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At the alley behind the Amritsar, I paid Dominic and thanked him for his help.

‘You’re a good guy, Lin,’ he smiled, pocketing the money. ‘If I thought you were a bad guy, I’d shoot you. See you in two hours. Don’t worry. We’ll find your girl. This is Bombay, yaar. Bombay always finds a way to love. Get some rest.’

He rode away, the thrum of the motorcycle reminding those behind shutters and doors that someone was there: a brave man, maintaining order.

Chapter Sixty-Nine

When Dominic left, Randall slipped around the car to open the door for Vinson. Before he could reach it there was a voice from the alleyway, and we both stopped.

‘I warned you,’ Madame Zhou said. ‘I warned you to stay away from Kavita Singh.’

Her goons, the twins and the acid throwers, peeled off their skin of shadows. I was about to answer, but Randall stepped forward, standing beside me.

‘Please,’ he said, quietly.

‘I got this, Randall,’ I said, trying to watch five dangerous minds at the same time. ‘Madame Zhou does a regular show in this alley, and somehow I always get a ticket.’

She laughed, but she was the only one.

‘Please, allow me to speak,’ Randall said softly. ‘I’ve been waiting for this.’

He meant it. I allowed him.

‘Permit me to present myself to you, Madame,’ he said, addressing the veiled figure. ‘I am Randall Soares, one of two men who stand here for the Woman. If any harm comes to the Woman, I will kill you, and all your pets. This is your last warning, Madame. Leave us alone, or die.’

He had guts. It was more than I’d have said, in his place, because I knew that Madame Zhou’s specialty was second-hand revenge. I was hoping that Randall didn’t have a family that could be traced through his name.

Randall had his hand in the pocket of his jacket. The acid throwers had their hands in their pockets. I had my hands on my knives. Madame Zhou moved backwards into the alleyway until shadows ate her again.

‘Randall Soares,’ she said, the last word a rattlesnake’s hiss. ‘Randall Soares.’

The pets backed into the shadows. The alley was silent.

‘Get in touch with any Soares that you know,’ I advised him. ‘That woman is all grudge.’

‘I have no family,’ Randall said. ‘I am an orphan, given up at birth, and never adopted from the orphanage that I left, at the age of sixteen. Madame Zhou cannot hurt a family I don’t have.’

‘You’d really kill them?’

‘Wouldn’t you, sir?’

‘I’m hoping to stop it before it comes to that. Are you ex-army?’

‘No, sir, Indian Navy Marines.’

‘Marines, huh? For how long?’

‘Six years, sir.’

‘What happened?’ Vinson called from the car.

‘Bat’s in the wrong belfry, sir,’ Randall said, opening the door for him. ‘A small fist, knocking on Hell’s gate.’

‘So fricking great to get out in the air,’ Vinson said, stretching. ‘I was in that car for hours. I gotta piss, man, like urgently.’

He made for the nearest wall.

‘Get civilised, Vinson,’ I said. ‘Hold it in, until you get upstairs. There are motorcycles parked here.’

Randall put the car close to a wall in the arched alleyway, permitting traffic through the lane but allowing for a quick getaway.

‘No-one will mess with it,’ I said, as Randall locked the car. ‘You can come upstairs, and stretch your legs.’

‘Wonderful, sir.’

‘Enough with the sir bullshit, Randall. My name is Lin, or Shantaram, if you prefer, but never sir. You might as well call me boss.’

‘Thank you, Mr Shantaram,’ he smiled, Goan sunsets gleaming in his eyes.

‘Can I piss somewhere?’ Vinson asked, riding waves on the footpath.

Randall and I shuffled Vinson up the stairs, and I banged on the door.

‘Open up, Jaswant.’

‘What’s the password?’ Jaswant called from the other side of the door.

‘Open the fucking door, you motherfucker,’ I said, supporting Vinson.

‘Lin!’ Jaswant said, from behind the door. ‘What do you want?’

‘What do I want, you landlord’s excuse for a Punjabi? I want to strangle you with your turban, and stab you with your own kirpan.’

‘Over my baptised ass,’ he said. ‘What do you really want?’

I looked at Randall, who seemed to be enjoying himself. I looked at Vinson, drooling off my arm. He was certainly enjoying himself. I looked at the locked door to my own hotel.

‘I would like to come in please, Jaswant,’ I said, as sweetly as possible with clenched teeth.

‘No problem,’ he said. ‘Do you have any infected with you?’

‘Open the fucking door, Jaswant.’

The barricade scraped and shuddered away from the door, and we scrambled inside. Jaswant shoved the sculpture back into place, turned quickly and pointed at Vinson, who was swirling drunk.

‘He looks infected,’ Jaswant said.

‘I have so gotta piss,’ Vinson said.

‘Is he leaking fluids?’ Jaswant said, stepping back a pace.

‘He’ll leak them on the floor, if you don’t stop talking,’ I said, trying to escape.

‘Did you see any infected out there?’ Jaswant asked.

‘Enough with the zombies,’ I said, leading Vinson to my room. ‘This is Randall.’

‘Hi, Randall. I’m Jaswant. How was it out there?’