Omerta - Ch 11, Pg 29, 10/Sept - Page 13

Chapter 7:

She kept an eye on Maan and Varun as she continued her job on the floor. The drug hadn't taken effect yet and it had been close to four minutes now. In the time Varun was around Maan, she dashed back to the bar and prepared a glass of strong brine – salt and water. She turned around to take a look at the two men and saw that Varun was getting up. It was only a matter of time when he would feel his vision getting blurred and his head becoming woozy – assuming that the dosage wasn't very strong. It was now four minutes.

She walked towards Maan and he stared at her – not blinking. It seemed as if he realized that something was wrong with him. She walked towards him casually as he motioned her and thrust the drink in his hands. He saw the hazy solution in his hands and looked at her once. He drank it in one go and five seconds later, he ran towards nearest restroom.

Geet blended into the crowded without paying additional attention to Maan but keeping an eye on Varun. She couldn't believe Varun was such a big moron to pull a stunt like that on a person of Maan's stature. Her eyes automatically scanned for cameras and knowing Varun he probably didn't have a clue. Seven minutes later she walked towards restrooms praying she wouldn't be followed. She turned around at the corner and saw that the lobby was empty.

She twiddled her thumbs, chewed her lips and shifted from one leg to another. Yet she was unable to decide; to go in to the men's room or not to. After waiting for four minutes, she barged in. In the back of her mind she made fun of her habit of counting minutes whenever she was observing or waiting for something.

And there was Maan, collapsed on the floor right in front of sink exhausted after emptying his stomach.

"Get me out of here before I completely lose it," he whispered hoarsely. "I think I got the most of it out," he said trying to get up from floor but hopelessly losing control. Nausea had brought in weakness in his limbs and the drug was already in.

"Should I call someone?" She asked him supporting his arm on her shoulders and groaned loudly when his dead weight leaned on her side.

"Call Khan," he said and dropped his head on her shoulder. She groaned loudly when she got no support or whatsoever from him as dragged him out of men's room. And then she prayed that no one would come in that area for next five or so minutes.

The floor where the party was held was quite spacious one and thankfully she was shown around the gallery before she started the job in evening. She knew exactly where the service exit was.

"Sir?" She heard a man's voice on the other end of the phone.

"It's Geet. Mr. Khurana has been drugged." She replied.

"Where are you now?"

"I am outside the service exit on east wing of the gallery."

"There will be two men coming to get him in less than two minutes. Once Maan is with them, go back to the party and don't draw attention to yourself. Pretend as if nothing has happened." Instructions were clear and extremely practical.

"There are CCTV cameras inside," she said haltingly. There was silence from the other end of the phone for half a moment.

"It will be taken care of. Thank you," the voice went dead without waiting for her response.

Several moments later she found herself walking amidst the crowd and offering party treats. For the rest of the night, she didn't take her eyes of Varun.

*****

"What you did last night was very foolish," a husky voice spoke on the phone. She balanced the receiver between her ears and shoulder and the hands that were mixing wheat flour stilled.

"Hello?" She spoke again even though the voice on the other side of the wire had already registered in her head. It was unexpected, yes, but it wasn't unrecognizable. She had heard him speak only few hours ago. When there was no response to her question for several minutes, she cleared her throat to cover up awkward silence.

"How are you feeling now?" She asked him ignoring his words.

"You should be careful and lay low for a while. Varun may not be all that bright but he does have good advisors around him," Maan said slowly. She could hear faint noise of people talking in background.

"Are you up and about already? I saw you off like four hours ago and you are already peppy! When do you sleep?" Her words came fast as her hands nimbly worked on the flour mix.

On the other end of the phone, Maan was taken aback at her tone. The somber guardedness and the haunting husk in her voice was gone and replaced by gentle timber. It was exceptionally odd given how he had seen her eye bore into him when he put gun into her mouth and the previous night he had lolled his head on to her shoulder when exhaustion had crept in.

"Fake an illness and go somewhere. Invent a disease and go somewhere, for all I care. Just leave this damn place," he said, frustrated with an unknown fear clenching his stomach.

Khan had ensured that the digital evidence was fully taken care of but he was worried if there were any witnesses to her act. If Varun came to know that his dumb shit plan was thwarted by a mere bar dancer, he wouldn't kill her. He would simply make her wish for the rest of her life that she was never born. That was what Varun was all about.

"Do you realize we are having two different conversations?" She asked annoyed. She knew exactly what she had done and she was scared as hell already. She didn't want him to go on that path again. Once home, she had double checked all the windows. She sat on sofa with gun in her hands and a knife concealed near calf waiting for an unknown assassin.

"Hello?" She said again when there was no response from the other side.

"Be careful," he said. She stilled at the softness in the voice and gentleness lacing the words.

"I will be," she answered.

"I…" he trailed. She waited for him to continue. "Be safe," he said and the line went dead.

She stood for a long moment stilled at the final part of the conversation which ran in her mind over and over again. There was something about the man that didn't add up. She wondered which part of him was true and which wasn't. Was the man who put gun in her mouth without mildest hesitation to pull the trigger was his true identity or was the man whose voice held a tremor in the last spoken syllable knowing that he had put the girl at an existential risk?

A knock on her door brought her wandering mind to rest and she clutched a knife, hid it behind her back and slowly walked towards the door.

Music companion for the day: State of Love and Trust by Pearl Jam