was?'

Krati nodded. 'For about four years. But that's over. It's not for me.'

'Why?'

'I'm sick and tired of it all. It's just too sleazy, you know. And I could barely pay the rent with the few modelling assignments I was getting.'

'What about your parents? Were they OK with your career choice?'

Krati rolled her eyes. 'My parents think I work in an MNC.'

'Wow. So what now?' asked Ronny.

'What do you mean?'

'What are you going to do with your life?'

Krati shrugged. 'I don't know.'

She turned to him and framed him in her phone camera. Ronny titled his head and made a rock-and-roll hand sign for the camera.

'Stop posing, just be yourself,' Krati laughed.

Ronny consciously tried to look natural.

'So what about you?' asked Krati. 'What do you want to do?'

'I want to be a musician. I play a few gigs here and there.'

'What instrument do you play?'

'I can play everything, I guess. But mostly the mandolin.'

'Cool!'

'I still have a long way to go before I'm any good.' Ronny sighed.

They looked at Steve rolling on the sand with laughter.

'He's having fun,' said Krati.

Krati got a text message. It was from Kunal. She opened it warily.

It said: 'Miss You. Miss You. Miss You. Miss You. Miss You. Miss You. Miss You. Miss You. Miss You. Miss You. Miss You. Miss You. Miss You. Miss You. Miss You. Miss You.'

Ronny peeked at the message, curious. 'Who's Kunal?' he asked.

Krati closed the message quickly. 'No one,' she said.

'Come on,' Ronny protested. 'After everything we have been through, you can trust me...'

'My ex,' she said.

'What happened?' asked Ronny.

'I don't want to talk about it. It's too painful.'

'I know what you mean,' said Ronny. 'But the guy seems kinda like me.'

'What?'

'You know, I am... was... trying to win back my ex... and he seems to be trying to win back his...'

'He's nothing like you. He's a model.'

Ronny was annoyed. 'I may not be very good-looking but...'

'I meant he is an asshole.'

'Oh, OK. Thanks, I guess. Hey, can I ask you something personal?'

Krati glanced at him uneasily. 'Depends on how personal it is.'

'Is Steve your boyfriend?' asked Ronny.

Krati shook her head. 'No.'

'The other guy?'

'Which other guy?'

'The one who had come to visit you.'

'Nothing happened with Felix.'

'Isn't it awkward, you know, to be intimate with someone you just met... you knew them for what... a few hours before...,' Ronny stopped, suddenly realizing he was on hazardous territory.

'You would never ask a guy that question, will you?' said Krati, a little annoyed. 'Anyway, that is too personal.'

She got up and brushed the sand off her legs. 'I'm going to take some more pictures. Call me once Steve is done,' she said.

Ronny nodded and watched her as she walked away.

Krati walked into a nearby beachside café and ordered a King's beer. She sipped it thoughtfully, sitting on the granite steps that led up to the Anjuna cliffs. Thoughts of Kunal were swirling around in her mind. She looked at his text message again. Did he really miss her? Would he change? Could they possibly get back together? She quickly caught herself. People don't change. Not really. That only happened in films. No, he is just playing one of his manipulative games. She deleted the message. Why won't he leave me alone?

She had met Kunal at a television commercial shoot for a motorbike brand. He had been the male model opposite her. Kunal was tall, handsome, rugged-looking and had a perfectly chiselled body. From the moment they had been introduced to each other by the director, Kunal had been flirting with her. He was such a pro at it that in the beginning Krati hadn't even realized what he was doing. He was friendly and charming, with an attractive, dimpled smile.

What she didn't know then was that Kunal was a PUA, a pick-up artist. That was a term popularized by journalist Neill Strauss, who had stumbled upon the seduction community, a sexual subculture in America. It referred to a secret society of men who had worked out specific seduction techniques. Their objective was to sleep with as many women as possible. Strauss' book, The Game, which chronicled his transformation into a PUA, had become a bestseller and had unleashed a controversial movement of young men using morally questionable strategies and misogynistic mind games to have sex with women.

Kunal, along with a group of model friends, had jumped headlong into the worldwide pick-up movement. They called themselves 'The Hounds'. They kept detailed Excel sheets of their conquests and were in constant competition with each other. They compared notes, told each other stories of the girls they slept with in graphic detail, videotaped their lovemaking sessions, exchanged books on pick-up procedures and discussed their strategies. When Kunal met Krati at the shoot, he decided that she would be Girl No. 63 on his list. But things had turned out to be harder than he had anticipated.

Kunal carefully followed his step-by-step seduction strategy with Krati. He opened with a joke, subtly introduced sex into their conversation, got friendly and playful with her, made sure that he paid her a series of negative compliments to psychologically make her want to gain his affection and then started his casual, non-threatening touches to get her to be physically comfortable with him. It ranged from holding her arm to an occasional nudge to taking selfies with her, which meant their bodies would touch. He was hoping to 'close' her that night. He planned on taking her to a friend's place for a 'party', getting her drunk and then fucking her. He was proud of his ability to have sex with girls the same day he met them.

After the shoot, Krati and Kunal exchanged numbers. Kunal suggested that they go to his friend's place for a birthday party. He was insistent and desperately tried to coax Krati. But she refused. Even though she was attracted to him, she felt it was too soon to have a night out with him.

Kunal was not disheartened. Nothing turned him on like a girl's resistance. It was taking longer than he anticipated but he was not one to give up easily. They started WhatsApping on the night of the shoot.

Kunal: The only good thing about the shoot was you!

Krati: Really? The director is one of the best ad filmmakers in the country.

Kunal: Who?

Krati: Rohit Iyer, the director.

Kunal: Sorry the shoot was a blank. I don't remember much. It's your fault ;)

Krati: Do you talk to all girls this way?

Kunal: No, the only other girl I was so obsessed with was my ex-girlfriend.

Krati: Lol... So you are obsessed with me? After knowing me for just a few hours?

Kunal: Sometimes a few hours are all you need.

Krati: So what happened to your gf?

Kunal: What do you mean?

Krati: Why did you break up?

Kunal: Life...

Krati: Life?

Kunal: She cheated on me, actually. You know models, how they are...

Krati: Oh, I'm sorry.

Kunal: You seem so different from most models.

Krati: I know :)

Kunal: :*

Kunal: That was a kiss on your cheek.

Krati: uh huh...

Kunal: :*

Kunal: This one was on your lips.

Krati: I didn't give you permission ;(

Kunal: Oops. I can't take it back now, though. I apologize.

Kunal: So what time are we meeting tomorrow?

Krati: We are not meeting tomorrow.

Kunal: Are you sure?

Krati: You don't even know if I have a boyfriend.

Kunal: It doesn't matter.

Krati: Really?

Kunal: We are meant to be together!

Krati: Destiny, eh?

Kunal: Yeah. So what time tomorrow?

Krati: I need some time to think, Kunal.

Kunal: You have the whole night.

After a week of hesitation, Krati finally agreed to a date. Kunal had been peppering her with messages, poems and pictures. He had even started sending bouquets of flowers to her house. How does he know where I stay? Krati wondered. Is this cool or creepy? Am I dealing with a stalker or is he someone who's deeply in love? Her roommate, Asha, had been amused at her getting so many flowers. They joked about opening a flower shop.

Kunal promised her that if she didn't want to continue their budding relationship after their date, he would respect her wishes and not trouble her anymore. Krati was both flattered and uneasy at the attention. Kunal was extremely good-looking and seemed like a nice guy but there was something about him that felt fake, like it was all an act. She couldn't quite put a finger on it.

Kunal had planned out the date carefully. He picked up Krati from her apartment on his bike. She had told him that she could come directly to the restaurant on her Scooty but Kunal had insisted on being a 'gentleman' and picking her up. Of course, the real reason was that he wanted to make sure that he controlled the 'logistics' of the date. Krati would be dependent on him for transportation that night.

They went to Red Box in Andheri. It was packed that Thursday night with the usual crowd of film industry wannabes: TV actors, B-grade producers and models. But the décor was cool and the ambience nice. Kunal made sure that he sat next to Krati and not opposite her. They had beer and barbecued chicken pizza. The conversation was smooth and Kunal made sure he was playfully touching Krati the whole time. Towards the end of the dinner, Kunal got a call. He groaned looking at the number.

'Is everything OK?' asked Krati.

Kunal clasped his head unhappily. 'I forgot my best friend's birthday.'

'Well, answer the call,' she said.

Kunal took the call reluctantly. 'I'm so sorry, brother,' he said into the phone. 'I'm out with a special friend and I don't think I can... oh, OK... But only for a very, very short time...'

He hung up and turned to Krati apologetically. 'My friend is really furious. Is it fine if we pop into his place for a couple of minutes? There's a party going on. I'll wish him and then drop you back.'

'You know, that's not a problem,' said Krati. 'You could stay longer. I'll take a rickshaw back. It's no big deal.'

'Nonsense... I promised you the perfect date. I'm going to drop you back home.'

Kunal's friend, Rohit, the birthday boy, lived in a run-down building in Oshiwara. There was no elevator and Kunal and Krati had to walk up to the fourth floor. Kunal rang the bell. Rohit opened the door. He was a fellow model, tall and muscular. Kunal and Rohit exchanged a quick, knowing glance.

'You are late,' Rohit complained.

Krati peered into the apartment. The place was empty. There was no trace of the birthday party except for a few glasses lying around and streamers scattered on the floor. The flat was lit with colourful zero-watt bulbs which set a romantic mood. Slow music was playing from a computer.

Kunal was pleased. Rohit had followed his instructions to the letter.

'Happy birthday,' said Kunal. 'Where is everyone?'

'They left,' Rohit sighed.

Kunal pretended to be shocked. 'What? It's just 10 p.m.'

'It's the bloody society, yaar,' said Rohit, grumpily. 'They had a problem with so many guests coming over.'

Kunal shook his head. 'Living in Andheri is tough, bro.'

'Anyway, I'm glad you came,' said Rohit. 'You know, I'm expecting my girlfriend at any moment, bro, and I was going out to get some cigarettes. Just stay here for a bit, have a drink and open the door when she comes.'

'Sorry, yaar, but we have to leave...,' Kunal started protesting.

Rohit was annoyed. 'You forgot my birthday, bro. The least you can do is spend some time here.' He walked into the kitchen. 'But first we'll do a toast!' he said loudly.

Kunal turned to Krati. 'I'm sorry but we'll be out in ten minutes.'

In the kitchen Rohit poured cheap wine into three glasses. He then furtively added a small tablet into one of the glasses. He came out to the living room with the wine and the three of them toasted to Rohit's good health. They gulped down their drinks.

'That was strong,' said Krati. Rohit poured them both more wine and left to get cigarettes. Krati started feeling quite tipsy. Kunal sat close to her on the couch, talking. The evening had gone perfectly for him. I'm almost there, he thought, excitedly. Now he had to get Krati to be comfortable with the idea of sex and then get her into the bedroom.

'Let me see your shoes,' he said suddenly.

Krati lifted her leg and Kunal gently held her ankle, examining the shoe with a lot of concentration. 'Interesting,' he finally said.

'What is?' asked Krati.

'These are good shoes,' said Kunal.

'OK?'

'You know what it means, though, right?'

'What does it mean?'

'Good taste in shoes means good taste in underwear.'

'I have never heard that before,' Krati laughed.

'It's true,' Kunal grinned. 'Well, there is only one way to find out.' He slowly moved his hands towards her skirt. Krati laughed as she pushed him away.

He then told her a funny story about his neighbours having noisy sex. After the story, Kunal leaned into Krati and tried to kiss her. The first time, Krati was resistant and gently moved her head away. But Kunal was persistent and tried again after a few minutes. This time, she gave in. He kissed her gently, his tongue probing and teasing. It's only a kiss, thought Krati. No need to freak out.

Kunal suddenly got up from the couch and pointed to an old, battered gramophone in a corner. 'Let's get better music here. Old music from actual records. No more computer stuff.' He had looked at Krati's Facebook page and knew that she liked old rock classics.

'Rohit has some old vinyl records,' he said. 'Help me select a good one.'

Kunal held Krati's hand and took her to Rohit's bedroom. He took out a dozen records from a shelf and gave them to Krati. She sat on the bed, going through the titles. Everything seemed to be going blurry, which surprised her as she had had only had two small glasses of wine. She was finding it hard to concentrate.

Kunal sat next to her on the bed and hugged her. 'You are so nice, you know. I really like you,' he whispered, softly.

Krati smiled. Kunal kissed her, passionately this time. Krati let her mind go blank. Kunal's hands moved up and down her body, caressing her, and then slid up her dress. She could feel his bulging muscles as he expertly took off her skirt. His mouth never left hers as he undid her bra. He took off his clothes and climbed on top of her. They lay naked, entwined, as Kunal nibbled at her body. He was forceful and demanding. Her world started spinning.

Down in the building parking lot, Rohit sat on a bike, smoking a cigarette. He checked the time. It had been over an hour since he had left them in the flat. Kunal had told him that he would give him a missed call when it was time for Rohit to return. He looked up to the fourth-floor window, hoping to catch a glimpse of what was happening inside. But the curtains were drawn. Rohit felt jealous. They are probably still doing it. Kunal's a lucky fucker. The girl was very pretty.

Kunal lay on the bed, sweating and spent. Krati had dozed off on his chest. He felt satisfied. Usually after Kunal had sex with a girl, he completely lost interest in her. He rarely bothered to answer the phone calls or messages of any of his conquests. He would block them on Facebook and WhatsApp. He was thinking of waking up Krati and asking her to leave when he happened to glance at her phone. The phone was unlocked and he started going through her photo gallery. He was surprised at the pictures of her family life in Indore. He realized that although she didn't show it, she came from a powerful family. Kunal was impressed looking at the VIP cars and armed police guards at her parents' house.

He was getting only a few modelling shoots and earning about 35,000 rupees a month. A pittance, considering his expenses were out of control. He stayed in a 1BHK in Oshiwara that cost 20,000 rupees per month. He had to support his 'model lifestyle' of going to parties, maintaining his body, paying gym fees and buying branded clothes. His protein shake alone cost him 10,000 rupees every month. He was always struggling to make ends meet.

An idea struck him. Krati would be the perfect girlfriend. He could ask her for money and she was the nice sort, easily controlled and manipulated. Her parents would ensure that her career took off and he could be part of her rise. He would be able to network and build contacts through her.

She was already in love; he could see that. He grinned. It's not her fault. I am too fucking hot. For a moment, as he looked at her sleeping, her hair falling over her face, he felt a little guilty. This is a dog-eat-dog world, he reminded himself. This city is a brutal place. I have to do whatever it takes to survive. So he would pretend to love her. That would be good for his career.

'Hey,' said Kunal caressing Krati's hair. She stirred. 'Baby... we have to get you back home,' he said, softly.

Krati smiled. He kissed her, his tongue gently stroking her lips. He then looked into her eyes. 'I love you,' he lied.

They had been together for two years, during which time Kunal's conquest list had gone up from sixty-four to 104. Things had started to go downhill after the first couple of weeks. Kunal was the king of emotional manipulation. He was always asking her for money. He was intensely jealous and didn't like her meeting her guy friends. He was controlling and demanding. As she got to know him better, she realized how different they were from each other. But she had never suspected that he was cheating on her. Their relationship ended after he publicly slapped her in a club.

Kunal had tried to apologize. 'This is India. All men do it. And I did it just once. I hit you because I love you.' But that had been the last straw for Krati and she had finally broken up with him.

As she sat sipping her beer on Anjuna beach, she realized she had been too naïve and trusting. Everything had been a lie with Kunal. Their first date, all his talk of how much he loved her, the moments they had spent together. How the hell could I have fallen in love with such a person?

She promised herself one thing. This is not going to happen again.

# 8

Steve's infiltration of the group took a lot longer than anticipated. Instead of waiting on the beach, Ronny and Krati came back to the bungalow. It was evening and Ronny sat on the front porch playing the mandolin, looking at the ornate yellow lamps in his garden, which were glowing beautifully in the light mist. His pessimism about his chances with Angelica had gone. He was hopeful again that things might work out, especially if he made some money. The trick is to not to appear too desperate!

All said and done, the scam plan was moving along nicely. It's just a matter of time before I can enjoy the rich kid lifestyle. I can hit the best parties, gamble in casinos, buy a car and splurge on Angelica by buying her all sorts of gifts. He felt heady with excitement.

In the living room, Krati sat with her laptop open. She looked out through the window and watched Ronny play a cheerful tune. Strange guy, thought Krati. The break-up is making him go from one extreme to other. Sometimes he is depressed, otherwise he is exhilarated.

Grandma was dusting the mantelpiece carefully and polishing the old brass fixtures.

'He plays well,' said Krati.

'He does,' said Grandma.

'Where are his parents?'

Grandma looked at the framed picture of a young man and woman on the wall. 'They died in an accident.'

'Oh, I'm sorry,' said Krati.

'It was a long time ago. Ronny was only eight. I worry about him. He doesn't have any role models. He seems lost... Anyway, can I get you some tea?'

Krati shook her head. 'No, thank you, aunty.'

Grandma walked off into the kitchen. Krati continued to watch Ronny. The music stopped as Ronny got a call. Krati turned back to her computer. She started working on her photos in Photoshop.

She uploaded a set of photos she had taken that day to Facebook. She noticed that she had thirty-five new friend requests. She glanced down the list. It was all men she did not know. How do they manage to find me?

She read a few messages:

— Please be my friend

— You are too hot and beautiful. Will give you best night if you add me

— Have fallen in love with your sexiness

Krati sighed and declined the thirty-five requests.

She looked at the new profile picture she had uploaded in the morning. It was a selfie she had taken at the rave. There were 254 likes and fifty-four comments. She smiled as she read them. They made her feel good about herself.

Social media is a strange thing, she thought. It gives you an illusion of success. A carefully cultivated and controlled representation of your life replaced hard work and true achievements. It was all about being popular. Everyone posted about how incredible their lives were; how they were always partying and hanging out with cool people and going to great places.

She was probably at the lowest point in her life and yet on Facebook she had the perfect life. Everybody liked her. Most of her friends were probably jealous. Social media made her feel like she had accomplished something.

The most exciting part of her day was reading the comments on her selfies. What's wrong with me?

She got a text. Seeing Kunal's name got her heart racing. She read the message: 'Please tell me if you are doing the shoot!'

Krati ignored it. She knew that talking to him would open a floodgate to her emotions.

As she closed her computer, Ronny walked into the living room. He glanced around to see if his grandmother was nearby.

'Steve called,' said Ronny in a low voice.

'Did he finally sell the drugs?' asked Krati expectantly.

'He says there is a small problem.'

The jeep turned into Tito's Lane, a narrow road near Calangute beach that was dotted with nightclubs. Ronny stopped the jeep near Viper Club. Krati leaned over to the back of the jeep and double-checked the police uniforms and accessories scattered around: handcuffs, fake pistols and black formal shoes. It was best to be prepared. Maybe the 'small problem' could be solved and they could still execute their plans.

Outside Viper Club, partygoers were gathered around the entrance, smoking and chatting. Ronny and Krati stood near the jeep across the road, watching. They saw Steve come out of the entrance. They waved at him. He walked over to them.

'Where are they?' asked Ronny, looking around.

Steve took a deep breath. 'There's a problem,' he said.

'What?' asked Krati.

'They are too cool,' said Steve.

Krati was confused. 'What do you mean?'

Steve shrugged. 'They are nice people, man. We can't scam them.'

'Are you kidding me?' Ronny was exasperated.

One of the guys from the group stepped out of the club for a smoke.

Steve noticed him. 'Let me introduce you and you'll know what I'm talking about,' said Steve defensively.

'Wait,' said Krati. 'If they see us we can't...'

'Hey!' Steve called the guy loudly.

The man saw Steve, waved and walked towards them.

Krati cursed. 'Fuck me!'

'You are a fucking idiot, Steve,' Ronny muttered.

The guy came over. He was cheerful and friendly. 'I'm Stefano! From Italy. You are friends of Steve, eh? Let me buy you guys some drinks... Come on!'

Ronny and Krati looked at each other, frustrated.

'What are you thinking about? There is a great party going on inside. Let's go!' Stefano insisted.

The club was crowded. The music was loud. The revellers on the dance floor shrieked in delight as water was sprinkled from the rain machines above them. The group was Italian and Steve introduced them to Ronny and Krati, both of whom were sullen at having their plan fail.

But as the evening wore on, the Italians, the alcohol, the good music and the hip Viper ambience ended up having an exultant effect on Ronny and Krati. Soon, they were enjoying the party.

Krati was talking to Dora in one corner of the club: 'If you are a foreigner, Indian men think you are easy,' Dora complained. 'Everyone is hitting on you. Sometimes they even try to touch you.'

'That's horrible,' said Krati. 'But frankly, I'm not surprised.'

'Other than that, it's been great. This is a crazy country.'

'Where in Italy are you based?'

'I do theatre in Milan. You know, it's so good to meet a fellow actress when you are travelling...'

'Are you on Facebook? We should keep in touch!'

Ronny, quite drunk, was telling the fascinated group how he had met Steve: 'So I wake up and the whole house is moving, OK, I think it's a fucking earthquake! But then I realize that it's coming from the next room. Now, I stay with my grandmother so this is embarrassing. Someone is having wild, crazy sex. I'm pissed off. I need a joint so I smoke up in the bathroom and as I get out there's this guy who comes close to me and sniffs me. I'm thinking, what the fuck. Then he goes, "Where can I get that weed?" That's how I met Steve.'

There were roars of laughter. Everyone got ready to have another round of vodka shots. They waved at Krati and Dora to join them and then raised their glasses for a toast.

'To Ronny and Krati and crazy Steve!' yelled Stefano.

'To Italy, motherfuckers! To fucking Italy!' screamed Ronny, leaping on to the bar counter.

The cheering group gulped down their shots.

The party ended at 3 a.m. The lights were shut off in the club and the bouncers forced the last of the drunk patrons out.

After a last cigarette, everyone hugged each other and waved goodbye. They promised to add each other on Facebook, keep in touch and party hard the next time they met.

Ronny, Krati and Steve walked along the empty road.

'Can you drive back?' Steve asked Ronny.

'Yeah,' said Ronny. 'Such cool people, man!'

'We should have met them before,' said Krati. 'Too bad they are leaving tomorrow.'

They reached the jeep.

'See you later!' Ronny told Steve.

'I'm coming with you guys,' said Steve.

'Why?' asked Ronny puzzled. 'It's after three. Aren't we calling it a night?'

'I thought I would hang out with Krati for some time,' said Steve.

Ronny understood his drift. 'Oh,' he said, uncomfortably.

Krati was tipsy and she didn't object.

'Thank God we didn't scam Stefano and his group,' said Krati, quickly changing the topic.

'Yeah,' agreed Ronny.

Steve was confidence personified. 'Don't worry guys! We'll make the plan work. We'll find the right victims soon.'

Krati nodded. 'And we won't become friends with them the next time!'

Ronny couldn't sleep. No matter how hard he tried to bury thoughts of Angelica, they constantly kept surfacing. He wished he had a cigarette. There was something else that was bothering him: Krati and Steve in the next room! They must be making love. But why is that troubling me?

He got out of bed and placed his ears on the wall. He couldn't hear anything. They were being quiet tonight.

He probably felt bad about Krati and Steve being together because he was lonely, Ronny mused. It was a case of simple jealousy, that's all. They were happy and he was unhappy. That was the likely explanation.

A thought crossed his mind. There could be another reason. But it was quite ridiculous considering he was still in love with Angelica.

Have I started developing feelings for Krati?

# 9

The Cleopatra Authentic Mediterranean Café was a Vagator beach shack famous for its magic cookies and exotic cocktails. The shack was strategically located with a spectacular view of the red cliffs rising majestically behind it and the quiet, white beach stretching out in front. The décor was Middle Eastern with colourful curtains and cushions everywhere. Steve lay with two young, attractive Dutch girls on floor rugs and shared a strawberry hookah. He looked around and surreptitiously passed along a small packet to one of them. Maya glanced at it and then slid it inside her bra.

She smiled seductively. 'Won't you join us?'

Steve sighed with disappointment. I have to be careful. I can't be friends with them. 'Life, huh?' he groaned.

'Is that a yes?' asked Maya.

Steve took a deep breath, trying to control his feelings. He felt like he was being torn apart on a medieval torture rack. 'I can't,' he said, finally.

Maya's fingers walked slowly across the rug onto Steve's knees and then to his waist. She positioned them on his hips. 'Are you sure?' she asked.

Steve looked at her fingers on his waist. A few more steps and...

'Do you have a girlfriend?' asked Vera, the second girl.

'It's not that,' said Steve, hoarsely.

'Then what is it?' asked Maya, walking her fingers across Steve's chest.

Steve held her hand lightly and kissed it. 'It's a long story, baby,' he said, sadly.

He felt tremendously guilty about luring them into the trap. I am a monster. They were sweet, beautiful and kind. They trusted him and liked him and he was about to fuck them over.

Dusk had fallen. Maya and Vera sat on a lonely stretch of Vagator beach around a small bonfire. They had met another fellow Dutch traveller, a neo-hippie flirting with Eastern spirituality who was telling them the story of how he had finally found nirvana.

They took turns to snort the cocaine they had bought off a newspaper sheet, covering it carefully with their hands to protect the powder from the strong evening sea breeze.

'Good stuff,' said the hippie, nodding his approval. 'Where did you get it from?'

'A guy named Steve,' said Maya.

'Indian?'

'German.'

The guy pondered. 'Strange. Never heard of him. And I know most of the dealers in Goa.'

'He was cute,' Vera added.

The hippie winked mischievously. 'And I'm not?'

Behind them, they saw bright headlights racing towards them. A jeep came to a halt. One look at it and the hippie instantly sprang up and ran off. The girls looked at him, bewildered.

Inside the jeep, Ronny and Krati sat dressed in police uniforms. Steve had been glum and moody the whole day and now he exploded.

'Who was the fucking guy?' asked Steve angrily. 'Did they just replace me with another guy like me? I should be having a threesome, not him! I thought our plan was to make money and have fun... which is definitely not what this is.'

'Chill the fuck down,' said Ronny. 'Stay in character.'

'Why would you want to have a threesome with them?' asked Krati suddenly.

Steve glared at Krati. 'What do you mean why?'

'So what was last night about?' asked Krati.

'Are we dating each other?' asked Steve.

Krati shook her head. 'No... but...'

'We are just lovers,' Steve stated.

'Yes, I know,' said Krati irritably.

'Then why can't I sleep with other girls?' asked Steve.

'Jesus! Do we have to do this now?' asked Ronny, furious.

'You can... but don't tell me about it... don't make such a big scene about it,' Krati said angrily.

'Stop! Just stop!' shouted Ronny.

Outside, Maya and Vera shaded their eyes against the bright headlights of the stationary jeep. They couldn't see who was inside and listened to the sounds of an argument coming from it.

'Let's just get this over with!' said Krati, stepping out of the jeep.

Ronny turned off the lights. The girls were now able to see clearly and realized with horror that it was a police jeep. Krati looked twice her size and twice her age. She had put cushions under her police uniform to increase her bulk. A little make-up added years to her age. Her hand lightly touched the fake gun holster on her waist.

'Don't move,' Krati ordered.

The girls looked at her, frightened.

'What are you doing here?' barked Krati.

'Just sitting,' said Maya, nervously.

'Really? Then why did your friend just run off?'

The girls didn't say anything. Ronny stepped out of the jeep with a handcuffed Steve. Ronny had on a large drooping moustache. He was wearing sunglasses even in the night and holding a thick lathi in his hand. 'We caught your drug dealer,' he said, putting on a thick Indian accent.

The girls were too terrified to speak.

'Who was that guy?' Steve suddenly asked the girls.

Krati glared at Steve. Seriously?

'Stay in character,' Ronny whispered harshly to him.

'Search them!' said Krati.

Ronny walked over to the girls and found what he was looking for without much difficulty. He picked up the half-finished packet of cocaine and nodded at Krati.

'You are going to jail,' said Krati. 'Do you know what happens in an Indian jail?'

'Please. We are sorry,' mumbled Maya.

'Arrest them!' Krati ordered Ronny.

'Wait... they'll pay you...,' said Steve, muttering the lines he had rehearsed with the gang.

Krati pretended to waver. The frightened girls started crying.

'How much money do we have?' Maya sobbed.

Vera rummaged through her handbag and came up with 200 Euros. 'But it's for our ticket back...,' she said hesitantly.

Maya snatched the money and offered it to Krati. 'Please take it.'

'How will we get back—' Vera started to protest.

Maya interrupted her. 'Do you want to go to jail?' she asked.

Ronny, Krati and Steve looked at each other, uncomfortable, guilty.

'Please take it,' Maya beseeched. 'That's all we have. It's the first time we bought drugs. And if possible please let Steve go. He is not a professional drug dealer. He just made a mistake.'

Steve turned red and looked at his feet in shame. He took a deep breath. I can't do this! 'Just let them go with a warning,' he said, turning and clambering back into the jeep, sulking.

Krati looked at Ronny and wondered what to do.

'Let's just go,' said Ronny.

'Don't you want the money?' asked Vera.

Ronny and Krati walked back to the jeep.

'What about Steve?' asked Maya.

'We'll let him go,' Krati promised.

Ronny started the jeep and drove off the beach. Everyone was in a bad mood. The plan had failed again. Ronny stopped the jeep on a lonely side road near a cluster of palm trees.

Ronny and Krati changed from their uniforms, covered the police sign on the jeep and removed the red beacon light. Steve opened a bottle of Imperial Blue whisky and jumped onto the jeep bonnet. From between the trees, he could see the faraway moonlit beach. The breeze was strong. Ronny and Krati climbed onto the bonnet next to Steve, who offered them the bottle. Both of them took a gulp of the strong whisky. They looked at the waves in the distance. No one said anything. They were all thinking.

# 10

Their plan of conning foreign tourists had not yielded any results. Krati had no choice. She had completely run out of money. She had to do the modelling assignment. So she called the model coordinator for the Black Swan jewellery shoot, who, after giving her an earful about her lack of professionalism for reverting so late, finally confirmed her role.

The last person in the world Krati wanted to take a favour from was Kunal. But she was desperate. What else can I do?

The shoot was in the magnificent Mughal-style gardens of Coconut Grove, a luxurious five-star hotel in south Goa. It was only when Krati had reached the location and begun admiring the beautiful setting with its exquisite floral displays and carefully lit fountains that one of the production assistants told her that her co-model would be Kunal.

Krati was horrified. She didn't want to see him again. For a brief moment, she thought of fleeing the set. But that was obviously not an option. She realized that she should have seen this coming. She had imagined that he was trying to help her out of guilt, in order to make amends. I should have known better. There had never been anything altruistic in Kunal's nature. He always had a selfish motive behind everything he did.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a voice behind her. 'You must be Krati. Welcome, baby.'

Baby? Krati turned to see Sameer A., a famous Delhi-based photographer. He was in his early forties, dressed in a seventies' retro shirt with bright red pants. Though he was married and had two children, he was the consummate ladies' man.

'You must know me. I'm the Sameer A.,' he said, giving Krati a kiss on her cheeks. It lingered a little too long and was too close to the lips.

She fidgeted, uncomfortable. 'Yes,' she said, politely.

'I'm glad you are doing this,' he said, speaking softly. 'You are so damn gorgeous!'

Krati smiled courteously. 'Thank you.'

'You know, we need to party, baby,' said Sameer, giving her a meaningful look.

Krati didn't know what to say. 'I... maybe...'

Sameer believed that his best work could only happen after he had formed a 'special relationship' with the model. He liked to talk about how sleeping with someone built trust, got rid of inhibitions and created a soul connection.

'Listen, I'm going to be blunt,' said Sameer. 'I believe that creativity is the driving force behind success.'

Krati nodded. Where is this going?

'Now, what do you think is the driving force behind creativity?'

'Talent, maybe.'

'No,' Sameer smiled lasciviously.

He wants me to say it. 'Hard work? Determination? Persistence?'

'Of course not,' Sameer leaned closer to her. 'It's sex.'

Krati looked at him innocently. 'Really? I've never heard that before.'

'You are lucky,' whispered Sameer. 'I want to work with you on many projects and for our work to be the best it can be, we need to make love.'

'I don't think I'm comfortable with that,' said Krati.

Sameer laughed. 'Let your inhibitions go. Embrace the creativity in you.'

Krati took a deep breath. 'I better change for the shoot,' she said. This is why I left modelling and acting.

'Think about it,' continued Sameer. 'But we are going to be together tonight.'

It was only after Krati was done with her make-up session and had changed into the golden lehenga choli she had to wear for the shoot that Kunal walked onto the sets. Their eyes met and Krati felt like her heart had stopped. He was as handsome as ever. He had grown his hair long and had a two-day-old stubble. Looking at him, she knew that in spite of everything he had done she still loved him. I'm pathetic.

But he was not alone. There was a tall, thin girl with him. Krati stood gawking, trying to control all the feelings exploding inside her. Kunal and the tall girl walked to Krati.

'Hi,' said Kunal, genially, like nothing had happened between them. 'I heard you left Mumbai because of me.'

Krati was at a loss for words. 'No... I...'

The girl with Kunal sniggered.

'You shouldn't be so emotional,' Kunal advised sagely.

'I didn't leave Mumbai because of you—' Krati started to protest. Why can't he be nice?

Kunal interrupted her. 'Well, this is my girlfriend, Sushma. She's also a model.'

'Nice to meet you,' said Krati, barely able to get the words out. Why is he doing this? Why did he have to bring his girlfriend here?

Sushma looked at Krati arrogantly. 'Kunal says you left the industry. Modelling is not everyone's cup of tea,' she said in heavily accented English.

Krati tried to stay calm. She was dangerously close to bursting into tears. 'I was trying to be an actress, actually,' she muttered.

Sushma looked Krati up and down. 'Don't mind me saying this,' she said, icily. 'I don't think you have the right look for our industry. Kunal had to work so hard to get you selected for this shoot.'

Krati didn't say anything. She knew the girl's kind: the deeply insecure small-town model. And the girl probably knew that Kunal had dated Krati. So the hostility wasn't surprising.

'Sorry I broke your heart,' said Kunal. He looked more proud than sorry.

Krati wondered how she would get through the day. This was a mistake. I should never have agreed to this shoot. To her great relief, a production assistant hurried to her and told her it was time for her solo shots.

She nodded curtly at Kunal and Sushma and walked away.

The shoot was going badly. No matter how hard she tried to focus, she could not. She just wasn't able to deliver the myriad expressions and poses expected from her. Sameer A. was getting increasingly frustrated.

'I'm not feeling it!' he complained. 'This is pathetic stuff. You are too uptight.'

The crew could sense the tension. The Black Swan PR agents swarming around the set had begun to get nervous. This was an expensive shoot and the results had to be of the highest quality. Kunal, meanwhile, was getting openly affectionate with Sushma, hugging and kissing her.

Somehow, Krati finished the first session. She knew her work had been mediocre. The next session would be her shots with Kunal. To escape the stares and mutterings of the crew members, Krati took refuge in the changing room. She looked at herself in the mirror. I have to be strong! I have to get through this.

There was a knock on the door. Kunal stepped into the room. He locked the door. 'What are you doing? Why is your performance so poor?' he demanded angrily. 'Don't make me look bad. I went to a lot of trouble to get you this shoot.'

'Why?' asked Krati. 'Why did you get me this shoot?'

'You know why.'

'I don't.'

Kunal took a deep breath. 'I want you.'

'You have a girlfriend.'

'So?'

'Are you going to cheat on her like you cheated on me?'

Kunal was unapologetic. 'Yes. Life is short. We have to enjoy every moment.'

'You are sick.'

'I know you want me. I can see it in your eyes.'

'It's over between us.'

Kunal glared at her. 'Really? Then why are you here? Why did you decide to do this shoot? Why are you upset I have a new girlfriend?'

'I...'

Kunal stepped closer. 'Let me make love to you,' he whispered.

Krati moved back. 'What's wrong with you?'

'Please...,' he tried to touch her.

Krati suddenly couldn't take it any longer. She hated Kunal, she hated his girlfriend, she hated the lusty photographer, she hated modelling. I'm better than this. I'm more than just an object to everyone around me.

Krati pushed him away. 'I'm done! I'm leaving.'

Kunal looked at her, confused. 'What do you mean?'

It was a scandal. To the horror of the crew, Krati walked out in the middle of the shoot. Despite the creative and PR team's fury, there was nothing they could do.

Krati knew she had burnt a bridge. Kunal would never forgive her for the insult. He was the one who had recommended and vouched for her. The news would spread in the fashion and ad-film worlds and she would be blacklisted.

It was over. There was no going back. Her dream was now officially dead.

# 11

The annual dance was a tradition that had started during the Portuguese era. It was held in a large ground near Anjuna beach and a part of the proceeds was traditionally donated to charity. It was a formal ball with the men dressed in smart black jackets and the women in gowns. There was excitement in the balmy night air as people mingled.

Ronny looked at the dim lights on the trees around him. It was beautiful. The stars were shining brightly. The drinks were flowing. All the memories came flooding back. For the past four years, he had been with Angelica at the dance. And now, he was alone. He felt like a fool. All his friends were having a good time with their dates. He stood a little away from the dancers, in the shadows, staring at the girl he loved.

Angelica was with her boyfriend. The happy couple was the cynosure of all eyes. Angelica looked resplendent in her shimmering white gown while her boyfriend looked dashing in his custom-made designer jacket.

Ronny realized that coming to the dance was a bad idea. I'm fucked. Angelica has mind-fucked me. He suddenly felt embarrassed. What would she think seeing him alone at the dance? I cut such a pathetic figure; lonely, sad and desperate. There was only one thing to do. Leave.

Ronny skirted around the crowd and walked to the entrance of the ground. A part of him wanted to watch Angelica and her boyfriend. There seemed to be some strange sort of pleasure in the pain. At the makeshift ticket counter, he saw Krati.

'What are you doing here? Didn't you have a shoot?' asked Ronny, surprised.

'I left early,' said Krati. She was wearing a summer skirt and still had the shoot make-up on. 'Your grandma told me you would be here.'

'I was just leaving,' he said.

'Want to dance?'

Ronny shook his head. 'I don't think I can handle seeing Angelica with her boyfriend.'

'I've had a horrible day, Ronny. Please?'

Ronny sighed. 'One dance, then.'

They made their way between the cloth-laden tables where people sat chatting.

'It's depressing to see so many happy people,' said Krati.

Ronny agreed. 'I know exactly what you mean.'

They moved into the dancing crowd. Ronny raised his hand and Krati took it. He held her gently by the waist and they moved lightly with the music. They danced close together. He felt her hair on his cheeks, the waft of her perfume enveloping them. Some of the dancers looked at Ronny and Krati with disapproval.

'You are the only person not in a gown,' said Ronny.

Krati shrugged. 'Who cares?'

'And that's Angelica,' said Ronny softly.

Krati followed his gaze. 'She is beautiful.'

Angelica saw Ronny and gave an almost imperceptible nod. She was being polite. Icy fucking polite. Ronny watched her look at her boyfriend and he could see the love in her eyes. That's how she used to look at me. The boyfriend moved his hands naughtily down her body and she giggled. Ronny looked away. He realized he was getting teary-eyed.

'Isn't it horrible?' asked Krati.

'What?'

'To see the person you love with someone else.'

Ronny nodded. 'It's the worst thing in the world,' he said quietly.

'You know, my ex was there at the shoot and he has a new girlfriend. That's why I left the shoot. I still love him, I think.' Krati's voice choked with emotion. 'I...'

Ronny held her close to him. 'It's OK.'

Krati couldn't take it any longer. She had tried to be strong all through the day. Now she broke down. 'I'm sorry... I...'

Ronny hugged her. 'Hey, don't cry.'

But the tears would just not stop. They stood holding each other for a long time. Ronny kissed her gently on her cheek. 'Krati, things will get better. They always do.'

Ronny, Krati and Steve sat at a corner table in Sandy's. The live music was being provided by the Dancing Flamingos band. Ronny studied Krati thoughtfully. She seemed to be her normal self now. Something had changed between them after the dance. He was not quite sure what. We have probably become true friends now. There was a newfound tenderness and care between them.

Tiklo saw the three of them and walked over. 'Did you find the coke?' he whispered.

'Yeah. Long fucking story,' said Ronny. 'I need a favour, man. You do weed drops in five-star hotels, right?'

'Yeah,' said Tiklo, looking around furtively.

Ronny lowered his voice. 'We are looking for rich tourists who do hard drugs.'

Tiklo frowned. 'So you want to sell the coke you bought? Forget it. Konkani gangs rule the cocaine trade in south Goa hotels.'

'We'll pay 5,000 rupees per name,' said Ronny.

Tiklo was thoughtful but shook his head.

'7,500 rupees?'

'It's too dangerous, man.'

Ronny tried to convince Tiklo. 'We're not selling the coke. It's a more elaborate plan.'

'Whatever you are doing, I need a cut.'

Ronny glanced at Krati and Steve. They shrugged.

'Five per cent,' said Ronny.

'Fifteen,' said Tiklo.

'Ten.'

'Per name.'

'The information better be good,' said Krati.

Grand Plaza Hotel was a magnificent hotel that had once been a fort. The lobby was modern and spectacular, with water cascading down glass sculptures and beautiful murals decorating the walls. Ronny, Krati, Steve and Tiklo sat on a plush couch listening to a pianist play Beethoven. The music was soothing.

'That's the Japanese guy,' said Tiklo.

They saw a man talking to the concierge. Satoshi was a short, squat, middle-aged man dressed in a suit.

'You sure? Have you sold to him before?' asked Ronny.

'No,' said Tiklo. 'But I've sold to one of the hotel drivers. That guy gave it to him.'

'And he is open to more drugs than just weed?' queried Krati.

Tiklo nodded. 'That's what I hear.'

Ronny rubbed his hands nervously. 'Then the plan is on.'

Satoshi sat alone in the posh hotel bar with a glass of whisky. Ronny, Krati and Steve sat at the other end of the bar, surreptitiously glancing at him.

Steve studied their quarry. 'I must say that I'm better with women.'

'Charm him. He's rich,' said Krati.

Ronny encouraged Steve. 'Make him buy the drugs, man. Do whatever you have to do.'

Steve took a deep breath and walked towards Satoshi. 'Can I join you?'

Much to the surprise of Ronny and Krati, thirty minutes later, Steve and Satoshi, both a little drunk, were roaring with laughter.

'I'm meeting a few girls. Are you interested?' asked Steve.

Satoshi raised his eyebrows. 'I have wife.'

Steve leaned over to him. 'So do I.'

They both burst out laughing.

Steve hesitated. 'And then tonight I'm...'

'What?'

'I don't know if I should tell you this...'

Satoshi's curiosity was piqued. 'What?'

'Nothing, forget it.'

'What?'

'I do drugs,' Steve confessed. 'I mean I do it very rarely but I was planning something tonight. I can understand if you are not into it...'

'Shhh...,' Satoshi gestured at Steve to stop talking. The Japanese man looked at Steve seriously. Steve held his breath. Everything hinged on this moment.

'You do drugs?' asked Satoshi with a frown.

'Yes.'

Satoshi conspiratorially bent towards him. 'So do I.'

They both started laughing uncontrollably.

Steve took Satoshi to a cheap motel where they could snort the coke safely. Satoshi was excited. Looking out of the motel window at the narrow, noisy street below, he felt he was having the authentic Indian Slumdog Millionaire experience. The room was small, with old, badly maintained furniture and a wall with moldy damp spots on it.

Satoshi grinned. 'Good. Good. This place like scene from Yakuza movie.'

Steve carefully made coke lines on the table. 'Yakuza?' he asked distractedly.

'Japanese gangsters,' said Satoshi, looking at a huge rat scampering across the stained carpet in the room.

'It's too risky to do this in big hotels,' said Steve.

The coke was ready. Excitedly, both of them rolled a note and did a line.

Satoshi gave his approval. 'Very, very good stuff.'

Steve reeled from the hit. 'Motherfucker!'

Outside the room, Ronny and Krati waited impatiently in the corridor in their police uniforms, waiting for Steve to give a signal.

'What's he waiting for?' Ronny wondered.

Steve had momentarily forgotten all about the scam. He was enjoying the high. He looked at the ceiling, mouth open, eyes unfocused.

'Where are girls?' asked Satoshi.

Steve was confused. 'What girls? Oh, yeah... I'll do one more line and then go find the girls.'

Steve did another line and got up suddenly, full of energy. He ran to the door, opened it and stepped out.

He was strung up. He grinned at Ronny and Krati and punched the air in excitement. 'Hey, this stuff is fantastic, man! I feel so good.'

Ronny and Krati exchanged a concerned glance. 'Jesus!' Ronny sighed.

Krati took out the handcuffs. Steve blew her a kiss. 'Handcuff me, baby. I'm yours.'

Krati looked grim. 'Really fucking high, aren't we?'

'Let's go in,' said Ronny.

The three of them burst into the room. Satoshi looked at them, startled. Then he cursed in Japanese. 'Not mine,' he said immediately.

Ronny quickly gathered up the remaining coke from the table.

'We'll check your blood,' Krati warned.

Steve desperately tried to remember his lines. 'No, man, don't do that. I have heard of people getting AIDS from the needles,' he said, worriedly.

Satoshi looked frightened. 'I should never have come to India.'

Krati took out a second pair of handcuffs. 'Put your hands behind your back,' Krati told Satoshi roughly.

'What if we pay you?' asked Steve.

'No,' said Krati.

Satoshi protested. 'Indian police always takes money.'

'We'll give a lot,' said Steve.

Krati pretended to waiver. 'Well, depends how much,' she said.

'Money no problem. Jail big problem,' said Satoshi.

'How much will you pay?' asked Krati.

Satoshi was a shrewd businessman. He rapidly calculated the potential bribe he would have to pay. '$5,000,' he said.

Ronny gulped. Krati and Steve were shocked. This was a huge amount.

'Really?' asked Ronny.

Satoshi looked disappointed. 'Not enough? $7,500.'

'More?' said Ronny in a low voice. Krati and Steve waited with bated breath.

'$10,000,' said Satoshi.

Ronny, Krati and Steve looked at each other. Krati was about to say something when Ronny blurted out: 'More?'

Satoshi scowled. He had had enough. He looked at Krati and Steve angrily. 'More than $10,000, I rather get the AIDS.'

# 12

$10,000 was a lot of money. Ronny, Krati and Steve were astonished at how easily they had conned the Japanese guy. Their plan was working. The future was suddenly bright. Money would soon be gushing in and it looked like all their dreams were about to come true.

Ronny bought a gold pendant for Angelica. He was extremely excited about giving it to her. In his mind, he played and re-played the moment when he would give her the pendant. She would know then that he was making money, that he was no longer a loser.

To celebrate, they decided to hit a posh south Goa resort for drinks and dinner. Steve suggested The White Rabbit, an exclusive joint that catered to Russian millionaires. A girlfriend of Steve's had once told him the secret password that would gain the three of them entry into the resort.

The three of them took a cab to Cavelossim beach in south Goa. The setting was rural and the white sand beach serene. After two hours of walking around searching, they finally found The White Rabbit. They were surprised to see a wall lined with barbed wire stretching around the huge compound.

'This is more like a military base,' complained Krati.

Steve was unperturbed. 'I've been told this is the best restaurant in Goa.'

They pushed opened the large wrought iron gate and walked in. Dusk was falling and antique lanterns had been lit in the beautifully landscaped gardens. They reached a sprawling bungalow that acted as a kind of lobby into the resort. Outside the bungalow, eight black Range Rovers and three black Mercedes Benzes were parked neatly.

Ronny whistled. 'I've never seen so many Range Rovers together,' he said, impressed.

'Why are they all black?' Krati wondered.

'You know why,' said Steve wisely.

Krati shook her head. 'I don't.'

'Oh, no!' said Ronny, understanding dawning on him.

Two large, heavily tattooed Russian men in Hawaiian shirts, built like bears, saw the three of them from the lobby and hurried outside.

'What's going on?' asked Krati. 'Who are these people?'

'The Bratva,' said Ronny, softly. 'The Russian mafia. The most dangerous criminal group in the world.'

Krati sighed. 'And we are going to hang out with them. Fucking brilliant.'

The two men, Bogdan and Vitaly, looked aggressive. 'You are not allowed here. Get out!' said Bogdan, loudly.

'We'll leave then... sir,' said Ronny, immediately.

'No,' said Steve, looking Bogdan squarely in the eye. 'I have the password.'

The men glared at Steve.

'The password is krov,' said Steve confidently. 'It means blood in Russian.'

'Wrong,' spat out Vitaly.

Bogdan suddenly grabbed Steve, pushed him down onto the ground and began to forcibly frisk him.

'What are you doing?' asked Ronny, aghast.

Vitaly moved towards Ronny and Krati. 'Stand still,' he ordered. He roughly searched both of them.

'We just want to have some dinner, man,' said Ronny.

More thuggish men in Hawaiian shirts rushed out of the foyer carrying baseball bats and surrounded the three of them. They spoke to each other hastily in Russian. Ronny, Krati and Steve looked around nervously.

'Why are you really here?' asked Bogdan. 'How did you know about us?'

'I met a girl who... who told me...,' Steve stammered.

Vitaly scoffed. 'Our girls don't talk,' he said, menacingly. 'They know what'll happen to them if they do.'

'It really was a girl! Believe me!' pleaded Steve.

Vitaly shrugged. 'We'll have to beat the truth out of them.' His voice was cold.

'It... It happened two years back,' said Steve. 'I was living with some hippies in Arambol and this Russian girl I was dating told me...'

Bogdan spat on the ground contemptuously. 'You are lying! No hippie scum can know about us.'

'I swear it's the truth,' Steve insisted. 'Please believe me.'

Bogdan nodded at the men. The Russians moved towards Ronny, Krati and Steve with raised baseball bats. A car suddenly pulled up at the entrance of the compound.

'Wait!' ordered Bogdan, noticing the headlights.

Armed guards in black suits got out of the car and pushed the iron gate open. The black Rolls Royce Phantom drove into the compound.

'It's the boss,' muttered Vitaly.

The car halted at the bungalow. From the back seat, a tall, beautiful, regal-looking girl in her late twenties got out. Dressed in a black corporate-style suit and skirt, she exuded power.

'Fuck me,' whispered Steve. 'That's the girl.'

Svetlana looked about her. She saw Steve and stared, taken aback.

'Just some destitutes,' said Vitaly quickly to Svetlana. 'We were about to throw them out.'

'You'll do no such thing,' said Svetlana.

She walked towards Steve. Her bodyguards quickly closed in around her protectively. One of them even took out his gun.

'Hello, Steve,' said Svetlana in accented English.

'Hi, Svetlana,' said Steve.

The guards exchanged glances, amazed. Vitaly and Bogdan suddenly looked very nervous. They had been about to beat up friends of the boss!

'We... we didn't know that you knew them,' said Vitaly.

Svetlana waved her hand dismissively. Vitaly instantly shut up. That is fucking power, thought Ronny, impressed.

'So you finally came,' said Svetlana.

Steve studied her. She is so different now. 'The password was wrong,' he said, a little hurt.

Svetlana smiled slightly. 'It wasn't wrong. It changed. You came too late.'

Svetlana Dorofeyev was the daughter of an ex-KGB Russian mafia boss in London. Her billionaire father wanted her to have a life that was as far away from crime as possible. He made sure that she got the best British education. She had lived a life of luxury, her only qualm being the constant presence of armed bodyguards around her. After finishing her studies at Oxford, she decided to go backpacking across Asia and America. She desperately wanted to see what the 'real' world was like. So, much to the horror of her family, she began travelling around the globe, staying in youth hostels, using public transport, hanging out with neo-hippies and even joining communes.

She met Steve in Mumbai and they had travelled around India together. She never told him who she really was. They saw the Taj, slept under the stars in the deserts of Rajasthan, lived on a houseboat in Kerala and smoked up at secret rave parties in the north-east.

And then, tragedy struck. Her whole family was killed in a private jet crash. Her father's powerful enemies in the State Duma had finally managed to carry out the hit. Overnight, she grew up. She changed. Her desire for vengeance made her cold, calculating and brutal. She took over the family business.

Looking at Steve, after all this time, Svetlana was momentarily reminded of the playful, happy person she had once been. But there was no place for that girl in her life. She was a survivor now. She was part of the brotherhood. She was a Russian mafia boss.

Svetlana led Ronny, Krati and Steve to the restaurant through a narrow garden passageway. Built behind the foyer bungalow, it was in a long, glass-domed building. The setting was exquisite with chandeliers, glass vases and artificial streams gleaming in the light of the lamps. The three of them looked around in wonder. A few suit-wearing patrons were sitting in the restaurant with beautiful girls who looked like Russian models. Bodyguards stood nearby, keeping a watch.

'Enjoy,' said Svetlana, escorting the three of them to their seats.

'Won't you join us?' asked Steve.

'Sorry,' she said, a flicker of warmth in her eyes.

'Svetlana, it's been so long,' Steve suddenly blurted out. 'You could have at least said goodbye. I woke up one day and the person I loved was gone.'

Svetlana was grim. 'She died, Steve. A long time ago.'

'Then who are you?' he asked.

She smiled wryly. 'You wouldn't want to know. Keep the memories. Sometimes that's all we have.'

The mood was no longer celebratory. Steve was morose, caught up in the web of his past. Ronny and Krati were uneasy in the setting, knowing they were surrounded by gangsters. The chef made them a superb meal of turnip cream soup with duck, oysters, Pacific blue mussels, veal cutlets and boar fillets. The three of them ate quietly.

Ronny broke the silence. 'When we first met you told me that I should learn to love all women and not just one woman.'

'I know,' said Steve.

'Well, you are still in love with her!' said Ronny.

Steve shrugged. 'I came up with that line after my heart was broken.'

'How serious was it?' asked Krati.

Steve played with his food. 'I thought she was my soulmate. I thought it was destiny that we met.'

Ronny shook his head. 'Destiny is never on our side, man. It first teases us, then seduces us and then fucks us.'

The hostess, a pretty, formally dressed girl came to the table. 'Can I get you anything else?'

The three of them shook their heads.

'Can I see Svetlana?' asked Steve.

'Madam won't meet you again,' said the hostess firmly.

Steve was depressed. 'Please. Just once,' he insisted.

'Sorry. But there are attractions we offer that you'll like.'

'What do you mean?' asked Ronny, curiously.

The hostess nodded at a group of tall, beautiful Russian girls in short skirts sitting at the bar. 'Women... drugs...' She looked at Krati. 'Men...'

Ronny's mouth opened wide. 'This has got to be a joke.'

Steve was thoughtful. 'You mean I can sleep with any of those women?'

The hostess nodded. 'Any... all...'

Ronny gulped. 'Wow.'

They both glanced at Krati, who raised her eyebrows. 'If you both want to fuck prostitutes, kindly drop me home first,' she said icily.

Steve sighed. 'We'll just have some coke, thank you!'

The drugs came in a glass platter with a glass card and three glass straws. It was a surreal experience. Steve made three lines: two narrow, short ones and one long, thick one. Ronny and Krati didn't object. The day had already been too crazy. It couldn't get worse.

'So both of you have never tried it before?' asked Steve.

Ronny and Krati shook their heads.

'I'm going to be your chaperone, all right?' said Steve with great maturity.

'What's that?' asked Ronny.

Steve smiled. 'Responsible adult.'

Ronny rolled his eyes. 'Sure.'

Steve handed them the glass straws. 'OK, children...'

'Why are ours so small?' asked Ronny.

'It's more a dot than a line,' said Krati.

Steve was exasperated. 'Just do it!'

Ronny and Krati did the lines. They rubbed their noses, the cocaine hitting them.

'And now... lick,' said Steve, putting some powder under his tongue. Ronny and Krati copied him.

'Fuck man. Feels good,' Ronny exclaimed.

Krati leaned back and closed her eyes. 'I think I should do one more line.'

Steve shook his head. 'We'll start you small. Next time I'll give you more.'

'You know,' said Ronny, suddenly inspired after snorting the cocaine. 'I'm going to meet Angelica tonight. I'm going to convince her to get back with me!'

Krati sighed. 'Here we go.'

'What?' asked Ronny.

Krati finally said it. 'She doesn't love you anymore.'

'But I love her!'

Krati looked at him doubtfully. 'Really?'

Ronny was surprised. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'A moment ago, you wanted to sleep with the prostitutes. In the rave, you were desperately searching for the hippie girl. Where was the love for Angelica then?'

'But... we broke up,' Ronny protested.

'If you truly loved her you would have eyes only for her. Should I remind you about how we met?'

'What?'

'You were staring at my boobs.'

'Rubbish! Anyway, you wouldn't know anything about love.'

'Actually, I know more than you.'

Steve looked at them uneasily. 'We are here to celebrate, guys.'

Ronny was angry. 'Fucking around is not love, Krati. That's just lust. Who are you going to do tonight? Knowing you...'

'You don't know anything about me.'

'And I don't fucking want to.'

Krati got up, furious. 'I want to leave.'

Steve motioned to the hostess and looked at the Russian girls one last time. He sighed. 'Some people just can't handle drugs.'

It was too late to find a cab but The White Rabbit provided transportation. Ronny, Krati and Steve travelled back in a black Range Rover driven by one of Svetlana's bodyguards. No one talked during the two-hour journey. Ronny asked to be dropped off at Angelica's place. It was 2 a.m. when the car stopped at a pretty bungalow near Baga.

Ronny got out. He looked at Krati sheepishly. 'Krati... I...'

'I don't want to talk to you!'

Ronny nodded and watched the Range Rover drive away. He turned to the bungalow. His coke high was leaving him. And with that, the explosion of energy and confidence he had been feeling for the past few hours began to abate.

He stood looking at Angelica's bungalow. The lights were off everywhere in the house. This is a bad idea. He wondered what to do. Then he took a deep breath, gathered his courage and made his decision. Since he had come all this way, he might as well talk to her. Of course, she was going to be a little annoyed at being woken up in the middle of the night.

Ronny walked to the gate. He heard low growls nearby. He suddenly remembered the guard dogs the family had, two fierce Rhodesian Ridgebacks. I hope they recognize me.

He opened the gate and cautiously stepped into the compound. He whistled softly. He had been a constant visitor at Angelica's place and the dogs knew him. Still, he didn't want to make any sudden moves. Ridgebacks had been historically used for hunting lions in Africa. They'll tear me to pieces.

The dogs approached him and sniffed a little suspiciously, but then playfully started running around him. Ronny was able to breathe again. But only for a moment. He noticed a BMW on the front porch. He stared at it, shocked. What the fuck? The boyfriend was there. Angelica's parents were probably travelling and she must have invited the guy home.

He stood frozen. He knew he should leave but he just couldn't. What was he to do now? A part of him wanted to ring the bell and fight the boyfriend. He felt an explosion of conflicting emotions inside him. Love. Hate. Sadness. Anger. Jealousy. What is she doing with him? Are they talking? Are they making love? Are they sleeping?

Ronny suddenly had to know! He walked quietly across the moonlit garden. Angelica's room was at the back. He crossed the neat hedges and moved across a line of potted orchids to reach the window of her room.

The window was open but the curtains were closed. Ronny could see a little light inside. Her table lamp was on. He stood inches from the window and peeped through a gap between the curtains.

Angelica sat at her desk, working on her laptop. She was only wearing a loose T-shirt and nothing else. The boyfriend lay on the bed without his clothes, a sheet covering his waist. Ronny stared at the guy's gym-sculpted body. The sight of the two of them, half-naked, made him feel so bad that he wanted to throw up. Just a few months ago, he was the one lying on her bed. His heart was pounding. He couldn't decide if he loved her or hated her. How the fuck could this be happening? What did I do wrong?

The boyfriend rolled over and grinned at Angelica. 'I want to do you again,' teased the guy.

Angelica smiled. 'We did it twice already!'

The guy leaned over and moved his hands up and down Angelica's thighs. 'It's not my fault that you are so fucking hot,' he said in a husky voice.

She laughed. The guy got up and started kissing Angelica's neck from behind. He moved his hands under her T-shirt and caressed her breasts. Angelica closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation.

Ronny stood frozen, unable to move. His hands were trembling. He wished he was dead.

The boyfriend kissed her deeply and then gently pulled her away from the desk. He hastily took off her T-shirt, grabbed her hair and passionately kissed her all over her body. They were both naked now, their lips and hands feeling the curves and contours of each other's bodies.

The boyfriend roughly pushed Angelica towards a wall. She leaned against it while he entered her. Ronny saw the rhythmic movement begin. He heard the low moaning sounds. He saw the two bodies entangled together.

Ronny stepped away abruptly. He couldn't handle it anymore. In a daze, he walked across the garden and stepped out of the compound. Devastated, he clasped his head. He was completely heartbroken.

He cursed himself for coming to her house. What was he expecting? That he would say a few words and she would run into his arms? This is real life, not a fucking Bollywood movie. She didn't love him anymore.

As he walked away from the bungalow, along the dark, empty streets, he realized he was crying uncontrollably.

It was 4 a.m. Steve couldn't sleep. He walked along the moonlit Arambol beach, the waves lapping at his feet. He had never expected to see Svetlana again. He had imagined that he was over her. But seeing her again had brought back all his feelings.

But she had changed. Completely. She was no longer the girl he had fallen in love with. But did I even really know her? Maybe I saw only a part of her. Steve mused about love. It was said that it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. Maybe what she said was right. Maybe sometimes all you have in life are memories.

Krati stood staring outside her bedroom window. Dawn was breaking. The garden lamps were shining in the mist. She was grappling with a swirl of thoughts and emotions. She had made money and yet she was feeling lonely and depressed. What's wrong with me?

Was it the fight with Ronny? Was it Svetlana? Was it the drugs? Was it memories of Kunal? She just didn't know.

Krati sighed. Life is so fucking complicated.

# 13

The choir practised in the empty church under the stern eyes of Sister Julia. Ronny sat playing the piano. It had been two days since his visit to Angelica's house. After that night of horror, he had decided to end his quest of winning her back. He finally knew what it was to hate someone. He was furious at her. He didn't want to see her again. But, unfortunately, because of the blasted choir practice, he would be forced to see Angelica every week. Ronny knew it was too late to pull out of the choir. Sister Julia would not be able to find a replacement piano player in time for the Christmas Mass.

He studiously avoided making eye contact with her. But knowing she was nearby was enough to make his heart pound and palms wet. He desperately tried to focus on the music to ensure he didn't make any mistakes.

For three hours, he didn't look once at Angelica. After the practice ended and Sister Julia walked away, he happened to glance at her. She was wearing a yellow skirt. Her hair was loose and strands fell over her face. Ronny felt a piercing pain. Why the fuck does she have to be so beautiful?

Angelica's eyes met his. She gave him a slight smile. Ronny's heart stopped. What the fuck? She actually smiled at me!

Suddenly, all his hate was gone. He wanted to be friends with her, hold her hands, hug her, kiss her... She was perfect again.

All it takes is a smile, Ronny thought wryly. And the world turns upside down.

Ronny realized he still had the gold pendant with him. He wondered if he should give it to Angelica. He was staring at her when Manuel suddenly closed the piano keys' cover with a thud. 'I heard you are not going to sell us weed anymore,' said Manuel angrily.

Ronny glanced around. 'Lower your voice, dude.'

'Well, are you?'

'No.'

'What do you mean "no"?'

'I mean no.'

'This is fucked up.'

Ronny made his decision. He would give Angelica the gold pendant. 'Do you know Tiklo?' Ronny asked Manuel absentmindedly.

'I've met him a couple of times. Why?'

'I'll get him to sell you weed. Same price. Same quality.'

Manuel looked at Ronny suspiciously. 'But why are you stopping?'

'I promised my uncle. And Angelica.'

Ronny searched his pockets and found the pendant. He then ran to Angelica who was placing choir books back into a box. Two other girls were with her.

'Can I talk to you?' Ronny asked, feeling nervous.

Angelica shrugged. 'Sure.'

'I'm sorry about the scene I made that day.'

One of the girls with Angelica raised her eyebrows. 'If you truly love her, you'll let her go,' she said, wisely.

Ronny was annoyed. Fuck you, bitch! 'Can I have a little privacy?' Ronny asked the two girls politely.

The girls looked at Angelica, who nodded. They walked away.

'I wanted to apologize,' said Ronny.

'It's OK,' said Angelica.

'I don't sell weed anymore.'

'I heard. So you finally changed.'

Ronny showed Angelica the pendant. 'I got something for you.'

'Thanks, but I don't want it.'

Ronny was crestfallen. 'Oh.'

'I appreciate the gesture,' she said, kindly.

'It's not like that,' said Ronny. 'I'm not expecting anything in return. It's just a gift.'

Angelica shook her head. 'I'm sorry but I can't accept it.'

'Why?'

Angelica didn't answer him. 'I'm glad you are doing better, though.'

She smiled at him and walked out of the church.

Krati was talking to her mother on Skype. The door was slightly ajar and Ronny knocked on it. He saw Krati on the computer. He walked inside and stood patiently nearby.

Krati saw him and ended the call. 'What do you want?' she asked Ronny.

Ronny showed her the gold necklace. 'It's for you.'

'It looks expensive.'

'It's real gold. I'm sorry about what I said.'

'That's OK. You actually bought it for me?'

Ronny hesitated. 'Well...'

'Are you in love with me, Ronny?'

'What? No,' he said, quickly.

'Why are you giving me this?'

'Well...'

She looked at him carefully, narrowing her eyes. 'You must have got it for Angelica.'

He grinned. 'Actually, yes.'

'Unbelievable. You are a seriously fucked up guy. Why doesn't she want it?'

'Because it's gold. When I get her a diamond one she is going to accept...'

'Ronny, you can't buy her love.'

'Why not? The other guy did.'

Krati sighed. She walked to the mirror and turned her back to him.

'What?' asked Ronny, confused.

'Put it on me, stupid. Let me see how it looks.'

Ronny moved her hair aside and gently put the necklace on her. They looked at each other in the mirror. It was a moment that lasted just a little too long. Ronny cleared his throat, feeling awkward.

'You look really pretty, Krati.'

She smiled. 'I know.'

# 14

Palolem was a beach village in south Goa. Since the tourist season was yet to begin, the rows of hastily created beach huts had not yet sprung up. Ronny, Krati and Steve hired Scootys and rode around the quiet, palm-fringed streets. They were looking for an expensive resort they had heard about. After the Japanese guy, their other leads had fizzled out. Most of the weed buyers Tiklo had traced through his contacts had no interest in getting into coke.

So they thought up a new plan. They had travelled to Palolem in search of an exclusive resort that catered to the crème de la crème of French society. Private jets ferried the tourists to the private beaches of the resort. But this resort was not in any brochure or travel guide. They had no websites, nor any kind of online presence. They operated because of the excellent word-of-mouth publicity generated by their satisfied, ultra-rich French patrons.

After riding up and down the beachfront for half a day, they finally found the resort tucked away amongst a thicket of mango trees on a narrow lane next to the beach. They observed it from a careful distance. The buildings were beautifully designed and seemed to exude class and wealth. The construction style was neoclassical, with tall columns and elaborate doorways.

Krati was thoughtful. 'Is this like the Russian resort? Run by gangsters?'

'Nope,' said Ronny. 'There are no French gangsters in Goa.'

'But it's exclusive,' said Krati. 'They are not going to allow walk-ins.'

'Well, not if I look like this,' said Steve, examining his khadi kurta and old jeans with a frown. 'But dressed right, they'll go "Tu m'as tellement manqué".'

Le Flamboire had been started in the eighties as a commune by a gay, French, hippie couple. Initially, it had attracted students, artists and hippies from across France but over the years the clientele had changed. Now, it was a favourite holiday spot for millionaires from Monaco and Cannes. They could experience crazy, exotic India within the safe, comfortable confines of the resort. The beautiful cottages were spread out across the private beach. Everything was available, from Ayurvedic massages to yoga sessions. The resort had a three-star Michelin restaurant that served experimental Indo-French cuisine.

Steve managed to get himself a room without references or a background check. The staff was all French and he was able to charm the girls at the reception desk. At 25,000 rupees a night, the stay was very expensive. He had barely checked into his luxurious cottage with its private garden and beachfront before he began trying to find residents who would be interested in drugs. But it was not easy. Most of the tourists in the resort were rich, old men who had come with their wives. Drugs were the last thing they wanted.

Ronny and Krati stayed at a nearby resort. They had to be ready to conduct a 'police raid' whenever Steve gave them a call. Since accommodation was expensive, they shared a room.

It was early evening and sunlight streamed in from the balcony door. Ronny and Krati's neat room overlooked a quiet cove. It was a beautiful day but Ronny was worried. He calculated the money left over from the $10,000 they had earned. Not much. The way the cash was oozing out of their pockets, they would most likely be broke in two weeks. We need Steve's resort plan to work.

Krati stepped out of the bathroom. She only had a towel wrapped around herself. Ronny instantly averted his eyes.

'Did Steve call?' asked Krati, stepping up to the mirror and plugging in a hairdryer.

'Yeah. No luck yet,' said Ronny.

Krati frowned. 'Our money is going to run out.'

'I know,' said Ronny, staring at the walls.

'What are you doing?' she asked, looking at him through the mirror.

Ronny looked at the ceiling. 'What do you mean?'

'It's a bit creepy when you make such an effort to not look at me.'

Ronny was annoyed. 'What the fuck? You know what, Krati, you always treat me like I'm some sort of pervert.'

Krati smiled. 'I'm just kidding, dude.'

Ronny glared at his feet, still annoyed.

Krati shrugged. 'I'm in a towel, not naked. My party dresses are usually shorter than this. You can make eye contact.'

Ronny finally glanced at her. She looked very attractive with her wet hair. He regarded her thoughtfully. She dried her hair and then started putting cream on her face. Ronny thought about the day at the dance when she had cried on his shoulders. Kunal was such an idiot. She is actually really cool. And nice. And smart. And pretty. He had grown very fond of her. He looked at her putting cream on her arms. She has a good figure too.

Krati raised her eyebrows. 'OK, I said you could look, not ogle.'

Ronny grinned.

After carefully observing the residents in the resort, Steve decided that there was only one man who might be interested in buying drugs. Philippe, a millionaire start-up guru and angel investor based in Marseille, was in his early thirties. Steve waited for the right opportunity to talk to him.

It was in the Ayurvedic massage hut that Steve brought up the topic of drugs. The room was dimly lit by candles. An artificial stream flowing through the room gurgled soothingly. The masseurs, experts from Kerala, gently rubbed oil on his body. Steve frowned. This is fucking creepy.

There were three people in the room. On the table next to him lay Philippe with eyes closed. Next to Philippe lay a big man. As the masseur worked his firm hands on Steve's shoulders, he tried chatting with Philippe.

'Hi,' said Steve casually.

Philippe didn't say anything.

Steve continued cheerfully. 'Nice place this, eh?'

Philippe sighed. 'Ayurvedic massages are best enjoyed in silence.'

'Really? I didn't know that.'

Philippe was silent.

It had been three days since Steve had moved into the resort. He was burning money every day. He had to get results now or get out of the place and find a new resort. He ploughed ahead. 'What do you do for fun?'

Philippe didn't respond. Steve gritted his teeth, frustrated.

'Relax, sir,' said the masseur to Steve. 'Your muscles are tense.'

Steve mentally cursed the masseur. He wondered what to do. There didn't seem to be any point in beating around the bush. He decided to ask the millionaire a direct question.

'Do you want drugs?' Steve asked Phillipe.

Philippe opened his eyes and looked at Steve for the first time.

'Are you a drug dealer?' asked Philippe, aghast.

'No,' said Steve, quickly.

'I come to this sort of expensive place to keep away from people like you.'

'I was only joking.'

'I'm going to report this to the management.'

Steve decided it was best to leave. He got up and put on a towel. The masseurs watched him curiously.

'It was a mistake. Sorry,' said Steve.

'Scum!' Philippe hissed at him.

Steve lost his temper. 'Fuck you, man! If you don't want drugs, go fuck yourself, you motherfucking prick.'

The big man lying next to Philippe was watching Steve carefully. There was something sinister about him. He was like a coiled snake, ready to strike. Steve saw his scarred body and knew he had been in many fights.

Steve quickly got out of the massage room.

It was best to get out of the resort. Steve gave Krati a call. 'It's no use. We have to find a new place,' he said and hung up.

He was packing his belongings when there were loud bangs on the cottage door. Steve sighed. The guy must have complained and the restaurant staff probably wanted to throw him out. As long as they don't call the police, everything is fine. The banging continued.

Steve opened the door. 'I'm leaving!' he said, annoyed.

But it was not the restaurant staff. It was the big man from the massage room. He was dressed in a track suit with white canvas shoes. Steve looked at him, concerned. 'Hello!' He looks like a French hitman.

The man pushed past Steve, barging into the room. He looked around, his eyes searching.

'Do you need something?' asked Steve. This guy is trouble.

'Yes,' said the man and took out a gun.

Steve raised his hands worriedly. 'I don't have any money, man.'

'Where are the drugs?'

Steve gritted his teeth. 'Are you going to fucking rob me?'

The man narrowed his eyes. 'Are you with the police?'

'What?'

'Are you working for the Indian police?'

'No, no. Of course not. That's ridiculous.'

The man studied Steve carefully. 'Good.' He put the gun back under his track pants. 'My boss needs drugs.'

Steve took a deep breath. He smiled. 'You have come to the right person.'

Gérard Fournier was the corrupt 40-year-old mayor of Reims, a city 130 kilometres north-east of Paris. He liked to come to Goa to spend his ill-gotten wealth in a spree of gambling, drugs and women. His right-hand man, Caillois, an ex-Special Forces soldier, was the one tasked with procuring the best delights for him.

Caillois tested Steve's coke. He grunted his satisfaction. In the evening, on the private beach, under the bodyguard's watchful eyes, Fournier and Steve got high.

The mayor was in a boisterous mood. 'Where did you get this stuff? The last time I was here it wasn't too good.'

'I have contacts in all the gangs. I test their range of products individually every couple of months and buy from the best,' lied Steve.

Fournier thumped Steve heartily on his back. 'You are my man! I'm going to introduce you to my friends here. I need efficient guys like you around me.'

Steve was excited. 'Great. Do they also need coke?'

'No, no. They are old school. Clean. They are here on business,' said Fournier, glancing at the resort's shack restaurant, which was built on piers in the water, a short distance away. 'Let's go over to them.'

Steve got up reluctantly. Since the friends didn't do drugs, there was really no point in meeting them but he had to get friendly with Fournier. That was the way to entrap the mayor. The next time they did drugs there would be a police raid. Steve started scheming. He could probably lead the mayor further down the beach, away from any prying eyes in the resort. Steve knew that he had to earn the man's trust. So he followed Fournier to the restaurant.

Simon and Alice Chabas were the ultimate power couple. They were enjoying their early candlelight dinner of baby calamari stuffed with prawns, Goan rechado masala penne and lobster coulis emulsion. Tough and successful, they looked Steve up and down with disapproval. In Steve's long braided hair, they could see traces of hippie.

'This is Steve. He's my man in Goa,' said Fournier, cheerfully. 'He can get you anything! He can even help you in your business deals.'

'I doubt that,' said Simon Chabas, unimpressed. 'How long have you been in India?'

'More than two years now,' said Steve.

'What happened?' asked Alice Chabas.

Steve was confused. 'What do you mean?'

Alice looked at him with a mixture of contempt and pity. 'You seem like an intelligent man. How did it come to this?'

Steve was taken aback. What the fuck, bitch? 'I don't understand,' he said, trying to be polite.

'Why waste your life away?' she asked.

'It's the drug addiction,' said her husband judiciously.

'No... no, it's just that I'm searching...,' Steve protested.

Alice sneered. 'Of course, the eternal search for meaning. It's called cowardice. It's an excuse to dodge responsibilities, avoid contributing to society and escape from making something of yourself.'

Steve gritted his teeth. 'I don't understand your hostility.'

Fournier tried to change the subject. 'Well, Steve's my friend. Be nice! Anyway, are you both coming to Sunburn?'

'Really, Gérard, just because he got you some drugs doesn't make him your friend,' said Alice.

'I live my life my way,' said Steve irritably. 'I don't want to be in anyone's box.'

'And where is your family?' asked Simon.

Steve didn't say anything. He thought about his family. He had left everything and everyone in Germany behind. Was it worth it, what had happened during the years of his travels? Was it just an excuse to escape life? If he had continued his studies he would have been a psychologist now, helping people, not cheating them. He would be spending time with patients, not gangsters.

Simon wiped his mouth delicately with his napkin. 'Why did the hippie movement die out? It was all a charade by losers.'

'Sorry, Gérard. We don't entertain people like Steve,' said Alice with finality.

Fournier shrugged. 'Sorry, Steve. Catch you later.'

Steve stood looking at the three of them for a moment, feeling insulted. They were treating him like dirt. He nodded and walked away. I'm going to get back at you fucks!

Ronny, Krati and Steve sat in a cheap bar in Palolem. Over beer, masala papad and pomphret fry, they plotted. Drunken, middle-aged men sang Bollywood songs around them and talked about the lost loves of their lives.

'The mayor has a bodyguard,' said Steve thoughtfully. 'The guy is dangerous and carries a gun. He looks ex-army. He's always nearby, watching.'

'When we conduct the raid, maybe he'll get frightened,' said Ronny.

Steve shook his head. 'The guy looks serious.'

Krati played with the green chutney on her plate. 'We'll have to separate them,' she said sensibly.

Steve nodded. 'But that'll be hard to do at the resort.'

Ronny looked around, opened a small sachet and put some coke on a plate. 'Does the mayor go out at all?' he asked.

'Nope,' said Steve.

Ronny glanced around, then quickly made three lines and rolled a note. Krati looked at the lines, a little uneasy.

'No... wait...,' said Steve suddenly. 'He did mention something about Sunburn.'

Krati's eyes lit up. 'The music festival?'

Steve nodded. 'It's going to be a huge event.'

'Perfect! If he's going there we can plan something,' said Krati. 'First, we'll have to separate the bodyguard, then we take the mayor to a lonely spot and do the police scam.'

Ronny beamed. 'In the confusion and the crowd we can easily escape.'

The three of them did their lines.

Sunburn was an EDM festival that was held in Goa every year. Over a hundred DJs would perform on multiple stages. Huge crowds from India and abroad flocked to Vagator, where the event was held, to enjoy the music, games, food and shopping that were all part of the festival.

Steve accompanied Fournier and his bodyguard, Caillois, to the festival. With beers in hand, they listened to the various musical acts and took in the cheerful holiday atmosphere. Ronny and Krati followed them at a short distance.

'He should be here soon,' said Fournier.

'Who?' asked Steve, looking at a pretty girl dancing nearby.

'The drug guy.'

Steve looked at Fournier, surprised. 'What drug guy?'

Fournier shrugged. 'I'm going to try some stuff.'

'I thought I'm your drug guy. Didn't you like my stuff?'

Fournier patted Steve on the back and laughed. 'Don't take this personally, little man. Your stuff is good but I want to taste other stuff too. It's like women. You could have the most amazing and beautiful lady as your wife but you need lovers, mistresses and prostitutes too.'

Steve rubbed his head. Now what?

'Cheer up!' said Fournier. 'We'll do the coke I buy... together.'

Steve thought about it. Actually, nothing has changed. It didn't matter who sold the mayor the drugs. The important thing was to catch him red-handed. The plan could continue. He glanced at Ronny and Krati, who were standing nearby, and nodded. It was a sign that told them that everything was fine. But they were staring in his direction with gaping mouths. Steve was perturbed. What's wrong with them?

Steve turned and froze. Ono the Bull was standing behind him, glowering. For a moment, no one made a move.

'Ha, here is our drug guy,' said Fournier jauntily. He saw Ono and Steve staring at each other. 'Do you know each other?'

'He is with the police!' Ono burst out. 'And this time I'm going to kill him.'

The Bull lunged at Steve. Terrified, Steve took a step backwards, tripped and fell. Ono grabbed him and raised his mammoth arms in the air to smash Steve's face. Everything suddenly seemed to move slowly. So this is what death feels like. He observed Ono's bloodshot eyes, the grimace on his face, the drop of sweat on his forehead and the protruding veins in his raised arms.

Suddenly, mud came flying into Ono's face. The Bull screamed in rage, momentarily blinded. He let go of Steve, who crawled away from the furious beast. He saw Ronny throwing more mud at Ono. Steve clambered to his feet, kicked Ono on the face once and then both Ronny and he started running.

Caillois, the bodyguard, had stepped in front of the mayor to shield him from any possible harm. He had immediately realized that the real danger was not Ono the Bull but Steve, who it seemed was an informer! Caillois knew he needed to interrogate the scumbag and learn more.

The bodyguard dashed behind Ronny and Steve. He was extraordinarily fast and had almost caught up with them within a few seconds. Ronny and Steve ran past Krati; when Caillois followed, she nonchalantly stuck a foot out. Caillois went stumbling to the ground. He was a heavy man and Krati felt a piercing pain in her ankles after the collision. He got up, enraged. He saw that Steve and Ronny had disappeared into the crowd. He glared at Krati, trying to figure out if she had intentionally tripped him.

'Look where you are going,' Krati screamed, rubbing her ankles and pretending to be furious.

People were staring at them now, curious about the commotion.

'Nique ta mere!' Caillois spat out, directing a look full of venom at Krati.

He went back to Fournier and hurriedly escorted him out of the festival.

Ronny, Krati and Steve hid near a food stall behind some crates.

'The plan has failed,' said Ronny, disappointed. 'Let's get out of here.'

Steve rubbed his head, frustrated. 'Look at us, running like rats into holes.'

Krati peeped out from behind the crates. Big Nigerians were roaming around in the crowd, searching for them. 'Ono is not alone. There are gangsters looking for us,' she said worriedly.

Steve took out a small packet of coke.

'Are you serious?' said Krati, aghast.

Steve shrugged. 'When you are against the wall, when you are fucked, when everything is going wrong... what do you do? You fight!'

Krati was angry. 'How is getting drugged now fighting? We need to keep our senses to escape.'

'We are not running away,' said Steve, defiantly. 'We'll fight them on the beaches, we'll fight them on the streets. Churchill was on coke when he gave that war speech!'

Ronny nodded in agreement. 'Make the lines. It'll give us courage and energy to pull off our plan.'

Krati looked at Ronny. 'Even you?'

Ronny shrugged. 'We've invested over two lakh rupees in the past few days in this resort idea. We need it to work.'

Krati was exasperated. 'Don't you get it? The French guy is not going to trust you anymore. It's over,' she said.

Ronny and Steve ignored her and quickly did the lines. They grimaced as the coke hit them.

'You know what, I want out. I'm done working with you two,' said Krati.

They were hiding near the edge of the crowd and Steve, bursting with confidence after the coke, stepped out from behind the crates to look around.

'You again!' said a voice. Steve turned around. Have the gangsters found me?

It was Alice Chabas.

'What are you doing here?' asked Steve, surprised.

'Business,' she said, glancing at the tourists milling about. 'Always business.'

'At a music festival?'

'Yes.'

'Very unlikely.'

'That's how it's done in India.'

Steve looked at her with contempt. 'No, this is an escape from the staid, boring, corporate life you live. Don't pretend it's got anything to do with your work.'

Alice laughed. 'You are a child. You have no understanding of the world.'

Steve saw Simon Chabas waiting with two men near a Toyota Fortuner some distance away. He had lived long enough in Goa to recognize thugs when he saw them. 'The men with your husband, let me tell you, they are local gangsters,' said Steve.

Alice laughed. 'I know.'

'And you had a problem with me?'

'They are the urban development minister's men. There is a difference.'

An idea struck Steve. There was something illegal happening here. How could he make use of this opportunity?

He suddenly pretended to be concerned. 'It's best not to get involved with criminals. Those guys could hurt you.'

'Unlikely. They are our protection.'

Ronny and Krati listened behind the crates in rapt attention.

Steve decided to hazard a guess. Some sort of exchange must be about to happen. Sums of money, most likely. It must be a big amount if there was protection involved.

'Bribing is as bad as selling drugs,' he said, carefully.

There was a flicker of nervousness in Alice's haughty eyes. Steve knew he had guessed right. 'I need to go,' she said.

Steve watched her walk away. He stepped behind the crates and grinned at Ronny and Krati. 'Let's rock and roll!'

Ronny, Krati and Steve followed the white Fortuner. The plan was simple. They would stop the car and seize the money under some pretext. They would have to do it before Simon and Alice met the other party and the cash changed hands. Ronny drove their fake police jeep at a careful distance behind the convoy. Two bikes with the minister's men, one in front and one behind, escorted the Fortuner.

When they were on a long, empty stretch of road, Ronny suddenly sped up. With flashing red beacon lights and sirens, the police jeep overtook the Fortuner and forced the convoy to stop. Ronny and Krati got out of the jeep, dressed in their police uniforms. Steve hid under the back seat.

Naik and Saldanha, the two men who were acting as protection, got off their bikes and eyed Ronny and Krati suspiciously. They were in their early thirties, rough but intelligent. They were surprised. The police had never acted against the minister before.

'Do you know who we are?' asked Naik.

'Yes. The honourable urban development minister's thugs,' said Krati, casually.

Ronny pointed his lathi at the Fortuner. 'We need to talk to the people in the car.'

'The police have never created problems before,' Naik complained. 'This is a misunderstanding.'

Krati walked briskly towards the car. 'Things change,' she said dismissively.

The men looked at each other, concerned. 'You need to take permission from the minister before you can...,' began Saldanha.

Krati laughed. 'Permission? I plan to arrest the minister soon!'

The thugs were in a fix. Naik made a quick phone call. They were muscle against gangs and criminals, not the state apparatus. Krati was wearing the elite Indian Police Service badge on her uniform sleeves. Any violence against a serving IPS officer would have serious repercussions and lead to intense media scrutiny.

Ronny banged on the car's windows.

'Get out!' shouted Krati.

Simon, Alice and the driver stepped out of the car, confused.

'What's going on?' asked Alice.

'Shut up!' barked Krati.

Ronny quickly searched the car and took out a large, black briefcase. He placed it on the bonnet and opened it. He whistled. Inside were crisp stacks of $100 bills.

'What are you doing?' asked Simon, angrily. 'That's my money.'

'We are going to confiscate it!' muttered Ronny. 'Bribing is a crime!'

Alice looked at the two thugs. 'What's going on? Why are the police here? The minister promised everything would be smooth.'

Naik looked into the distance. 'And it will be.'

'Here they come,' said Saldanha.

Ronny and Krati saw a group of vehicles racing towards them.

'Who are they?' asked Ronny, a trace of nervousness in his voice.

'The other party,' said Krati quietly.

Naik looked at them. 'That's the minister's personal assistant, escorted by the police. You can explain to him why you have the minister's money.'

Ronny and Krati exchanged a glance. Their game was up. Ronny held on tightly to the briefcase as he racked his brains for a solution. He wondered if they could make a sudden dash for the jeep and get away, but the two thugs seemed to have read his mind and casually moved towards the jeep to prevent them from escaping. The men were strong and Ronny knew they couldn't fight past them.

There was nothing to do then. He walked over to Krati. 'Now what?' he asked in a whisper.

'No matter what happens, insist we are the police.'

'But...'

'There is no other way.'

The convoy came to a screeching halt. There were four cars. A white Innova with the minister's personal assistant, Kamesh, escorted by a police jeep and two Safaris filled with rowdy-looking men.

Ronny and Krati looked at the police jeep worriedly. The men in the cars got out and hurried towards them. They were surrounded by at least a dozen men. Kamesh and Inspector Tawadkar sized them up cautiously. A couple of policemen looked at the outrageous rims of their fake police jeep in astonishment.

A constable was the first to speak. He addressed Krati rudely. 'Who are you?'

Krati suddenly gave the constable a tight slap. The man stumbled back a few steps, stunned. 'Is that how you address a superior officer?' she barked. 'You corrupt scumbag, I'll have Vigilance investigate you and get you suspended. Then, my squad is going to pay you a house visit.'

The men surrounding her looked on, shocked at the outburst. They had imagined that the badge of being the minister's men would make any police officer cower. Kamesh turned to Inspector Tawadkar and whispered, 'Who the hell is this bitch?'

The inspector rubbed his fat face. 'I don't know.'

'How's that possible?'

'She is probably a new appointment.'

'Or an imposter.'

Inspector Tawadkar looked at Krati carefully. 'Maybe.'

Kamesh took a deep breath and stepped closer to her. He smiled. 'I am Kamesh. I work for the minister.'

Krati looked at him contemptuously. 'I know who you are! I've heard a lot about you.'

'And yet I don't know anything about you,' said Kamesh smoothly.

'I'm with Goa Police. That's all you need to know.'

Kamesh narrowed his eyes. She wasn't revealing her exact designation. Very, very suspicious. All he knew from her uniform was that she was an IPS officer. He glanced at the briefcase in Ronny's hands. He had to get the money away from them. He could easily outmuscle them. But what if she really was a cop? He had to be sure.

'So what happens now?' asked Kamesh.

'We are keeping the money till there is an investigation.'

Kamesh nodded politely. 'That is fine, but surely the protocol is to deposit it at the nearest police station.'

Krati thought of something to say. 'Well...'

'As you know, the nearest station is Panjim,' continued Kamesh, eyeing her warily. 'We'll escort you there.'

'No, we are not going to the station. We have other plans.' Krati looked at Ronny. 'Let's go,' she ordered.

They had barely taken a few steps before the group of men blocked their way.

Krati laughed. 'Are you threatening me?'

Suddenly, a policeman who was examining the jeep shouted at Inspector Tawadkar. 'It's a sham, sir!'

'Watch them!' Kamesh ordered his thugs, who instantly made a circle around Ronny and Krati.

Kamesh and the inspector hurried to the jeep.

'We checked the licence plate; it's false,' said a policeman. 'There is no record for it. Look at the beacon light and the police sign. They are frauds!'

'I knew it!' hissed Kamesh. 'We'll teach them a lesson.'

Steve had nervously watched everything from his hiding spot under the jeep's back seat. The police were checking the jeep carefully now and he knew he would be caught. It looked like the three of them were going to jail. There was only one thing to do. He put on the handcuffs and pretended to be unconscious.

'Look!' cried the inspector, noticing Steve's toes poking out from under the seat. 'What is this?'

A constable climbed into the back of the jeep and stared at Steve. 'There is a guy here.'

'Is he dead?' asked the inspector.

'He is breathing,' replied the constable. 'What do we do with him?'

'Who cares about the hippie?' growled Kamesh. 'Let's get the money and take care of these frauds.'

Kamesh and Inspector Tawadkar walked to Ronny and Krati.

'Take out the iron rods,' ordered Kamesh. 'Break their hands and legs.'

Simon and Alice Chabas had watched the scene unfold with increasing worry. They were stunned to see Steve in the back of the jeep. What should have been a simple exchange of money had become a dangerous, violent situation.

Simon's phone started to buzz. 'Hello?'

It was Fournier. 'Beware of the guy I introduced you to. He is undercover. He almost busted a Nigerian gang here,' he said.

'What?'

'He is dangerous. He is not police. The Nigerians tell me he works for RAW.'

Simon's eyes widened. 'You mean... Indian Intelligence?'

'He'll entrap you!' said Fournier and hung up.

The men took out iron rods from their cars. They moved towards Ronny and Krati. Steve watched them anxiously from the jeep.

Ronny, still holding the briefcase, was shaking. 'Listen...'

'You'll pay for this!' said Krati, coldly, gathering the last dregs of her courage.

Simon suddenly shouted, 'Wait!'

Kamesh viewed him disdainfully. 'If you don't want to witness this...'

'They are RAW,' said Simon.

Krati and Ronny were astounded. The thugs stopped in their tracks.

'Nonsense! They are frauds,' said Kamesh.

'No! They almost busted a Nigerian gang!' insisted Simon.

'It's true,' said Inspector Tawadkar. 'There were reports of RAW activity coming from the Nigerian gangs. That explains why they are pretending to be Goan police. They are not police, they are Intelligence.'

Kamesh wasn't convinced. 'Don't be a fool,' he grunted.

'I'm not screwing with RAW,' said the inspector with finality.

He and Kamesh began to argue. No one was watching the jeep. Steve took off the handcuffs and crawled over into the front seat. He started the jeep. The men looked at the jeep, surprised. Steve clamped down on the accelerator and swerved the jeep towards the group. Everyone jumped out of the way. He slowed down next to Ronny and Krati, who immediately jumped inside. The jeep roared off.

'After them, fools!' screamed Kamesh. 'They have my money!'

But the men looked at each other, confused.

The inspector was puzzled. 'What's going on? Are we going to pursue RAW agents?'

Kamesh pulled his hair in frustration. 'Chase them!' They are frauds, you morons!'

Steve raced the jeep at full speed. They got off the highway and used narrow mud roads to dodge their pursuers. Ronny and Krati kept glancing nervously behind but the head start they had managed to get helped them escape.

They got off the mud path and stopped between a cluster of coconut trees that screened them from the road.

Steve looked at the briefcase, excited. 'Is there money in the briefcase?' he asked.

Ronny opened it. They all stared at the neat rows of cash inside.

Steve gulped. 'Jesus Christ!'

Krati bit her lip. 'We have to ditch the jeep. The police will have notices out immediately. We'll be caught sooner or later if we use this vehicle.'

Ronny was worried. 'Can they trace it to my uncle?'

Krati shook her head. 'Since we changed the number plates, nope.'

'We'll wipe out any fingerprints,' said Steve. 'That's what they do in movies.'

Ronny looked around at the dense patch of trees. 'We can abandon the vehicle here,' he said. 'It'll be days before someone finds it.'

Steve consulted the GPS on his phone. 'There is a five-star hotel nearby. We'll find cabs there to take us back to Baga.'

Krati took out her clothes from a bag. 'We change and go.'

'Wait. It's a lot of money,' said Ronny. 'Won't it be safer if we are dressed like the police for a little while longer?'

'We might get caught. They'll be looking for people in police uniforms,' said Krati.

'We won't use the roads. We'll cut through the fields,' said Ronny. 'Change in the hotel and take a cab from there.'

Krati nodded. 'Fine.' She looked at the open briefcase. 'How much money do you think is there?'

Steve moved his hands over a stack. 'A million dollars, at least.'

Krati gulped. 'That's around six crore rupees.'

They let the moment sink in.

Ronny took a deep breath. 'This is insane. What the fuck did we just do?'

'We are rich,' said Steve.

The three of them grabbed their bags and stepped out of the jeep and into the thick grass.

Ronny kissed the jeep's bonnet. 'Goodbye. Thank you for everything!'

It wasn't just the police who were looking for Ronny, Krati and Steve. The minister's men had activated the Konkani gangs of south Goa to look for the three scamsters. Goons on motorbikes roared out of drug dens and taxi stands and shady massage parlours.

Kamesh was sure that there was no truth to the reports of the three working for Indian Intelligence. They were frauds and would be punished for their impudence.

Ronny, Krati and Steve walked across paddy fields and spice plantations, staying far from roads and people. After a short journey, they reached Coconut Grove, the hotel where Krati had done the modelling shoot. She felt some of the old wounds reopen as they walked across the Mughal gardens of the five-star hotel.

In the lobby, Steve asked for a cab while Ronny and Krati walked towards the restrooms to change. They were relieved to have made it safely to the hotel. People glanced curiously at the police officers.

But the minister had eyes everywhere. A man at the reception desk was watching the three of them carefully. He took out his cell. He double-checked the sketches that had been faxed to him and hesitated. He had strict orders to call a local gangster in case Ronny, Krati or Steve were seen in the hotel. He felt sorry for the three of them. They were young and would now be hurt badly. The gangsters would arrive within a few minutes, recce the area, station their men around the hotel and, when the three stepped out, pounce on them.

He could ignore them but he knew there would be severe consequences if the local gangs found out that he had let their enemies go. He had a family to feed. He was no hero. He made the call.

Krati had reached the ladies room door when a loud voice suddenly startled her. 'Krati!'

She turned and looked at the person who had shrieked her name. It was a plump, overdressed girl with heavy make-up. It took Krati a few seconds to recognize her. 'Pravina?' she muttered, shocked.

Krati had a sinking feeling. Oh, no! Not now! She had left her past behind. She had studiously avoided getting in touch with any of her school or college friends. It was a complicated issue. She had not wanted the world to know that she was struggling to make it in Bollywood. She was ashamed of her failures. She had gone to the best convent schools and colleges in the country. Her classmates now had successful lives. They were professionals; lawyers, doctors, media personalities and rising stars in the corporate world. And she had nothing. Except a million dollars that I stole!

'Where did you disappear?' asked a thrilled Pravina, giving her a bear hug.

Krati didn't know what to say. She hesitated. 'I... I...'

'I'm sorry... please don't mind me saying this... but you've grown really... um, big.'

Krati looked at her uncomprehendingly.

'I don't want to use the F-word,' said Pravina. 'But you were really, really pretty in college.'

Krati suddenly understood. It was her costume and the fat suit and the make-up. She felt annoyed. Pravina had been the college bitch; rude, mean and judgmental. I wish I wasn't in this stupid costume.

Pravina studied Krati. She glanced at her fake gun holster. 'You may have lost your looks a bit but... wow, you are an IPS officer. That's impressive.'

Krati knew she had to get away. 'I'm sorry but I really need to go—'

Pravina interrupted her. 'Are you kidding me? There is a huge surprise for you.'

Krati was concerned. 'What do you mean?'

Krati and Pravina pushed opened the entrance door of the conference hall and stepped in. The huge, luxurious room was beautifully decorated with coloured lights and floral designs, the theme being Hawaii, for some reason. Waiters walked around in large hats and bright shirts serving appetizers to the guests. A group of twenty-somethings were enjoying the food, drink and the DJ's music.

Krati froze seeing a banner hanging from the ceiling. It said 'COLLEGE REUNION' and Krati realized with a shock that she was in a room full of people she had been avoiding for the last four years. What the fuck just happened?

'Look who's here!' shouted Pravina.

There was shock in the room. People crowded around her. Krati felt dizzy. Faces jumped at her from her past. Old memories resurfaced. She felt guilty at cutting herself off from so many of her old friends. I'm a nobody in a room full of somebodies. What had happened? How had she ended up in this situation? I cheat people for a living now. What the fuck? She felt a deep shame.

Everyone was talking to her simultaneously.

'Is that Krati?'

'Aren't you on social media?'

'Where were you?'

'Why didn't you call back?'

'How could you not talk to me all these years?'

'Are you a police officer?'

Krati didn't know what to do or say.

Ronny came to the rescue. 'Guys! Please, step back,' said Ronny, harshly, waving his lathi, still in his police uniform.

Everyone stepped back from the aggressive cop.

'Madam was working undercover,' said Ronny, theatrically. 'She was fighting the drug gangs of Goa... and Mumbai... and, um, Europe.'

Everyone was stunned. There were whistles of surprise.

It was not only her classmates who were impressed. Kamesh and a couple of his thugs stood near the door, watching the scene unfold with amazement. The local Konkani goons that operated near the hotel had called him instantly when they learned of the whereabouts of their prey. Now, Kamesh had a decision to make. Outside, gangsters were waiting to pick up Ronny, Krati and Steve. Krati seemed to be popular. If she was an imposter, why would she go to a public event in her fake police uniform?

Kamesh realized that there was more going on than met his eye. But what? The problem was that if the three were somehow connected to law enforcement, there could be severe consequences for him if he set his goons on them. The minister was untouchable but he would be made the sacrificial lamb. He decided to wait and watch.

It was a surreal experience. Krati felt like it was all a dream. There was a strong sense of nostalgia as her past life flashed before her. She remembered her hopes and her dreams. Back then, there had been a sense of excitement and purpose about the future. Things were so different now. The strange thing was that all these years she had avoided her college mates out of a sense of failure. And yet, today, ironically, she was like a rock star before them. Everybody wanted to talk to her, take selfies with her, get her number and make promises of hanging out. Even though it was not real, she felt good. Ronny stood next to her, grinning, seeing the reaction of her old friends.

Pravina deftly took Krati aside. Ronny followed. 'The chief guest for our event is here. He'll love to meet a fellow officer,' said Pravina excitedly.

Krati eyes widened. 'Sorry?'

Before she knew what was happening, she and Ronny were standing in front of a tall man wearing a police uniform. Pravina quickly made the introduction. 'This is Shankar sir, the DGP of Goa. Krati is one of the best young IPS officers in the country!'

The director general of police was the highest ranking police official in an Indian state. Alok Shankar, the DGP of Goa, was a 55-year-old upright, intelligent officer who was doing his best in a corrupt, rotten system. He had made it a point to keep an eye out for talented young officers and was surprised he had never heard of Krati.

'Which batch are you? Which cadre?' Shankar asked curiously.

Krati gulped. 'Actually, I...'

'She has been working undercover,' said Pravina. 'Busting drug gangs!'

Shankar was surprised. 'Really?'

Pravina made a graceful exit. 'Well, I guess you have confidential things to talk about,' she said, mock conspiratorially. 'I'll leave you alone.'

'I don't understand,' said Shankar when Pravina had left. 'IPS officers don't work undercover. Yours must be an exceptional case. Are you with the Narcotics Control Bureau?'

Ronny and Krati exchanged a glance. This was dangerous territory.

The DGP noticed the hesitation. A lifetime of dealing with criminals had honed his instincts well. He immediately knew there was something wrong about the two of them. He studied Krati carefully. He narrowed his eyes. 'That's not a real uniform,' he said coldly. 'Is this some sort of joke?'

The tension mounted and then, Ronny laughed suddenly. Shankar looked suspiciously at him.

'Of course. It's a joke,' said Ronny jovially.

Shankar was perplexed. 'What?'

'We are... um, actors.'

'I don't understand.'

'We were having rehearsals for a film shoot that's happening in this hotel.'

Shankar's temper was rising. 'Why did you lie?' he asked Krati. 'Why did you pretend you were real police?'

'I apologize, sir,' said Krati quickly, glancing around to see if any of her classmates were listening to the conversation. 'Actually, we figured that if we can make you believe we are real police officers we have done our jobs as actors.'

'Sorry, sir,' added Ronny. 'We crossed a line. Sometimes as actors we push the boundaries of what a performance is. In this case, we were wrong.'

Shankar laughed heartily. He thumped Ronny on the back. 'You wily foxes, for a moment you both had me fooled. But only for a moment.'

'You were too clever for us, sir,' said Krati.

Shankar chuckled. 'Well, best of luck for your film, kids!'

'Good to meet you, sir!' said Krati politely.

Ronny and Krati hurried out, deeply relieved. They kept their heads down, desperate to get away from the hotel. At the entrance to the conference hall they saw Kamesh and stopped, startled.

'We are trapped,' muttered Ronny.

Krati bit her lip. 'What now?'

The minister's men had tracked them down. They would either be arrested and put in jail, or worse, be dealt with by the gangsters themselves. Ronny and Krati realized it was over.

Kamesh had seen everything that had happened. From a distance, he had observed the DGP talking to Ronny and Krati. Whatever doubts he had about them vanished. He knew one thing now. They were real. The minister needed to be updated about this development immediately. The fact that not one of their contacts in the central government seemed to know anything about the three proved that whatever operation they were conducting was top secret. Of course the DGP was in on it. Looking at the way he was laughing with Ronny and Krati, it seemed that he knew the two very well. It wouldn't be easy but the DGP had to be transferred.

Kamesh wiped the sweat from his brow. The minister had operated unhindered and untroubled for nearly two decades as he amassed hordes of black money. His fat fingers were in every pie in Goa; gambling, real estate, mining, prostitution, extortion. But trouble was coming now and Kamesh would have to fix it. He had to be clever. The solution was definitely not street goons. He would have to call off the police and the gangsters and approach this problem like a chess game. The stakes were too high.

Kamesh nodded at his two thugs. They walked away.

# 15

What do you do with a million dollars? Steve emptied the briefcase on Ronny's bed and jumped onto the scattered cash wads.

Krati grinned. 'How does it feel?'

'Heavenly,' said Steve with closed eyes.

Ronny and Krati squeezed in next to him on the bed. Krati picked up some of the money and threw it on top of the three of them. They lay there, taking in the moment, savouring it.

'What are we going to spend all this cash on?' asked Krati.

'Our dreams,' said Ronny.

The three of them made their wish lists and went about getting everything they had ever wanted. The police and the gangsters never came calling and after a few days passed, they knew they had got away clean.

Steve's dream was to own a club. They went to the popular Tito's Lane in Baga, which was known for its nightclubs, and rented out a large, decrepit building and began to turn it into a hotspot. They named their club Hustle Little Hippie and gave it a vintage sixties look. This was Steve's homage to the Goan hippies of old. Everything in the club was a reference to the hippie movement; the shot glasses, the furniture, the dress code of the bartenders and waiters, even the lights and the music. On top of the bar was hung the large chassis of a colourfully painted Volkswagen camper, a hippie van.

The only non-hippie thing in the club compound was the shiny black Range Rover that was parked near the building entrance. That had been Ronny's ultimate dream. He loved the power, strength and speed of the car. He felt like he was a gangster.

'If you fuck over gangsters, man, you are a motherfucking gangster,' Steve had said. The three of them started acting accordingly. They wanted their own gang, so they hired a dozen bodybuilders from a nearby gym to escort them around and act as bouncers in the club. Considering that there were gangs and politicians who might be on the lookout for them, they knew they needed the protection. But, more importantly, it was cool to be surrounded by big, muscled bodyguards.

Hustle Little Hippie quickly became the hottest spot in Goa, attracting tourists and expats in droves. Everyone wanted to hang out there. The posh south Mumbai crowd would drive down on weekends in their fathers' Audis and BMWs, the spoilt Goan brats would walk over from their massive Baga bungalows, the young European travellers and neo-hippies would come full of excitement about connecting to the Goan hippie legacy by spending time in the club.

The music was cool and the ambience chilled out. Crazy Steve, as he came to be called, was the perfect host, telling his stories and goading partygoers to drink frantically and drug themselves. Considering the popularity of the place, it was no surprise that money was steadily flowing in.

'This is beautiful,' Krati had said. 'We are converting our stolen money into white, legal income.'

Ronny, Krati and Steve moved into spacious rooms on top of the club. They poached two excellent chefs from a five-star hotel in south Goa by paying them three times what they were making. They would wake up around 2 p.m. and breakfast on deliciously prepared prawn rolls, mushroom salad, beef sandwiches and chicken quiches.

Afternoons were spent on the beach, which was right on their doorstep, drinking beer and smoking up under the shade of beach umbrellas. At 6 p.m. people would slowly start coming into the club. The three of them would then relax in the club, enjoying the music and meeting new people. After a few drinks they would start the coke sessions. Sometimes they would try magic mushrooms, Ecstasy and other party drugs. Then they would dance till the party ended at dawn. Every once in a while, when a scuffle broke out, Ronny and Steve, since they believed they were gangsters now, would join the bouncers in beating up and throwing the troublemakers out.

Ronny and Steve had perfected the art of meeting cute girls. The conversation was always the same.

R or S (excited, eager): Hi!

Cute Girl (usually uninterested): Hey.

R or S: Can I buy you a drink?

Cute Girl (bored): No, thanks.

R or S: How do you like this place?

Cute Girl (still bored, looking around for cooler men): It's not bad.

R or S (taking out a cigarette, joint or coke packet and preparing to light or make lines)

Cute Girl (concerned): What are you doing? That's not allowed.

R or S (casually): I own the place. I set the rules.

Cute Girl (finally interested): Wow, you own this place?

The second approach was to sit in their Range Rover at the entrance of the club with bouncers surrounding them and decide who was cute enough to get an entry during the weekend rush. The girls they let in would be super nice and grateful when they met Ronny and Steve later.

Riding high on the coke confidence, almost invariably before every party ended, Ronny, Krati and Steve would find attractive partners and take them to their rooms upstairs.

After a night of passion, they would wake up at noon and repeat the day. They felt like they were in a dream, high on alcohol and drugs almost every waking hour. Everything was hazy. But it was good hazy.

Ronny was thoughtful. He looked carefully at the text message. The afternoon sun streamed in brightly from the curtain parting. He looked at the tall Finnish girl sleeping next to him. He couldn't remember the previous night too well. He noticed bruises on his body. He saw burnt out candle stubs lying on the floor. It must have been quite crazy.

Angelica had sent him a text message. 'Are you OK? I don't see you around anymore.'

He had stopped going to choir practice after making an excuse of chicken pox. The church choir had been in a state of distress at the news. A last-minute replacement for Ronny was hard to find and to bring that person up to speed would be a trying task.

But Ronny didn't care. Life was perfect. Why bother with the intense choir practice when he had everything: women, money, drugs and respect.

Angelica was another matter. But of late, she was rarely in his thoughts. Ronny lit a cigarette, walked to the curtains, naked, and opened them. He squinted, looking at the beach, which was a beehive of activity with tourists lying on the sand, watersports going on off the shore and beach shacks teeming with crowds.

The Finnish girl stirred in the bed. 'Close the curtains,' she complained.

Ronny ignored her and stepped onto the room balcony. The solution to all problems is drugs, he mused. What happened to my love for Angelica? It's been fucking dulled completely.

He realized that he was so caught up in the hedonistic web he had created that real life, his problems, his past, his love all seemed to be a distant dream.

From the balcony, he glanced at Krati's room. The curtains were still closed. She seemed to be sleeping. Who was she with? Last night was a fog and all he could remember were random images. She had been talking to an American tourist. That must be the guy with her now.

He felt the usual pang of jealousy thinking of her with another guy. But what right did he have? She was not his girlfriend. He was sleeping around and so was she. They were grappling with some form of hedonistic madness. Only the present mattered.

How come I've never done it with Krati? They had both studiously avoided flirting with each other. There was a certain awkwardness about it. Was it because they had something deeper between them?

Ronny sighed. Why think so much? He decided to head to the beach. He put on his shorts and took out his weed packet. He pulled down the sheets covering the sleeping girl and kissed her tenderly on her breasts.

He felt like a stud. He felt like a gangster.

How do you deal with the guilt? Krati wasn't sure. Perhaps it was because she was born Indian, but she had a big issue with sex. It was different abroad. For most of the foreign travellers she had met, sex really wasn't such a big deal, it was just another aspect of life. For quite a few of them, sleeping with someone was like brushing teeth. You didn't think too much about it. I wish I could be like that.

As a female who had grown up in India, she had a lot of issues to deal with. The ideal bharatiya nari was the conservative, virginal, non-sexual woman who had no desires and never made mistakes. And I'm too fucked up.

It was a strange thing. She had stolen a million dollars and scammed tourists and yet, the only thing she was guilty about was the sex. I'm not harming anyone; why do I feel it's so wrong?

The mornings were the worst when the drug haze faded and she looked at the guy lying next to her. But then the day would begin and over weed, alcohol and coke she would forget her guilt till the next morning.

The American guy sleepily nuzzled her neck and moved his hands up her legs. She managed to switch off the morning torrent of thoughts and turned her head to kiss him. He was built like a rugby player with a large, powerful body. She closed her eyes, savouring the moment as his strong hands explored her.

Steve ran on the beach in the afternoon sun. Life is fucking beautiful. He was living his dream. He had done a few coke lines after waking up and that had given him the energy to go for a run.

He had never imagined he would own a nightclub, or that he would turn it into the perfect party spot that attracted people from around the world. He had not realized how cool money was. The million dollars had given him an incredible lifestyle.

A few years ago he had set out to find the meaning of life. How silly! There was no meaning, no truth. The objective was to live every day to the fullest, which he was doing. He was pleased with how his life had turned out. The only dark cloud was Svetlana and the memories of the past. But he consoled himself: She is a part of me and will always be.

In the meantime, he would enjoy the sex, drugs and Goan trance.

# 16

Sneg walked into Hustle Little Hippie. He was wearing a full black shirt that covered his mafia tattoos. Even though he was in a foreign country, he felt invisible. He was one of the thousands of Russians in Goa. He had taken a room in Morjim, a town in north Goa that was called 'Little Russia' by the locals. Over 900 chartered flights from Russia brought more than 200,000 Russian tourists every year. Morjim was their favourite destination. Many had stayed back to open restaurants, clubs and guest houses on the beach.

Along with the tourists, there had come the Russian mafia. There was a bustling drugs and flesh trade in Morjim. There were rumours that the Indian political establishment turned a blind eye to the activities of the mafia in exchange for their help in taking black money out of India.

Sneg found himself a seat next to the bar and studied the place. He made a mental map of the club layout and the exits, sized up the bouncers and then waited for the three club owners to show up. He ran through all the details once more in his mind. The murders had to look like accidents. He planned to kill them without leaving any bruises on their bodies and then dumping them in the sea. The bodies would wash ashore in a few days and the cause of death would be termed as drowning.

Sneg was a perfectionist and his meticulous ways made him extremely valuable to his bosses at FSB, the Russian Federal Police. He hated Goa. The warm holiday atmosphere was suffocating. He liked the cold. His name meant 'snow' in Russian. He got it during his early days with the Russian mafia, when he used to carry out gang hits by stuffing snow in his victim's mouth. The victim would die of asphyxiation but the snow would melt and there would be no trace of the crime. The FSB soon hired him for their operations against the enemies of the Russian State.

India was good business for elite Russian hitmen and their handlers. Carefully orchestrated 'accidents' involving the rich and famous brought in millions of dollars. Most of the money would go to Russian government officials and the mafia bosses. The hitmen would get a smaller chunk.

Sneg had carried out more than a dozen hits in India. All professional. All untraceable. Most were made to look like accidents, some suicides. Operating in India was too easy. Unlike American or European murders which required long, painstaking work to avoid getting into the clutches of the investigating agencies, Indian police was usually corrupt and inept, investigations were shoddy, blotched and easily influenced. He had taken care of the cheating wife of a billionaire, a politician's daughter's boyfriend who was from a different religion, a social activist who was creating trouble for a right wing organization, a riot witness who could bring down a state government and a whistleblower in Madhya Pradesh. Usually, the kill orders would come directly from the Kremlin. Indian politicians reached out for Russian help through their contacts in Moscow.

Sneg finally found his prey. Ronny, Krati and Steve walked into the club and sat together near the bar counter, chatting. Sneg observed them philosophically. Life is so fickle, he mused. In a few hours they'll be dead.

After the party ended, Sneg waited patiently for Ronny, Krati and Steve to go upstairs to their rooms. Ronny and Krati were alone but Steve had a girl with him. Sneg took the open, spiralling stairway that went up from the club entrance to the first floor. He jammed the door on the first floor with a piece of wood to prevent anybody from escaping. He walked along the long verandah and reached Krati's room.

He silently unlocked the door with a pen knife. The room was dark, with moonlight falling in through the open curtains. Krati was about to take off her clothes. Sneg switched on the lights. Krati spun around and looked at the intruder, shocked. Before she could scream, he leaped, grabbed her and covered her mouth with his strong hands. He pushed her onto a chair and taped her mouth and hands. She was immobile. He looked her up and down. He nodded, satisfied. There were no marks or bruises on her. He gently brought his gloved hands to her nose to stop her breathing.

The door opened and Ronny stared at Sneg with his mouth open. Ronny wasn't sleepy and he had come to Krati's room to see if she had some drugs. He needed one more hit before calling it a night.

Ronny saw a large brass flower vase kept on a table near the door. He grabbed it and raised it. Sneg walked casually towards him. Ronny swung it with full power. Sneg suddenly stepped back, expertly dodging the blow. He then grabbed the vase and pulled Ronny towards him.

A careful punch aimed at Ronny's stomach ensured that Ronny fell down, winded, the fight gone out of him. Sneg threw the vase down, grabbed Ronny with an iron grip and taped him up quickly. Ronny lay on the floor, putting up a futile struggle.

Sneg walked back to Krati, rubbing his hands. He had to be gentle when he killed her. He was about to bring his hands over her face when he heard the noise of a door banging shut nearby.

Steve had a problem. He couldn't get it up.

The naked Brazilian girl had pushed him onto the bed and climbed on top of his body. She had teased him with a few fleeting kisses on his lips and had then expertly slid down his naked body.

But the lovemaking stopped there.

'Is it me?' she asked.

'No, baby,' said Steve, extremely perturbed. 'It's the alcohol.'

The girl sighed. 'So what now?'

'I'll be back,' he said, gently disentangling himself. 'Don't go anywhere.'

Steve hurried out of his room. He didn't bother putting on any clothes. Among the plethora of drugs hidden in different spots in the club there could probably be Viagra. Ronny would know. He went to Ronny's room to question him.

He saw that Ronny's room door was open. He glanced inside. It was empty. He banged the door shut in frustration. Where the fuck is Ronny?

He noticed that Krati's room door was open too. He walked towards it and looked inside. Maybe Ronny is inside. Steve gasped. He saw Ronny and Krati tied up. A man in black had his hands around Krati's neck. Seeing Steve, the man immediately moved towards him. Steve's first thought was that he was hallucinating; his second that he hadn't touched mushrooms in two days. Steve realized that he couldn't out-run the guy. There was only one thing to do. He fell down, pretending to have a seizure.

Sneg saw Steve frothing at the mouth and trembling. The guy is OD-ing. Sneg shook his head, annoyed. He liked the feeling of taking a life but Steve had robbed him of the opportunity. Looking at Steve shaking on the ground, Sneg knew he would be dead in a matter of minutes.

Sneg turned his attention to Krati. Just as Sneg turned his back on him, Steve happened to see the brass vase lying nearby. In an instant, he was up on his feet with the vase in his hands. Sneg intuitively felt a sense of danger and had begun to turn back towards Steve when he swung the vase. It crashed onto the back of Sneg's head and the Russian hitman fell down.

Steve watched the man groaning on the floor for a moment and then, shaking off the web of confusion created by alcohol and drugs, he began to free Ronny and Krati.

'Why are you naked?' asked Ronny, getting to his feet groggily.

'Never mind that,' retorted Steve. 'Who is this man?'

'He was going to kill us,' said Krati, rubbing her sore wrists.

'What do we do?' asked Steve. 'Should I hit him again?'

But Sneg had recovered enough from the blow to get to his knees. He looked like a fearsome tiger about to spring.

'Let's run,' cried Ronny.

Ronny, Krati and Steve raced towards the stairs but much to their dismay the door was wedged shut.

'There is a window at the top,' shouted Steve. 'Follow me.'

They ran in the opposite direction and climbed a narrow stairwell that led to an attic-like space. There was a small window opening onto the balcony beyond but much to Steve's frustration, stacks of empty beer bottle crates had covered it completely. Steve and Ronny desperately tried to push the crates aside.

Sneg stepped out of the room and glared. He saw that they were trapped. He walked slowly towards them.

'He's coming,' cried Krati.

'We can't move it!' said Ronny, desperately.

Sneg was at the bottom of the stairwell. He spat on the ground, eager to finish them off.

Krati backed up against the crates, terrified, her hands clenching the empty beer bottles. And that's when she got the idea.

She grabbed two beer bottles and hurled them at Sneg. The hitman easily dodged them and they shattered on the wall next to him.

Ronny and Steve looked at each other. There was only one way to escape the assassin. The three of them began throwing beer bottles at Sneg. They crashed around him, glass pieces flying everywhere. There were too many bottles to dodge. Sneg put his arms over his head protectively while bottles smashed into his body.

Sneg had to back away from the hurricane of flying bottles. There were now shouts coming from outside. The tremendous din had started to attract attention. Sneg realized his plan had failed.

'Schas po ebalu poluchish, suka, blyad!' he cursed and hurried away to the first floor staircase. He kicked open the door he had jammed and disappeared.

Ronny, Krati and Steve slumped down, exhausted.

'What was that?' asked Krati, catching her breath.

'That was an attempted hit,' said Steve quietly.

Ronny took a deep breath. 'I thought we had managed to get away.'

Krati rubbed her head. 'Well, we didn't.'

'The guy spoke Russian,' said Steve.

'What the fuck did we do to your mafia boss ex-girlfriend?' cried Ronny.

Steve shook his head. 'It's not her. The guy was most likely a hired thug.'

'If he was Russian we can ask Svetlana for help,' said Krati.

Steve dithered. 'It's a little uncomfortable.'

'They are not going to stop,' Ronny warned. 'And next time we won't be this lucky.'

The Brazilian girl peeked out of Steve's room, looking terrified. 'What is going on?'

Steve lay down next to the crates with no trace of being conscious about his nakedness and closed his eyes, savouring the second life he had just got. 'Nothing, baby. Go to sleep. I'm done for the night.'

They went back to The White Rabbit. After being kept waiting for almost half a day by Vitaly and Bogdan, they were finally able to meet Svetlana. They told her their story. But the price of their safety was steep.

She wanted a million dollars. And a promise that they would get out of Goa. They sat in the exquisite living room of a chalet. Svetlana was dressed in a sharp, black suit. She eyed the three of them carefully. She was over her momentary weakness for Steve. The little light that had begun to burn in her heart had quickly been doused. She was the tough mafia boss again.

'Goa is my home,' complained Ronny.

'You should have thought of that before robbing a politician,' said Svetlana disdainfully.

'We don't have a million dollars,' said Steve. 'We spent quite a bit of that money.'

Krati bit her lips. 'I think we have about $700,000.'

Svetlana studied her long fingernails. 'Your club will make up for it. It's doing well, I hear.'

There was silence on the table. Svetlana was taking everything they had. Ronny was glad she didn't mention the Range Rover. It seemed that after risking their lives and going on crazy adventures, the only thing they had got out of the scam was a Range Rover. Ronny, Krati and Steve exchanged glances. There was nothing to be done. If they wanted to stay alive they would have to take Svetlana's deal.

'So you guarantee that we'll be safe?' asked Steve.

Svetlana nodded. 'Yes. You have my word.'

'Can we keep a little of the money?' asked Ronny.

Svetlana looked at Ronny contemptuously. 'I don't negotiate.'

Krati shrugged. 'Fine. You can have it all.'

Svetlana got up and adjusted her suit. 'This is not your world, Steve,' she said. 'Stay away from it. The next time you get into trouble I'm not going to help you.'

Steve nodded.

Ronny couldn't hide his frustration. 'You are taking everything we have.'

'Yes, I'm taking everything you have. That's what happens when you deal with the Russian mafia,' said Svetlana, walking to the door. 'And everything incudes your car. Goodbye!'

# 17

Ronny and Krati moved back into Grandma's house. Steve went back to his budget motel in Arambol. They had nothing now. They were back to square one. A collective depression seized them. The party life had ended. Their drug habit was too expensive to maintain. After a week of lethargy, the three of them went to Sandy's.

'We were supposed to leave Goa,' said Krati, nursing her cold beer.

'And go where?' asked Ronny. 'Do what?'

'Get back to our old lives, I guess.'

Ronny slid down his chair and stared emptily at the ceiling. 'Not after what we've been through. I used to own a fucking Range Rover and now I have to ride around on a decrepit bike.'

'Fucking bitch,' Krati muttered. 'Did she really need to take our club too?'

'Don't call her that in front of Steve,' said Ronny, gloomily.

Krati sighed. 'I wonder how he's taking this.'

'Horribly, I suppose.'

Steve walked into Sandy's. He saw Ronny and Krati and bounded to their table. He looked surprisingly well, full of energy and excitement.

'What drug are you on?' asked Ronny suspiciously.

'I'm high on life!' said Steve with a grin.

Krati raised her eyebrows. 'Why are you so happy?'

Steve took a dramatic pause. 'Because Sofia is coming!' he whispered. He looked at them expectantly.

'Who the fuck is Sofia?' asked Ronny, puzzled.

Steve leaned back on his chair. 'Not who, what...' he said, throwing a pamphlet on the table.

Ronny and Krati studied the piece of paper. It had a picture of a large cruise ship.

'I see a ship,' said Krati.

'Sofia is a luxury cruise ship,' Steve explained. 'She comes to Goa once every three years. They have a world famous casino inside. Whenever it docks in Goa, the casino is frequented by the rich and famous, from Mumbai, from Goa, from abroad...'

'So?' asked Ronny confused.

'There may be druggies among these gamblers,' said Krati thoughtfully.

'Super-rich druggies,' Steve corrected her.

'Wait, wait. Are you guys seriously thinking about starting the scam again?' asked Ronny, concerned.

Steve nodded. 'We'll pull off one last con and then we are done.'

'No way!' cried Ronny.

'I want the life we have lost,' said Krati. 'I'm in!'

Ronny clasped his head. 'Jesus.'

'If we find the right target we could make a lot of money,' said Krati.

'No,' said Steve. 'If we find the right target, we could retire.'

Ronny, Krati and Steve walked along the pier to where a massive cruise liner was docked. The three of them had dressed for the occasion. Ronny wore a dinner jacket, his hair neatly gelled. Krati looked stunning in her black evening gown. Steve had got himself a fitted three-piece suit. The cruise liner was an impressive sight, towering above them. The gleam of the shiny, white ship was blinding in the evening sun. An elaborate stairway rose up into it.

Once inside the ship, they hurried to the casino. It was spectacular. The decor was modern and luxurious. Amidst the rich golds and browns in the hall were beautifully lit green tables. Well-dressed wait-staff moved around with trays of champagne. A Goan band was playing ethnic music.

Ronny, Krati and Steve stood at the casino floor entrance, looking around and taking in the sights. But there was a problem. The people around them were ordinary middle-class Indians, not the rich and the famous. Except the three of them, everybody else wore casuals.

'Wait a minute,' said Ronny.

'What the fuck is this?' cried Steve.

Krati shook her head. 'These are not the rich.'

Steve was furious. 'I'm the only person here dressed like fucking James Bond.'

'Who told you the rich come here?' asked Ronny.

'The guy who sold me the tickets. Motherfucker!' hissed Steve.

It all finally got to Steve. The loss of a million dollars, the loss of his beloved club, the loss of Svetlana... His frustrations boiled over. Steve kicked the wall repeatedly, startling people around him.

'Chill, man,' said a surprised Ronny.

'Steve!' Krati touched his shoulder, trying to calm him down.

Steve pushed her away and furiously walked away from them. He fished into his pocket and took out a vial of cocaine. Swearing under his breath, he hurried towards the restroom. He needed a hit to deal with the cruise ship failure. Distracted and in a state of rage, Steve mistakenly went into the ladies' room.

He walked towards the washbasins, still cursing his luck. A woman hurried out on seeing him. 'What's wrong with you?' she asked, annoyed.

Steve shouted at her angrily. 'You are in the wrong place, bitch!'

He put the coke on the washbasin platform. He didn't care who saw him. He quickly made three lines. He rolled a note in an instant, leaned down and did the first line.

From one of the stalls there came the sound of a toilet flushing. A girl stepped out of the cubicle. Veronika was a tall, slender and blonde Swedish girl. She wore a dark blue, backless gown. Her expensive diamond jewellery glittered in the light.

She stared at Steve through the washbasin mirror, watching him do his second line. Steve saw her and was astounded. What is this ravishing beauty doing in the men's room?

Veronika moved towards him. 'I love bad boys,' she said sexily.

Steve gulped. The girl moved like a runaway model. 'I... yes... I'm a very bad boy,' he said hoarsely.

Veronika slowly took the note from his hand and did the last line. They stared at each other for a moment and then started furiously kissing.

Ronny and Krati were standing admiring the busy casino.

'Since we are here, let us continue with the scam,' said Ronny.

Krati was skeptical. 'We won't make much money. And besides, there are only Indians here. The cop scam only works with foreigners.'

'Well... let's at least try. For old times' sake.'

Krati nodded. 'Fine. Anyone look like a druggie?'

Ronny scanned the people around him. 'Everyone looks the same,' he sighed. 'Middle-aged couples.'

Krati pointed at the band playing the Dulpod. 'What about him?'

The lead singer was a lean, dark-complexioned man in his late twenties with an Afro hairstyle and Jamaican wrist-bands.

'We can't scam him,' said Ronny. 'He's a local. And anyway he won't have much money.'

Krati talked to Ronny slowly, like he was a child. 'No, but he might know if someone is selling drugs here. Then we watch the drug seller, see who buys. Go ask the band guy.'

Ronny hesitated. 'I don't know. This seems too complicated.'

'Just do it,' said Krati, exasperated. 'He's taking a break now.'

Ronny walked to the band guy.

'Nice music,' said Ronny.

He smiled politely. 'Thank you.'

Ronny whispered. 'Hey, do you know if I can get some drugs around here?'

The band guy wrinkled his nose. He glared at Ronny repugnantly. 'Now why would you ask me that? Because I'm a musician? Because of my hair? I don't do drugs and if I find out someone is, I report them to the police. People like you are giving Goa a bad name.'

Ronny was taken aback. 'Chill, man.'

'No, I'm not going to chill,' said the guy, raising his voice.

Ronny abruptly turned and hurried away from the guy. Krati was watching the scene unfold.

'Why did you make him angry?' she asked Ronny.

'What? The guy is crazy.'

'You don't know how to ask.'

Ronny gritted his teeth. 'Krati, sometimes you are the most annoying person in the world.'

She shrugged. 'I'll show you how it's done.'

'Wait, don't.'

Krati walked to the band guy. The band guy was sipping water, sitting on a couch. Krati smiled brightly at him, then leaned over. The neckline of her dress was low and the band guy looked mesmerized at her bosom. He caught himself and looked up at Krati, a little embarrassed.

'Where can I find some drugs?' she asked sweetly.

The band guy cleared his throat, trying to find his voice. 'I... I'm sorry. I don't know.'

Krati stood upright. 'Oh, OK.'

She was about to walk off when the band guy suddenly said: 'You are the third person to ask me that today.'

'Second, you mean?'

'Third.'

Krati was thoughtful. Someone besides Ronny and her was interested in drugs. That person could be the target of their scam.

'Who was the first?' asked Krati.

'Veronika,' said the band guy deferentially. 'There she is.' He pointed at the blonde Swedish girl sitting at the casino bar. Krati was surprised to see her chatting with Steve.

'How do you know her name?' she asked.

'Everyone in Goa knows her.'

'Really? Is she famous?'

'Infamous, more like... so if you like my music we could maybe hang out...'

Krati lightly pinched the band guy's cheek. 'Goodbye.'

Ronny was flabbergasted. 'How can he manage to flirt with her like that? I don't get it.'

Ronny and Krati sat observing Steve and Veronika make out at the bar counter, their arms around each other.

Krati shook her head in disbelief. 'How did Steve know she wanted drugs? The guy is a genius.'

Ronny suddenly saw Angelica and her boyfriend on the casino floor. 'Fuck,' he muttered.

The boyfriend was really drunk and was playing roulette. He was loud, obnoxious and talked vulgarly, cursing the dealer whenever he lost. Angelica looked uncomfortable. Her eyes happened to catch Ronny's. She hesitated a little, then walked up to him.

'Hi,' said Angelica.

'Hi,' said Ronny.

'You completely disappeared.'

'Been a bit busy.'

'I heard you had chicken pox.'

Ronny looked at her, surprised. 'What?'

'That's what the choir members were saying,' said Angelica.

'Oh, yes, yes...'

'Well, you look good. I've never seen you this well-dressed before.'

Ronny smiled. 'Thanks. How have you been?'

She shrugged. 'OK, I guess.'

Angelica noticed Krati standing next to Ronny. 'Hi,' she said. After a moment's hesitation, she asked a little awkwardly, 'Are you guys dating?'

Ronny laughed. 'Are you kidding me? Of course not!'

Krati looked very uncomfortable.

'Your boyfriend is in a good mood,' said Ronny to Angelica.

Angelica sighed. 'It's complicated with him. He drinks too much and then... anyway, I should go.'

'Take care,' said Ronny.

He watched Angelica walk away. Ronny was thoughtful. Things were not going well in her relationship. His dream of getting back with her didn't look so impossible now. But why wasn't he more excited about that? Maybe I'm too stressed about the scams and the gangster shit going on in my life.

'What was with your reaction?' asked Krati.

Ronny looked at her, puzzled. 'What do you mean?'

'When she asked if we were seeing each other, you laughed derisively.'

'What are you talking about?'

'Nothing. Forget it.'

'I didn't laugh... derisively,' Ronny protested.

'You did,' said Krati, coldly. "Like the idea of us being together was too repulsive to imagine.'

'What?'

'Anyway, forget it.'

'I didn't...'

'Whatever.'

They noticed that Steve and Veronika were leaving the bar.

'Let's get this over with,' said Krati.

Ronny and Krati followed Steve and Veronika, who left the cruise ship and walked along the moonlit dockyard, hand in hand, past containers and heavy machinery. The pier was silent and empty.

'We need to get into our police costumes,' said Ronny.

They had come prepared and took out their costumes from Ronny's bag. After quickly changing, they ran to catch up with Steve and Veronica.

The couple sat beside a large warehouse, their feet dangling over the water. As Ronny and Krati watched from the shadows, they made lines of coke. Veronika did a line and suddenly grabbed Steve's hair and kissed him passionately. Then she bent down and unzipped his pants.

Krati was confused. 'What's he doing?'

'This is awkward,' said Ronny. 'Maybe we should wait for a bit. Let her, um, finish what she started...'

'Someone will see us. Let's get it over with.'

'You never interrupt a guy when he's getting...'

Krati switched on her flashlight and moved towards Steve and Veronika. 'Police!' she shouted.

Veronika cursed. 'Shit.'

Steve was furious. 'What the hell are you both doing here?' he hissed, pulling up his pants.

Ronny and Krati hesitated for a moment, taken aback at his anger.

'Do you know them?' asked Veronika.

'No,' said Steve quietly.

Veronika glared at Krati and Ronny, unfazed, unimpressed. 'Do you know who I am?'

'I don't care,' said Krati. 'You're going to jail.'

'We can work this out,' said Veronika. She turned to Steve. 'Just pay them off. Make this go away.'

Steve shrugged. 'I don't have any money with me.'

'How much can you pay?' Ronny asked Veronika.

'I don't carry cash or cards. My boyfriend takes care of all that.'

Steve raised his eyebrows. 'Wait, you have a boyfriend?'

'So what?' asked Veronika.

'You never said anything about a boyfriend when we had sex,' Steve complained.

'Grow up,' muttered Veronika. 'It's just sex.'

'... Or when you were giving me a blowjob...'

'Shut up, Steve!' cried Ronny, annoyed.

There was a moment of silence. Everyone stared at Ronny. Krati was furious.

Ronny cleared his throat. He desperately thought of something to say. 'Yes... I know your name. I've had you... followed. You've been doing drugs for some time now.'

Veronika seemed bored. 'My boyfriend will take care of all this. He knows all the policemen in Goa.'

'You are lying,' said Krati.

'Just check my phone,' said Veronika, putting on a video and handing over the phone to Ronny.

Ronny looked at the video. He saw a tall, ripped, drunk Israeli man holding Uzis in both hands. Ronny knew who the man was. He gulped. They were about to scam Avigdor Arambol's girlfriend. Avigdor was the gang leader of the Israeli mafia in Goa. Although he was half-crazy, unpredictable and had a fiery temper, he was a visionary. He had cleverly catered to the thousands and thousands of young Israelis who visited India after their compulsory military service. He had supplied them with drugs and had prospered. He had developed a thriving drug business and, pretty soon, Mossad had become interested in him. His gang helped act as a conduit for the intelligence agency's South Asian operations and, in return, he was able to tighten his grip on the international drug trade.

His gangsters were all ex-military with combat experience in the Occupied Territories and he was able to hold his own against the other Goan gangs.

Avigdor was boasting in the video. 'I own Goa,' he drawled. 'Let me tell you how I run my business. I have the police and the politicians in my pocket... let me name them...'

Veronika had taken the video with her cell phone. She was in front of a mirror with the camera. She shot Avigdor testing drugs and grinning at her. On the table were large packets of cocaine stacked high. Avigdor's men sat around the closed bar, chatting. Veronika moved around and they all said 'hi' to the camera.

Ronny switched the video off and gave the phone back to Veronika. He was nervous.

Veronika studied him. 'Well?'

Ronny didn't say anything.

'It doesn't matter,' Krati barked. 'Since you don't have any money with you, you are going to jail.'

Veronika took a deep breath. 'OK, wait.'

Krati glared at her. 'What?'

'I have my jewellery. It's worth millions.'

# 18

Ronny, Krati and Steve stared at the jewellery on Ronny's bed. There was a beautiful, diamond-studded necklace, bracelets, exquisite diamond ear rings and a huge diamond ring.

Steve grinned. 'This is our retirement.'

'Whom do we sell it to?' asked Krati.

Ronny interrupted her. 'This is a mistake. The guy I saw on the video, Veronika's boyfriend, is Avigdor Arambol. He runs the Israeli mafia in Goa.'

Krati was unperturbed. 'We have faced gangsters before.'

'And politicians,' Steve reminded Ronny.

'I've a bad feeling about this,' said Ronny. 'She must have gone straight to her gangster boyfriend with news of the scam.'

Steve took a deep breath. 'Ronny, let's not bring the mood down with your negativity. Let's hit a party and celebrate. We are rich again.'

Ronny was still stressed. 'I think we should leave Goa ASAP.'

'She has no idea who we are,' said Krati. 'She thinks we are cops. So chill. Let's have some fun.'

They looked up the parties happening in Goa online and zeroed in on an Arambol beach party. After an hour's ride from Baga, they reached their destination. Arambol was a favourite hangout of the neo-hippies.

Outside Momos, a popular beach club, a psy-trance party was raging on. Drunken revellers danced around a huge bonfire. Ronny, Krati and Steve got themselves drinks. Ronny went around looking for drugs to buy. He hadn't done coke after they had moved out of Hustle Little Hippie. He found a foreign couple selling small packets of coke and bought a gram.

The music was becoming louder and faster, the dancers drunker and higher. Ronny stared at Krati, who was dancing with Steve. She seemed to be having a good time. Then, she walked out of the crowd, deftly dodging the entranced dancers. She came up to Ronny, sipping her rum and Thums Up with a straw.

'Why are you not dancing?' asked Krati.

Ronny shrugged. 'Not in the mood.'

'What happened?'

'I dunno. Just feeling a little depressed.'

Krati rolled her eyes. 'Seriously? We've made millions today and you are depressed.'

Ronny was grim. 'Yeah. I know it's fucked up.'

'You are thinking too much. Come on!' Krati pulled a reluctant Ronny into the midst of the dancers. They moved to the music. She held him close to her, their bodies touching.

'Do you remember the last time we danced?' she asked.

'Yes,' he said.

'It was beautiful.'

'You were crying, remember?'

'Still. I dunno, there was something magical about it.'

'It was the mood of the place, the ambience, the music,' said Ronny. 'It was very cool.'

'Maybe,' said Krati quietly.

That was when she saw the men. Krati looked around her. 'Why are these men staring at me?' she asked.

Ronny shrugged. 'You are beautiful. Everyone stares at you.'

There was a trace of concern in her voice. 'This is different.'

Ronny looked around himself. He saw that they were surrounded by a half-dozen burly, heavily tattooed men looking at them surreptitiously, avoiding direct eye contact. The men looked menacing. Even though they were in the middle of the dancers, they were not dancing.

Ronny was thoughtful. 'They are looking at me too.'

'Hey!' Steve joined them. He nervously gulped down the drink in his hand. 'We have a problem.'

Steve nodded at a couple standing away from the dancing crowd, glaring at them. It was Veronika and Avigdor.

Ronny gasped. 'Jesus Christ.'

'They know it's us,' said Krati nervously.

'We are so fucked.'

Ronny, Krati and Steve stood frozen. Steve put a cigarette in his mouth, trying to light it with shaking hands. 'I fucked his girlfriend. I'm in big trouble, man,' he muttered.

'There's no escape,' said Krati, glancing at the big men around them. 'We are surrounded.'

Ronny stared at the flame from Steve's lighter. 'There is a way,' he said quietly.

Steve and Krati looked at him eagerly.

'We burn the fucking place down,' said Ronny.

'What?' asked Krati.

Ronny grabbed Steve's lighter. 'When the confusion starts, make your escape. We'll meet at Mandrem bridge. South side,' he said.

Steve looked at him uncomprehendingly. 'Wait...'

But Ronny was off. He hurried to the makeshift bar counter nearby. He looked around and quickly crouched under the cloth-covered wooden tables. He snuck in and crawled to the shelves laden with alcohol. The bartenders were busy and didn't notice him.

One of Avigdor's men slowly walked towards the bar counter, trying to find out what Ronny was doing. Ronny grabbed a bottle of Absinthe and started pouring it on the cloth and wood around him.

Steve and Krati looked around them frightened as the gangster's men suddenly began to close in on them. Many of them held steel batons. And then, a scream pierced through the music. A girl was looking at the bar counter, aghast.

'Fire! Fire!' shouted the girl as smoke and flames erupted from the bar.

The bartenders jumped out from behind the counter. People screamed as they tried to get away. Steve and Krati joined the panic-stricken crowd, moving away from the party area. The gangsters were furious. They desperately tried to find their quarry in the confusion.

Ronny crouched against a coconut tree, mesmerized, staring at the raging fire. There were small tents near the bar that had also caught fire. What did I do? All around him, people were running. He saw the fear. He felt the heat of the flames. He gulped. The flames towered dangerously, moving around in the wind. How the fuck in the world did my life come to this?

Krati and Steve ran to the parking ground. A few people stood in groups talking about the fire. At a distance, flames could be seen. Suddenly, Krati and Steve heard shouts. Two men were pointing at them. The gangsters had found them. Krati tried to start her Scooty. Steve jumped onto the seat behind her. It sputtered but did not start.

Steve's heart stopped. 'Don't fuck me, God!'

The two men were running towards them. Krati tried again and again to start it. When the men were just a few feet away, the Scooty started. The men lunged at Steve, trying to grab hold of him, but the Scooty picked up speed and raced away.

Steve could breathe again. 'That was close.'

There were roars behind them. Steve looked back. The men started four modified motorbikes. The path was bumpy and the Scooty had to travel slowly. Steve saw that the motorbikes were closing in fast.

'They'll catch up in no time,' cried Steve. 'We have to get off the road.'

Krati nodded grimly. They were travelling on a narrow dirt path between paddy fields. She switched off the lights.

'Hold on!' she said.

In the darkness, she swerved the Scooty down a mud slope off the road. They lost balance and fell in the dirt. They clambered up next to the fallen Scooty.

'Are you okay?' Steve asked Krati.

'Yeah. You?'

'Yeah.'

Krati held her breath. 'I hope Ronny is fine.'

They heard the roars of the bikes and saw headlights down the road. Shouts in Hebrew could be heard. They waited on the mud bank below the road apprehensively.

Four bikes raced by. Krati and Steve could breathe again. They had escaped. Steve closed his eyes. He made a promise. 'That's it. I'm not stealing or fucking with gangsters again in my life!'

Ronny stood next to his parked bike among a cluster of trees, away from the empty road. He saw a headlight on the road. Then it went off. He made his way to the road, still hiding among the trees. He saw Steve and Krati. He breathed a sigh of relief and whistled softly. They looked in his direction. He walked to them.

'You are crazy, man,' said Steve. 'I hope no one was hurt.'

Ronny smiled. 'There was a lot of damage but nobody was hurt.'

Krati suddenly hugged Ronny tightly. Ronny was surprised. She reluctantly disengaged.

'So what now?' asked Steve.

'First, we need to get far away from here,' said Krati urgently.

Ronny nodded. 'We'll pick up some stuff at my house and then figure out where to go.'

After an uneventful journey, they halted a little distance from Grandma's bungalow. From the road, Ronny, Krati and Steve could see figures moving around in the compound. There were four bikes parked outside the compound gate.

'They are here,' Steve whispered.

'Is your grandmother home?' asked Krati, worried.

'No, she's at my aunt's,' said Ronny. He was thoughtful. 'How did they know where I stay?'

'They are gangsters. They have their ways,' said Krati.

'Where does your aunt stay?' asked Steve.

'In a small village near Mandrem,' said Ronny. 'It's in the forest, a few hours away from here.'

Krati nodded. 'That seems far enough for us.'

With their lights off, they started the bikes and headed away.

# 19

The sprawling bungalow was constructed in the middle of a forest. Christmas was approaching and lights had been strung up around the house. A large white paper star was shining brightly from a tree.

Ronny, Krati and Steve parked their bikes and walked up from the patio to the front door. Ronny rang the bell.

'Ronny!' said his surprised aunt. 'Your grandmother didn't tell me you were coming.'

'I didn't want to miss your anniversary,' lied Ronny.

His aunt was beaming. 'Come in! Come in!'

The atmosphere was cheerful and noisy inside the house, with uncles and aunts sitting and talking on couches. Children ran about, fighting and laughing. Jim Reeves played on the music system.

Ronny talked to everyone while Krati and Steve admired the Christmas tree in the living room. After some time, the three of them made a small bonfire in the back garden and sat around it. They were worried.

Krati was thoughtful. 'Do you think someone might find the jewellery?'

Ronny was confident of his hiding place. 'No, it's safe in Sandy's. No one's going to look inside that old flour container in the pantry.'

Ronny stared at the flames. 'So what now?'

'Can we go to the police?' asked Krati.

Ronny shook his head. 'Then we have to tell them we stole the jewellery.'

'We can't hide forever, man,' Steve muttered.

Ronny sighed. 'I'm the one who's fucked. You guys can just leave Goa.'

'We are not doing that,' said Krati firmly. 'We are in this together. We'll solve it together.'

'Getting out of Goa is the only option,' said Steve. 'We go somewhere far away. The Caribbean or Thailand or Africa...'

Ronny's grandmother came out of the house. 'A friend of yours is here.'

They all stared at her.

'What? Here?' asked Ronny.

'Such a nice person too,' said Grandma. 'So charming. The children love him.'

Ronny licked his lips nervously. He tried to keep the quiver out of his voice. 'Is he Indian?'

'No, I think he's Israeli.'

Ronny, Krati and Steve walked into the living room with great trepidation. Sitting on the carpet, playing with a seven-year-old boy, was Avigdor Arambol.

The gangster was moving his hands about, flying a small airplane and making a guttural sound. The kid was laughing. Ronny sat on the carpet next to them with apprehension. Krati and Steve stood near the wall, staring at Avigdor.

Krati glanced out of the window. An SUV was idling outside with three men standing around it.

'You've a nice family,' said Avigdor, coolly.

Ronny glanced about. No one was paying them any attention. He spoke in a low voice. 'We didn't know who Veronika was.'

Avigdor smiled at the child. 'I have men with Uzis outside the house,' he said softly.

Ronny gulped. 'I'll give back the jewels.'

Avigdor laughed. 'Not enough... You are going to continue your police scam and give me everything you make.'

'We want to get out. This is not for us,' protested Ronny.

Avigdor talked to the boy. 'How old are you, kid?'

'Seven,' said the boy.

'Go play with the other children now,' said Avigdor. The kid ran off. 'Your friend fucked my girlfriend,' said the gangster, eyeing Steve, his voice cold as ice.

'That's not what happened,' said Ronny.

Avigdor leaned back and Ronny caught a glance of a gun hidden under his shirt. 'Now, tomorrow morning, you'll return the jewels. Then you'll continue your police scam and give me everything you make. If you stop, get arrested, leave Goa... anything... I will come after your nice family.'

Ronny didn't know what to say. He realized that he was sweating profusely. He wiped his face. He had fucked up. He had brought the wolves to his doorstep. His whole family was in danger now.

Avigdor got up and prepared to leave.

'Are you leaving already?' asked Ronny's aunt, bringing a bowl of punch and cookies for the guest.

Avigdor took a cookie. 'Sorry. I just came to give my friend some advice,' he said politely.

'Well, hopefully I'll see you again,' said Ronny's aunt.

Avigdor smiled at the aunt and gave Ronny a meaningful look. 'Depends.' He walked out.

The house was quiet. Ronny, Krati and Steve sat around a table lamp, talking quietly. The clock showed it was 1 a.m.

'I'm fucked. My family is fucked,' said Ronny.

Krati bit her lip. 'We'll have to go to the police. Tell them everything.'

Steve raised his eyebrows. 'And be jailed?'

'What's the alternative?' asked Krati.

Ronny rubbed his head in frustration. 'Didn't Veronika say Avigdor has powerful connections? These drug dealers can't operate without some sort of political patronage. I doubt the police will act on a complaint from us.'

'Without some sort of proof the police won't take our accusations seriously,' said Krati quietly.

Steve thought for a moment. 'Maybe Veronika is lying. Maybe Avigdor doesn't know anyone.'

'All Goan gangsters are supported by local authorities,' Ronny muttered. 'Anyway, he was naming a lot of powerful people on the video I saw on Veronika's phone.'

'That was stupid of him,' said Steve. 'I mean, who does that on video?'

Ronny and Krati exchanged a glance. Steve saw the look on their faces. 'What?' asked Steve.

'The video,' said Krati softly. 'The video is the proof.'

It was early morning. Veronika was jogging on an empty Arambol beach. She ran up to a shack, took a water bottle from an ice box and drank it sitting on a stool, looking at the waves. She took her phone out and looked at some messages.

A Bullet stopped outside the shack. Ronny was driving the bike and he kept it idling as Steve quickly moved towards the shack. He was dressed in running gear. As he approached the shack, he put on a ski mask.

Steve suddenly started running. He ran full speed into the shack, grabbed the phone from a startled Veronika's hands and ran out. He jumped onto the back of the Bullet as Ronny sped away.

Ronny woke up on the couch in the cheap Baga motel. Sunlight was falling on his face. He saw Krati sleeping on his shoulder. He gently moved away from her and walked to the laptop.

Steve looked at the screen, transfixed. 'Look at this,' he said.

On the screen was a YouTube video titled 'Drug Dealer in Goa'. The view count was 312,276.

'300,000 views in five hours?' asked Ronny, impressed.

Steve grinned. 'It's gone viral.' He scrolled to the comments section. The latest one, posted a minute back, was: 'Finally, police taking action!'

Ronny hurriedly put on the TV in the room. He started searching for news channels.

Krati woke up. 'What's going on?'

'Our plan is working!' said an excited Ronny.

The news anchor was reporting: 'Police today carried out raids in various parts of Goa after public outcry about a video that was posted online this morning.'

On the TV came images of Avigdor and his group of gangsters being escorted to a police van. The news anchor continued to talk: 'The video shows gang leader Avigdor talk about his contacts in the police and his drug dealing in Goa. The video is taken by his girlfriend who reportedly posted it online after a fight.'

Ronny, Krati and Steve looked at each other.

'We've not been mentioned,' said Ronny with great relief.

'This is the video. Please take a look,' said the anchor.

The channel showed the grainy video.

# 20

Mr. Rothstein was a 55-year-old Jewish diamond merchant based in New York. He travelled around the world searching for good deals. He had been in Gujarat buying some stones when he heard about three young people looking to sell stolen diamonds. He had been excited. But as he looked at the diamond jewellery in front of him, he felt fury building up inside him. He was short and squat, built like a pugilist, and he had an explosive temperament.

'What's the meaning of this?' he thundered.

Ronny, Krati and Steve looked at him in astonishment. 'What?' asked Steve.

Mr. Rothstein's veins protruded from his head. 'Don't just stare at me, you dopey-eyed motherfucking cunt!' he yelled at Steve.

The three of them continued to gape. It was a surreal moment. No one knew what was happening.

The man suddenly grabbed a wooden tray from the table and started smashing at the jewellery. A horrified Steve jumped at Mr. Rothstein and sucker-punched him squarely on the face. The man stumbled back, tripped on the carpet and fell down.

Steve looked at the jewellery on the table. The man had shattered it all. The diamonds had broken into hundreds of small pieces.

'Why the fuck did you smash our diamonds?' asked a furious Steve.

'Let's go,' said Krati quietly.

Steve stared at her in amazement. 'What?'

'Stop being an idiot,' Ronny told Steve.

'What the... Oh!' Realization dawned on Steve. 'Diamonds don't break... so it's fake...'

Mr. Rothstein rubbed his jaw. 'I've never witnessed this kind of lunacy in my life. Fucking Goa...'

The three of them hurried out of the five-star hotel in south Goa. They stood in the parking lot near their bikes, taking in what had just happened.

'There go our millions,' said a despondent Ronny.

'So did Avigdor know the jewellery was fake?' asked Steve.

Krati shrugged. 'It's very likely that he gifted it to his girlfriend.'

'... And told her it was real,' Ronny muttered.

Steve gritted his teeth. 'What a scumbag!'

'So all this fucking drama with the Israelis was for nothing!' said Krati angrily.

'Then why did he chase us?' asked Ronny.

'Who knows? He saw an opportunity to use us... we continue the scam and he gets paid,' said Steve, connecting the dots.

'And there was also the matter of you fucking his girlfriend,' said Krati.

'What a despicable fuck!' Steve cursed.

Ronny took a deep breath. 'Anyway, he's in jail now.'

Ronny, Krati and Steve tried their best to settle back into their old lives. They couldn't get themselves to run minor scams anymore. They had tasted the millionaire lifestyle and the idea of scamming people for a few hundred dollars was depressing. Ronny went back to the choir. Sister Julia was relieved to have their best piano player back.

It was Christmas Eve. Goa was partying and the state was enveloped in a carnival atmosphere. St. Michael's Church was decorated beautifully, with colourful lights shining everywhere in the compound. Ronny, Krati and Steve stood outside, looking at it. People had begun to come for the midnight Christmas Mass. Everyone was dressed in suits and formal dresses.

'Angelica messaged me. She wants to talk,' said Ronny. He wondered why he wasn't happier.

Steve patted him on the back. 'Finally.'

Ronny glanced at Krati. 'I don't know. It's...'

'This is what you wanted, man,' said Steve surprised. 'This is why you went through all the madness, all the gangster shit, remember?'

Ronny nodded. 'I know.'

Steve eyed him carefully. 'You should be happier. It's not every day that a dream comes true.'

Ronny and Krati looked at each other. They both waited for the other to say something. But there was just silence.

'See you later, I guess,' said Krati, unhappily.

Ronny played the piano as the choir sang. The church was packed with people. Ronny looked at the dazzling lights and exquisite decorations. They were spectacular. He felt his heart soar. There was something magical about Christmas season in Goa.

In the choir, Angelica smiled at him. Ronny smiled back politely. Why am I not more excited? After the Mass, people began wishing each other, chatting, eating and drinking the cake and wine placed on tables outside the church. Angelica saw Ronny and walked over to him.

Angelica gave him a tight hug. 'Merry Christmas.'

'Merry Christmas,' said Ronny.

'Things didn't work out with... him,' she said, quietly.

'I'm sorry.'

Angelica smiled at him. 'I was thinking... maybe we should get back together.'

Ronny hesitated. 'I... I don't know...'

'Excuse me?'

'I need to go, Angelica.'

Angelica was shocked. 'What? I thought you loved me?'

'I really did. But things are different now. I've been through a lot in the past few months, you know, and now I feel like a different person.'

Angelica was stunned. 'Are you kidding me?'

'I'm sorry,' said Ronny, kissing her on the cheek. 'I wish you all the best.'

Krati was wearing a Santa cap and glowing wristbands. She walked away from the partying crowd on the beach. She looked at the waves listlessly.

Ronny ran to her. 'Hey!' he cried, panting.

'What are you doing here? Where's Angelica?' asked Krati, surprised.

Ronny shrugged. 'With her family, I guess.'

'Wasn't that what the whole scam was for you? Trying to make money for her?'

'It's not what I want now,' said Ronny.

'Don't be an idiot. Go—'

Ronny suddenly kissed Krati. She was taken aback, but then closed her eyes, feeling his lips on hers. It was a magical moment and they separated very reluctantly. They both knew they were in love.

'Why are you not at the party?' asked Ronny.

'It seems boring,' said Krati.

They walked along the moonlit beach. Ronny reached out and held her hand. Steve sauntered over to them. 'Guys, I think I have to move on from Goa. It's been wonderful but I'm tired.'

'Where are you going to go?' asked Ronny.

Steve was thoughtful. 'Maybe Bangkok.'

The three of them lay down on the deserted beach and looked at the night sky. It was a clear night and the stars were shining brightly. The party was raging on far behind them. They could hear distant music.

'So what now?' asked Ronny.

Krati took a deep breath. 'Now we grow up.'

# EPILOGUE

One Year Later...

(Bangkok)

Steve stood in a cheap motel corridor, staring straight ahead with a poker face. Like all great performers, he was getting into character. From the narrow slits that served as windows came a cacophony of noises, from the shouting of vendors to the drone of rickshaws.

Steve was handcuffed. His face had bruises and blood on it while his shirt was ripped open, large, red patches visible.

Two young men in Thai police uniform, Mario and Pakorn, studied him.

Mario pondered. 'Was all this fake blood necessary?'

Steve grinned. 'Of course. Now the guy is going to be terrified and pay us more.'

Pakorn rubbed his chin thoughtfully. 'I see.'

Steve sighed, looking at his two protégés. He was moulding them in his own image but they seemed to lack the passion and talent that made for the superior class of criminal.

'Ronny and Krati were real pros, man. You both have some really big shoes to fill,' said Steve.

The two policemen rolled their eyes. 'No more talk about the great Ronny and Krati!' said Mario, annoyed.

Steve took a deep breath. He missed Ronny and Krati but there was nothing to be done about that. They had both left the crazy life behind.

Steve remembered what someone had once told him. 'Sometimes all you have in life are memories,' he muttered to himself.

'What?' asked Pakorn.

'Nothing, nothing,' said Steve quickly. 'Are you motherfuckers ready?'

The policemen nodded.

Steve looked at a motel room door nearby. 'Let's fucking do it then!'

(Mumbai)

Club Cuba was one of the most popular lounge bars in Mumbai. It was reputed for the enthralling performances it held: live music by Indian bands, jam sessions with famous DJs, avant-garde theatre performances and stand-up comedy. The décor was lush, opulent and modern.

It was a Saturday night and the club was packed with yuppies, the art crowd, the rich south Mumbai kids and foreigners. Ronny stood on the stage, tuning his mandolin. He glanced at the large, expectant crowd and felt the familiar feeling of nervous excitement. He saw Krati with her office colleagues at one of the front tables. She blew a kiss at him. He smiled at her.

Ronny nodded at his band and they began to play.

Krati sat with a dozen of her colleagues, sipping a colourful cocktail. They had hit Club Cuba after work and she was dressed in a white shirt and black skirt, the picture perfect corporate girl.

'So what is our New Year plan?' asked Bhavana.

'There is only one thing to do,' said Deepak in a serious tone.

Bhavana raised her eyebrows. 'Which is?'

'Goa!' cried Deepak, thumping the table.

There were cheers all around.

'We are going to party like crazy,' said an excited Sanjay.

'We deserve it,' Priya sighed. 'Work has been really demanding.'

Vimal took a swig from his beer mug. 'We get paid really, really well though. So I'm not complaining.'

'I go there often,' said Sanjay proudly. 'Baga is the best place.'

Bhavana turned to Krati. 'You are very quiet. Have you been to Goa?'

The group viewed Krati curiously. 'Yeah, sure,' said Krati, thinking about her past. Have I been to Goa?

'Know any good party places?' asked Priya.

Krati smiled politely. 'Not really.' I used to own the best party place in town. And my own fucking gang.

The music ended to loud applause. Ronny and his band got off the stage and after a few minutes of talking and clicking pictures with the excited partygoers, he joined Krati at her table. He greeted the group and sat down next to Krati, giving her a quick kiss.

Deepak looked at the group. 'People, I know Goa is a great place to party but quite a bit of gangster stuff is happening there.'

Bhavana's eyes widened. 'Really?'

Deepak lowered his voice conspiratorially. 'There are gangs in Goa from everywhere; Nigeria, Israel, Russia. It's a world not many know about. I'm kind of like an expert on this.'

Ronny cleared his throat. 'Fascinating!' he said, sarcastically. 'But how did you become an expert? Did you Google it?'

Krati kicked Ronny under the table. But his tone was lost on the group. Everyone was gazing at Deepak, spellbound.

Deepak took a sip of his vodka, enjoying the attention. 'I have actually bought cocaine from a gangster.'

There was a shocked silence around the table. Ronny and Krati were amused.

'Dude, you've tried cocaine?' queried a flabbergasted Sanjay.

'Yes, once,' said Deepak, proudly. 'This gangster sold it to me!'

Krati looked around her. Everyone was staring at Deepak, awestruck. She couldn't stop herself from grinning. 'You knew a gangster, huh?' she asked Deepak a little snidely. What's going to happen if I tell them my story?

Deepak didn't like her tone. 'Yeah, I mean... I talked to him and he sold me drugs.'

'Wow, you were friends with a gangster,' said Ronny, pretending to be impressed.

Deepak wondered if Ronny was mocking him. He couldn't be sure. 'I won't say we were friends, but we interacted and kind of got to know each other...'

'Isn't that dangerous?' asked their company's boss from the other end of the table.

'Of course,' said Deepak.

The whole table was riveted. Deepak was now the coolest guy in office. Ronny and Krati exchanged a glance. They smiled.

Krati missed the crazy times. She had a good, stable job but she longed for the excitement, the dangers and the madness of her past. At the same time, she knew she was lucky to have made it out alive. Ronny seemed to know what she was thinking and he squeezed her hand under the table.

She didn't say anything about her past. Even if she told the group her story they would not believe her. So she sat there, nodding politely and talking about how exciting it would be to go to Goa.

# THE END

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