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88 pages

English

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She had a pang of guilt as she walked to the door. She had told only one person what she was doing; and even then not the whole truth. She certainly hadn t mentioned the gun. The reality was that she might well never see anyone from this life again. Teen detectives Raj; Nagi and Madhuri are drawn into a web of deceit when Ameeta Soares; a rising Bollywood star; disappears from her swank Malabar Hill apartment. When the missing actress is accused of a brutal murder; the trio must plumb the depths of Mumbai s underworld in a desperate attempt to track her down. Along the way; they play a dangerous game and end up in the sights of a cold-blooded killer. Who is the Crow; determined to eliminate Ameeta? And whose is the shadowy hand directing the Crow s every move? The Bollywood Knights embark on a roller-coaster ride which takes them from the glamorous hangouts of Bollywood stars to seedy back-alley dance bars till the final; heart-stopping showdown.

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Publié par	Penguin Books Ltd
Date de parution	09 novembre 2011
Nombre de lectures	1
EAN13	9788184754988
Langue	English

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Extrait

NICO RAPOSO
Shoot the Crow
Book 2 Bollywood Knights
PENGUIN BOOKS
Contents
About the Author
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Acknowledgements
Copyright Page
PENGUIN BOOKS
SHOOT THE CROW
Nico Raposo is a writer who lives and works in New York s Hudson Valley. He comes from a long line of storytellers, musicians and entertainers whose family has called many countries home, from England to Turkey, India to Brazil. Nico grew up in New York City. He has written fifteen feature film screenplays, three books, seven plays and dozens of teleplays. He has been nominated for two Emmy Awards and the Humanitas Award. Nico is a graduate of Harvard College. To can learn more about him and his work, visit www.nicoraposo.com
Read more in the Bollywood Knights series
Shoot the Peacock
To India, my true home
Prologue
They had Eve. Ameeta hadn t even known she was still alive, and they had her. And they were going to kill her.
Moving through the darkened apartment, Ameeta wondered vaguely if she would miss it. She d thought of going to the police. She had even gone so far as to call Superintendent Costa, but he d been out and she hadn t wanted to leave a message. Then they revealed their plan, and there was no way she could let that happen. She wasn t going to let them ruin his life, either. Whatever ended up happening, it would be between them and her. And she wasn t the victim they imagined.
At the back of the closet, her hands found the shoebox that didn t hold any shoes. It was heavy. She knew the box well. She lifted the cover. The cold glint of oiled steel lay nestled in the folds of tissue paper. She knew how to use it. Had been taught by Zinna s brother, Mahmoud, who was a policeman in Uttar Pradesh. He d taken it from a criminal and given it to Zinna for her personal protection. Sadly, it hadn t done her any good.
The box of bullets rattled. Ameeta knew exactly how many she and Zinna had used practising, how many were left, and that she would need six to load the revolver. She took them from the box and pulled the pin on the gun that released the part that held the bullets. The name for that part of the gun where one put the bullets escaped her. She d learned it from Mahmoud as he d trained them to use the gun when they d gone home for a holiday. But now she couldn t remember. In the action movie she d just finished, she d been prepped by one of the weapons masters in using an automatic pistol, but this one was an old-fashioned revolver. The bullets were .38s, and she knew the gun must be a .38. She believed the number derived from the measurement of the bullet, or of the barrel, but she couldn t remember what Mahmoud or the weapons master had told her about that. None of it mattered. A gun like this had only one purpose, and that was to kill. And she would do it if she had to. She would do anything to save her little sister.
She dropped the gun into the cheap satchel she d used as a bag back when she didn t know anything about fashion or style. Before she was a movie star. Ameeta placed the box of bullets on top of the gun. The brutal objects looked strange sinking into the cheap, glitzy kameez and sarees she d worn when she d been nothing more than a dance bar girl. Before she d been discovered. She threw a dupatta across the top. Not one of her nice ones, but a flimsy polyester one that had a rent in it from when someone had got rough with her back in the old days. A wry smile crossed her lips. They had no idea who they were dealing with.
Under the gun and the clothes that would render her invisible in the world she was going back to, lay rupees six lakh in cash, more money than most girls like her could ever have dreamed of. She knew what a difference cash like that could make to the men and, more importantly, to the women she would be dealing with. For her to reach her goal she might need more, even, than that. But she wouldn t be using her credit or bank cards now. She didn t want anyone to be able to find her. Once she rescued Eve, then she could return, to this apartment, this life, him. But until then she was on her own. And she would be fine.
The sun was sinking into the ocean. The oil platforms were silhouetted in the red light. The view from the eighteenth floor of her Malabar Hill building was stunning. She wondered for a moment if she should leave a light on, but had no idea how long she would be gone. She had a pang of guilt as she walked to the door. Not leaving anything, a note, nothing for him, for her friends. She had told only one person what she was doing, and even then not the whole truth. She certainly hadn t mentioned the gun. The reality was that she might well never see anyone from this life again.
The fluorescent bulb next to the elevator outside her door was flickering. On any other evening she would have put a call in to the building superintendent, but it leant an air of unreality to her experience of leaving her life behind. Her hand moved in the flickering light like someone in an ancient silent film. Yes, she thought to herself, this was an antique drama, just like those films. She was an actress after all. Perhaps she d always been.

Momo would wash his hands as soon as he got to the restaurant. There just wasn t anything else to be done. He didn t like the scent on his hands. He didn t like it when men wore too much scent. The man had been a crier, too. If there was one thing he hated, it was criers who wore too much scent.
It had started the minute Momo had shown up. Everyone knew who Momo was because he always wore black-so the blood didn t show on it. He hated getting his clothes stained. But now it was his signature. They d even started calling him The Crow . So of course this goonda knew what was coming when Momo walked through the door. The Crow was your judge, jury and executioner all rolled up into one.
The guy had started spilling out some story about how it was for his mother. He never meant to take anything from Bhai Sahib and would make it up quick-quick. It was just this once. His mother had had the surgery, but still needed him. He was her only son. He was sputtering, his tears clogged his nose and ran into his mouth as he spoke to the wall, shaking his head from side to side.
Momo stood behind the kneeling man, listening to him, growing more and more impatient for him to finish, but he just went on and on. Momo had instructed him to pray, but the guy just wouldn t shut up. He was going on about how he had to have a dowry for his sister, and if Bhai Sahib would just let him make it up to him he would be his servant for life.
That was when Momo had finally had enough and squeezed the trigger. If anything he d been saying was true, Bhai Sahib would take care of the mother and the sister. Or he might not. Bhai Sahib always knew what to do. And Bhai Sahib was always right.
It wasn t until Momo had gotten back into his car that he smelled the cologne. It was a cheap, cloying, flowery scent that had seeped into the creases of the thick skin of Momo s powerful hands. He brought one of his hands to his nose and shook his head in disbelief. He pounded the steering wheel. He hated this kind of smell. He didn t mind it on women, but on a man it made him sick.
He parked his battered Maruti in the lane outside the restaurant. There was technically no space to park, but Momo was Momo, and everybody knew who he was here; he would have no trouble. As he walked into the dim fug of the grease joint, the dance bar owner Nirmal stood up to meet him. Momo shook his head and walked right past the rodent-like man into the bathroom at the back. He soaped up his hands with the pale pink soap and rinsed them off in the tepid water. He d have to wait to wash his hands well until he got home.
When he came out, Nirmal was still standing by his table, waiting obsequiously. In customary fashion, Momo s lassi was already on the table. He sat in his chair and took a long draught of the cooling drink. As he finished swallowing, he noticed that his hands now smelled of the cheap soap from the bathroom. But anything was better than that cologne.
Nirmal was waiting, watching him. Yes? Momo said.
The girl, said Nirmal, she is okay?
Momo took another sip of the lassi before answering. The big glass was tiny in his hand. He looked at Nirmal over the rim of the glass. Nirmal was anxious. That wasn t good. What did he think was going to happen in the end, anyway? She s fine.
But I have to be sure, Nirmal said, wiping the sweat from his upper lip. You re telling the woman the truth, right?
Momo didn t even answer. He looked at this Mr Nirmal. Normally, Bhai Sahib didn t work with people like this, but he obviously had his reasons. Nirmal was a rat, just like the guy he d had to take care of just now. He could see it in his narrow little eyes and receding hairline. He probably beat his wife, Momo thought.
You are.. we are, Nirmal continued, swallowing hard, telling her the truth? The girl is okay?
Chapter 1
Madhuri came out of the kitchen with a pint of mint chocolate chip, swaying to JP Singh s bhangra mashup of Sheila ki Jawani . Raj felt a curious pressure in the centre of his chest as he glanced up at her. She had her eyes closed, savouring the ice cream and the music. Dude, said Nagi, what s the coefficient on number twenty-three?
Three point five, Raj said.
No, Nagi said, looking up, it can t be.
It is, said Raj. Go back to step two.
Oh, man, Nagi sighed, you mean I ve got to
Raj? Ramu Kaka said, coming into the room and turning down the stereo. Raj? Ms Dixit is here to see you. I m afraid she heard the music and knows you re here.
No, no, said Raj, of course. Rekha Dixit was a principal investigator at Secor Security, and had worked to protect Raj and his