Chapter 6: Cozen
Cozen: An almost extinct ancient English word. It comes to mean To swindle by artful deception. Probably a derivation from the Italian word for a horse trader. Also a term for beautiful rogues.
Arnav ran up the stairs of the apartment complex in Nizamuddin East, the muggy heat in the air causing him and his team to break out in a light sweat. This was a colony known for it’s conservative, upper middle class population, he mused, worrying his fingers with each other; Anahita Segal’s patron Ashfaq Abdul Rehman had been certainly generous with his mistress for her to be able to live here. As he always had been with his past ones - all of whom had subsequently dropped off the map. His latest had been the beautiful, the very greedy and if witnesses hadn’t been exaggerating - the super intelligent, Anahita Segal - the girl who came from nothing. Ranjan strode ahead of him, shoulders thrown back, breathing lightly, a key in hand while Payal sauntered slowly beside him, her forensic kit in hand. That one, he smiled - walked behind nobody. The elevator was broken, they had been told and Arnav and his crew had been climbing up to the 10th floor apartment slowly. It gave them time to think, and for Arnav, it gave him time to look around. Assess. To make mental notes of the neighbours. Those, he had often noticed - were the main components in any investigation. Ranjan walked up the stairs, and then stumbled, nearly falling to his knees if not for Payal who held him upright by the back of his collar. Scary woman that, Arnav thought with an affectionate smile. Maybe Payal was the human world’s answer to a black widow spider or a praying mantis he thought with a barely repressed shudder. No wonder he never saw any of her boyfriends. They probably wound up dead somewhere - with wonder woman here making their remains disappear. Arnav was having a mental chuckle when Ranjan scrambled up and, with an offended look at Payal, who shrugged carelessly. He straightened his collar, pulled his shirt down and strode towards apartment C9, the hand with the key extended towards it. They were here, he thought, looking at the wildly ornamental wooden door that bore the name Anahita Segal in flowing scripts made up of bronze.
While Ranjan struggled with the uncooperative lock, Arnav took stock of the double door in front of them. Darkly stained walnut with bronze and copper accent. Antique, no doubt - it was more suitable to a harem than an apartment but then, he smiled. Considering their vic’s occupation, it wasn’t that far fetched really. It was a solid oak hand carved panel door with bronze accents; the carvings reminiscent of an odalisque of Eve standing proudly naked, displaying all her glory in the Garden of Eden with her apple. The apple was made up of tarnished bronze and it served as the door knob with the lock installed in it. Arnav narrowed his eyes and looked again. This particular door, he remembered. There had been an auction held at the ITC Maurya, New Delhi. He remembered that an anonymous bidder had bought the door, part of an Afghani Harem in Nuristan. Arnav had remembered all that because his pain in the ass had ordered his presence there - believing that it was a part of his job as the reluctant heir to be there, work the room - meet the right people. Arnav had gone and done just that. Now it seemed that it was a happy accident that he had. All they had to do was trace the bidder (no doubt a dummy corporation); any good forensic accountant could probably trace it back to Rehman. They would have their physical link there, he smiled - just as Ranjan finally opened the door.
Payal subtly hip bumped him to one side and strode in, brisk steps ahead. Nose in the air. There were a lot to collect, more for her to see and judge. Arnav fell behind her, walking towards the bedroom - looking. Searching. It appeared as if the apartment had been searched in a hurry. The drawers were open. The closet doors hung open. The mattress overturned, with the bedding on the ground. Arnav hung back, letting Ranjan and Payal to get to work with the fingerprint dust, and the UV lights - happy to let his brain do the work while the underlings did the menial jobs. Ranjan never looked up, but he caught Payal throwing him some truly dirty looks, unafraid.
They did their job while Arnav poked and prodded. He snapped on a pair of rubber gloves. There was a safe that hung open - the contents, seemingly untouched. Cash. Quite a lot. A few gold knickknacks - nothing big. There were also a pair of heavy gold kadas in the safe. Just plain gold bangles, not especially well made. The finishing seemed hurried to him - with scraggly etchings of flowering vines - no doubt the work of a poorly skilled village goldsmith, with ugly ornamental knots at each end. Arnav frowned picking up the bangles. Heavy. They didn’t fit the profile they had constructed of the vic but then, there’s always a catch - that thing people called sentiment. Maybe that had been what had made her keep it. But, that still didn’t make sense to Arnav. Broke, when she had first come in - why hadn’t she pawned it off before joining the cathouse? Practical experience told him that that is what a desperate woman would in the first place when faced with an option like prostitution. Sentiment could only go so far. Furthermore, he weighed the bangles in his hand again - butt ugly, he thought distastefully, but heavy. Arnav had handled enough gold in his life to make him think. What village goldsmith would have this much gold to waste? What woman kept something worth quite a pretty enough while she sold herself in prostitution? Arnav was deep in thought when he felt a presence behind him. Payal. The woman stood. Silent. Steady as a stone figurine. If not for her light breathing, Arnav wouldn’t have known that his cat-footed forensic analyst stood behind him. She really was err... something, he thought with a sigh. Gesturing at the kadas she voiced his concerns. “Why would a girl, starving - forced to sell herself off to the highest bidder hold on to something this expensive? I would’ve been selling off whatever I owned to hold off the inevitable.” Arnav nodded, distracted. He had calls to make. Maybe a goldsmith could... Payal reached over and plucked the bangles off his hands without a care. She turned them over, left and right. Observing them closely without all-seeing eyes of hers. Then, Payal pressed down on the offensive looking ornamental knots, making them touch each other. “Hey presto!” she said, to Ranjan who had come up behind them (with considerable less finesse) to watch. The bangles parted from the middle, held together by a pressurized tension clasp that were the knots. The bangles themselves, Arnav realized were light - barely a carat. Their hollowed cavities were filled to the brim with candy red crystalline pills that gleamed in the dulled light. Hey presto! Arnav thought, smiling at the smug looking Payal in front of him.
He looked down at the Bangles. Hollowed Bangles. Quite the genius, he thought a slow smirk spreading across his face... If only she was not dead. Foolish Bitch. He watched as Payal snapped her fingers- quite loudly- and Ranjan scowled, producing the standard ziplock Plastic bag from his Kit. Evidence.
Now he had the material for blackmail against Ashfaq Miyaa too. Drug Trafficking had been one of the major problems on their hands for the past decade now. And Arnav had had many run ins with one Ashfaq Abdul Rehman on his way up the ladder. The man had been the cause of many headaches for his Superiors- but he had been virtually unreachable. Arnav had developed a grudging respect for the Man- his ingenious ways of immunizing himself to any and all relations to a crime- even before he had committed the crime... His cool and polite way of putting the CBI Officials and Interrogators down when they had brought him in for Questioning, and most of all... his complete independence. Arnav had never seen the Man demand for a Lawyer in any of the interrogations. The predatory smile on his face widened. Every dog has his Days Rehman Miyaa, he thought. And yours are over.
Just then, the shrill ring of his phone brought him out of his reverie- and he snapped his fingers at his colleagues- juniors, he thought with a smirk- and gestured them to wrap the investigation up as he stepped out of the Apartment to take the call. He could very well imagine Payal flashing him the bird and Ranjan holding his breath, hoping that he hadn’t seen it. Terrified. Damned if it didn’t make him like her even more. He checked the ID and sighed. Nani.
Subhadra Malik, was for the lack of a better word... A Royal Pain in the Ass.
Subhadra Malik had been a Pain in his Ass for almost his entire life now. She was a stuck up, snobbish, money-minded, perennially stern and irritatingly opinionated woman who just didn’t understand that he did not care about her opinions at all- and tried to shove them down his throat anyway. She was also, His useless Mother’s Mother, and that further dipped his opinion and toleration levels of her. In Fact, much to his Sister’s amusement and his Dadi’s astonished outrage (although Arnav knew she agreed with him, and the outrage was only a front that she had to keep up for the sake of it), he had saved her number on his phone as Pain in the Ass. And now, his phone Screen blinked as it read:
Pain in the Ass...
Calling.
He sighed again, and picked up the call. Here it goes. He had just put the phone to his ear and opened his mouth- a polite, Namaste Naniji on the way, when he heard the familiar grating voice start on the other side. “Arnav! Aapne itni der kyu laga di Phone uthaane me?”
Arnav rolled his eyes at the ceiling. Really, when would he ever learn? Not to answer her call. Bloody woman. It was always the same opening line. And now, he sighed, would come the patented- ‘you’re doing a useless job and wasting the fortune away’ line. “Wahi honge na? Gundo ke peeche bhaag rahe honge... Ya Gundo ke saath baithe honge, Sahi kaha na Humne, Arnav?” He sighed again. Time to cut the dialogue short.
“Nani, I’m busy. Can you get to the point?” He asked her, his teeth gritting in frustration as he fought to keep himself from outright yelling at the woman. Somehow, this woman always managed to do that to him. He rolled his eyes, as she screeched now- “Is that the way you were taught to talk to your elders, Arnav Singh Raizada? I knew Devyani was not paying enough attention to you children! I should have raised you...!”
Arnav was barely clinging on to his temper now. “Nani, Enough! We can have this goddamned discussion later. Just say what you called for, or I’m disconnecting!”
He heard her irritated sniff at the other end and rolled his eyes again- God, but the woman was Irritating! “I want you to attend the Party Mannan saab’s Son Shartaaz is throwing tonight, at his Mansion in Greater Kailash. Make sure you go there, Arnav- you need to live up to the Raizada and Malik reputation as the sole heir to both the Families. 9.00 PM. Sharp.”
He rubbed his eyes, as he looked down at the floor, his hand going into his pocket as he fought to be civil with the dim-witted Dictator he was talking to. “Nani. I...”
“I won’t hear anything Arnav. Be there. 9.00 PM.”
And with that, she had disconnected. He wanted to hurl the phone at a wall, stamp his foot, and call her all the names in the Innovative Swear Words Dictionary. He sighed and slumped against the wall for a short time, trying to recompose his Cool and Collected mask- his Detective ASR mask, before his juniors wrapped the thing up. Damn Nani.
There was no other way to it. He would have to go. To uphold the Raizada and Malik names, he snorted in contempt. But he would just have to fucking attend the fucking party. The good far outweighed the bad and the ugly here and to Arnav, that was just that. Maybe the generations of business in his blood spoke. He would attend. Definitely. No matter how declasse he found these nouveau riche parties. He would definitely attend. It was his duty - or as his grandmother so deftly put; noblesse oblige. Arnav had meant to tell the old lady that this wasn’t Paris in the time of Louis XVII and that she was a kook - money or no money but his Dadi’s wonderful way of instilling manners had kept him from saying it out loud to Nani. But really... Crazy Bat.
There were times when he hated his Inheritance. This was one of those times.
Dirty Dog
I'm, I'm a dirty dog
I'm a dirty dog
The song kept pumping into his ears through his Beats, as he kept working on the tiny cameras with attached mics he was assembling together. It was one of his pet models. The camera had great resolution, in fact, better than the new Nikon Cameras that were in the market right now, and it had only required a little tweaking. He smirked. Gadgets. He was comfortable with them- non-living entities, things which could be trusted to do their work well, implicitly. He had designed the microphone attachments himself. A micro-programmed sound sensitive chip. With resolving and voice recognition as well as recording settings. In Fact, if they managed to programme the mics to recognize and identify their targets beforehand, he would have a printed draft of their conversations as they had them with him in his Lab. Ah, Technology. He smiled again. It was almost over, now only the connection to his Computer and Khushi’s Network was required. This would be only phase one though. He could already feel the adrenaline pumping through his body. For him, the chase was as enjoyable and important as the Prize.
Why else would the Only son of a Millionnaire get involved in something so outright criminal? Cons. He had outran his shady family business conventions by miles. NK, as usual had taken a talent to a whole different level. He often wondered if it was a latent sense of competitive streak in him that he had no clue about. Why else do this? A sense of competition with his father? To see if he could outdo his shady business dealings? Or, was it something far plainer. Adrenaline? He smirked again, as he strapped the tiny camera together and connected it to his laptop for a first run. Of course, apart from the obvious and very satisfying feeling of showing these dumb old High Society Dicks their rightful places? Adrenaline, he thought with a small laugh. Nothing ever beat the rush that came from pulling off a successful scam. Like his mother... NK too was a junkie in his own fucking way.
I'm an outlaw (I'm an outlaw)
Quick on the draw (Quick on the draw)
Somethin' you've never seen before (Never Seen)
And I dare a mother fucker to come in my face
I got somethin' chrome (I got somethin' Chrome)
NK kept bobbing his head to the music, a wide smile on his face - at his happiest. This is what he liked - the adrenaline rush that came before a job. This is when he wasn’t the son of Harish Raina the millionaire software tycoon, he was NK; the thief. Just that. A thief. Was there one who was prouder of his ability? He didn’t think so. If that gave him a twisted sense of satisfaction, well - he had never really claimed to be completely healthy in the noggins now, had he? If he had, anyway, Khushi would be the first to refute the claim anyway NK laughed, moved some more, bending and twisting; the Phillips’ head screw driver in his hand, wiggling it. Jobs like these, he knew - needed a delicate hand. His was one of the best - a degree in electrical engineering had made sure it was, he smiled. Although, Mechanical Engineering was something he liked too... he had attended classes for those streams too! What a use of that degree! He could have just as easily gone off to Caltech or Stanford for his Post-Graduate degree. The grades definitely were there but, he smiled - his passion lay somewhere else. Something vibrated in his pocket and he jerked. His phone, he smiled, lowering the Beats from his ears. Dad.
“Beta, it’s Dad,” his father announced, somewhat uselessly he thought with an ironic grin. The man liked his accolades, if nothing else. “Ha Dad? Go on?” he said, concentrating closely on the series of miniscule circuits that lay so beautifully in front of him, waiting for a little... tweaking. NK style, he thought with a wide grin. “Beta, there’s this party at Mannan Saab’s haveli. I promised that you would attend in my stead. What would I do there anyway? His son Shartaaj is throwing it. Now what would an old man like me do there? It’s good PR if you show up. Take that pretty girl you escort everywhere.” NK smiled. Talk about opportunities falling on your lap! “Are there invites Dad?” he asked casually. “Ha beta. I’ll have my secretary send them over to you immediately. Two. Make sure you work the room. We need the investments,” NK smiled again. Ah. The man comes through again. You could never hide honest greed for long. After promising his father that he would drum up business while he was at it, he put his Beats back on. The party was tonight. There was a lot to do before 9 tonight. He kept bobbing his head.
It's Harvey baby, Christ on the arm I'm gnarly baby
Fuck with me? Not hardly baby
And you know the flow, im Godly baby
So lets party baby
NK weaved around some more, swaying, bouncing on the balls of his feet. The music, when he was working - inspired him. He bobbed his head, singing along. He executed some very fancy footworks that nobody who knew him would be surprised that he knew. NK Raina was incredibly flamboyant. He had been like this as a child, and he figured that he would be so even with both feet dangling off the edge of his grave. NK liked that about himself quite a bit. He wasn’t shy about showing off that flamboyance either, he thought with a quick grin as he imagined Khushi rolling her eyes at that. He quickly finished off the impromptu routine with a Gangnam Style signature move, laughing with sheer joy, as the track clicked close. Even if someone walked in now, NK wouldn’t care. He was just that happy.
Anyway, nobody would disturb him now. They knew that he was busy with work and stuff. Very few people disturbed NK when he was busy. Ram Kaka notwithstanding, he thought with a wide grin - thinking about the middle aged man on the family’s retainer who more or less raised him. Facing everything that he had ever done, every disaster he had ever wrecked with a stoic acceptance. NK smiled affectionately. When the song was over, he lowered his Beats again, turning of the iPod. A phone call seemed to be in his near future now, he gleefully predicted as he picked up the phone again, “Oye Manzaar mazhi... Billu Rani... Mouka mil gaya. The invites are here. Go buy yourself something pretty again, my treat,” He smiled into the phone as she worriedly, pessimistically outlined everything that could go wrong - everything that had gone wrong in the past and then, declared, in dire tones, the statistics of failed heists in the world. He just laughed before hanging up. Rituals. He was quite fond of them. Now, he’d just have to find himself a nice suit. It shouldn’t be a problem he thought, with a smile. As always, NK had full faith in his father’s money - If not in him. He put his Beats back on.
Christ on the arm I'm gnarly baby.
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