Catch Me? No You Can’t! Read online

  Quickies /kwi-kk-eez/

  1. Verb :

  a quick getaway from the crime scene, after taking all you could. Clean sweep!

  ✓ Raja pulled a quickie as soon as he had emptied the contents of Sethji’s briefcase.

  2. Noun :

  a short stint in the lock-up.

  ✓ The day Tiwari finished his quickie at the “Central Jail”, he knew he’d need a bigger, smarter crime to pull him out of the muck.

  Don’t bother about the meaning of the word, just let the man con you into loving him. After all, Raja Tiwari…padeyga sabpe bhari!

  Other Quickies you can pick:

  Daring Daroga: Killer in the Shadows!

  Inspector Abhay Pandey, Uttar Pradesh Police, is a man of simple deeds – Haseeno ko bachaana, gundon aur politicians ki bajaana. Fir chhamiya party mein nachna-gana. When a mysterious murder points the finger towards the next victim, Naina – the one with the beautiful eyes – our Daring Daroga will leave no stone unturned to find the killer and save the belle.

  Dark Temptation: The Naughty Proposal!

  Two strangers meet and kindle desires long repressed. Then they meet again and explore some more. Without the shackles of a relationship binding them down, they indulge in sinful pleasures, amorous games and unbridled passion. Will they end up in love? Or are they in for a surprise?

  10 Rules of F**g Around

  Ronnie Singh believes in the age-old adage – practice makes a man perfect – and he believes in practicing every day. With different partners. Or multiple partners. While beer and hash form his staple diet, hooking up with a different chic is the prime motive of his life. An expert in this art, he has a few rules, which applied correctly can get him the girl of his dreams. Will his rules help him mount the pinnacle?

  SRISHTI PUBLISHERS & DISTRIBUTORS

  N-16, C. R. Park

  New Delhi 110 019

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  First published in Quickies by

  Srishti Publishers & Distributors in 2015

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Text copyright © Amit Nangia, 2015

  Series copyright © Srishti Publishers & Distributors, 2015

  The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the Publishers.

  CONTENTS

  Catch Me? No You Can’t!

  The giant iron gate rattles open, the bright sunlight floods my vision with the suddenness of an abrupt camera flash and makes me shut my eyes for a moment. The wide horizon is stretched out limitless before me, as a powerful background music tune announces my arrival from under the metal arch banner reading “Central Jail”.

  That’s how you were supposed to leave prison as a free man, wasn’t it? That’s how I had been planning it all along from in there. Or maybe it was just Bollywood’s doing. Sholay ke Jai aur Veeru…grand exit! Sheh!

  A very old man who called himself the hawaldar in-charge walked me out a side door which was too small for my height. The couple of chain-link gates that he pushed me through let me out in a gravel parking lot across what seemed like the highway.

  The sun had almost melted on the other end and the cool breeze was welcoming. Despite the not-so-grand exit, I didn’t complain. As long as Rampyari and I were together after so long, and out of that goddamn place, everything could be taken care of. Even that day I wouldn’t have been caught at all, that too just for a credit card fraud. Bhenchod, luck had been a bitch that day. Plus these suburbs in Gurgaon were getting way too techy with time; fooling people was becoming quite a task.

  I was ambling towards nowhere while trying to figure out what I’d do now. I didn’t have much money and no girl was waiting for me. I took a ride in a truck to wherever it took me and slept in a building under construction. The next morning, I woke up late and again started walking aimlessly towards the city or somewhere. I was dressed pretty good – grey shirt, blue jeans and sport shoes. I’d even had a shower at a petrol pump and a hair-trim at a barber under a tree. So what if I wore the jeans a little too low, or left a couple of extra buttons of the shirt open, or tied the laces over my jeans at the ankles – I am sure, all in all, I looked okay. I was swinging my thumb whenever I saw a car approaching, but no one stopped for me. The second wrong perception instilled by Bollywood.

  I needed just one angle to my situation and I’d pull the rest off. I had my angle to everything, and that’s what drove me. I’d been walking for like ever, and it was half past seven. That’s when I came to an empty street with nothing but trees on either side. I went past a few trees, hoping to find a place to rest or eat or sleep for the night, hoping in vain that the end of the street would open up a new world for me. And it did.

  I saw a couple huddled together at the other end. The man was over forty, tall and solid. His clothes were drenched in sweat and the woman stood facing him. She looked much younger. But as my pupils adjusted to the dark, I saw she looked scared. The man was too close to her; and she didn’t like that.

  I didn’t want to butt into a domestic quarrel and was still wondering if the girl needed help when the man put the palm of his hand flat on the woman’s neck, pressing it, his thumb almost touching her cleavage. It didn’t look like a romantic gesture to me. Her cleavage sure looked tempting, but the fat man was covering my view. The woman just froze and looked around, I presumed, for help.

  Just then, the man took his hand off the woman’s neck, and slapped her with full force in the face. Ouch! That must have stung real bad. Her face was knocked sideways and the sound echoed in the empty street.

  Either this love was all about semi-bondage and torture or the woman needed help. I had to put my pretty butt into this one. “Hey!”

  The man turned around. He was dark-skinned, dark-haired, dark-eyed, maybe six feet tall, and about a hundred and fifty kilos.

  He grunted with a swish of his left hand, “Get lost, kid!”

  He was going to pay for calling me that. A kid. I was nowhere near a kid. I didn’t even remember the last time I felt like a kid. As my temper rose to boiling point, I could sense the monster in my pants also rising. Bloody opportunist! Ladki dekhi nahi, ki shuru hogaya.

  That demented black hippo with more accumulated fat on his skin than pores had just called a five feet ten inches tall, muscular guy a kid!

  He forgot about the girl and turned around completely. He scanned me from the top of my head to the tip of my toe. Why checking me out? Was he gay? He burped in his growly voice, “Didn’t you hear me, kid? Go away!”

  Ajeeb chutiya hai yaar yeh. Main issey kid lag raha hoon?

  My gaze was fixed on the man and oozing fire. My voice was directed at the woman and was as caressing as a lover’s. “Ma’am, please step away from this guy,” I repeated dramatically what I had heard a cop say to the woman in the house I had robbed a few years ago.

  Despite the fact that it sounded funny in my voice, the woman obeyed quickly. She was charmed, I could see.

  The man saw her move and directed his wrath towards me, “Do you know who I am?”

  “What difference would it make anyway? If I don’t know who you are and you create trouble, tu pita; if I know who you are and you create trouble, tu phir bhi pita.” My smirk did more damage to his ego than the threat could have. Full points!

  “You’re pissing off with the wrong guy.”

  “Who knows who the
wrong guy is! If I were you, I won’t take the risk.”

  The man clenched his fist and said, “I don’t know who you are, and you won’t remember it either. Today’s going to be your last day, and this bitch’s too.”

  The woman said on instinct, “You shouldn’t get involved.”

  Lo ji, free mein kat gaya! What is with women, I never understand. Here I am, ready to fight with this bull, and she is asking me to stay out. Now? I was annoyed, but I covered it up. “I’m not getting involved, miss; I’m just standing here in the street.”

  The man said, “Then, take your ugly butt to some other street!”

  The woman was still a good six feet away from him. She was standing very still and looked terrified. I looked at her again and said, “Is my butt ugly?” and turned around to show her my back. Her expression changed from terror to surprise in a split second and before she could react, I hit her with another question, “Is this guy related to you in some way?”

  She rolled her eyes and said rather impatiently, “I don’t want you to get involved.” Her lips moved ever so seductively. I looked at her closely now: she was younger than the guy, for sure. Late twenties, maximum. Fair-skinned beautiful female, thin and definitely not in the right situation. To add to my restlessness was her red dress that ended just above her knees. The monster in the pants was gearing up. Kya maal hai!

  She snapped her fingers and pointed towards her own face. She must have known I was checking her out. Women somehow always know. “I’m not related to this man, but I don’t want you to get involved. Do you hear me?” She was louder this time, but her voice still sounded sweet to my ears. She would look awesome sitting on my lap and talking sweet nothings.

  The fat guy hit boiling point, aggrieved at being talked about like he wasn’t there. He charged at me, his shirt sticking to his skin. I feinted one way and tapped his ankles with my left leg; he tripped and fell. He got up fast enough for his weight, but I was at a safe distance and ready for the next move. He charged again, but I had planned my move. It was executed well. My elbow hit his nose before he could hit me and I heard his nose break. I was good.

  The guy stayed down on his knees a little longer than the first time. This time, he put his hands on his knees and stood up, panting and unsteady.

  I delivered my second best blow then, “Your nose was no good to break, but puncturing your fat ass would be some fun.”

  I kicked him in the kneecap. He fell down in pain and just when I had begun having some fun, the woman took my hand and made me run with her.

  “We need to get out of here. Trust me!”

  Did she say that to me? I didn’t even know her. Where the hell did trust come in from? The words had tumbled out of her lips with such sweetness than anyone would follow them as if hypnotized. I thought this was the best thing to do, if not for me, then at least for her safety.

  I was running right behind her, protecting her from the back just in case the fat man came up. As if he could gather his knee and nose. Hah! If I felt the woman was gorgeous, the machine she drove was nothing less than pure pleasure to see – a big, black Mercedes. She was quick to rev it up and scoot towards the nearest market area. To be in a crowded place, where we would be safe.

  The air conditioner over the bar’s door was running so hard, it was trembling and rattling. But it didn’t do any good to the temperature inside the bar. It was still stuffy, but comfortable enough to save your ass.

  The bartender placed a beer in front of me and swiftly picked up the cash I’d laid on the counter. The bar didn’t have too many people; it was still early for that kind of gathering. He went back to his stool behind the counter and picked up his newspaper, hiding himself behind it. I said something about the weather, just to make conversation. He grunted without looking up. I tried again by complimenting him for having a nice pleasant place, and that he certainly knew how to keep his beer cold. He grunted again. Chutiya sala !

  I gave up on him and looked down at my beer, feeling the short hair rising on the back of my neck. I want people to be nice to me. That’s all they have to do, you know. Just be as nice to me as I am to them. They should understand that I’ve been in prison, and have mild criminal tendencies against people who are not kind to me. Samajhtey nahi yeh log.

  I looked up in the direction of the restrooms, wondering what was taking the woman so long. She had driven like a woman possessed and hadn’t shared a single syllable on the way. I didn’t mind then because her milky skin kept me occupied, but now I wondered who she was and why she was being harassed by that guy. That ugly, monstrous guy. Her absence gave me time to quickly adjust my monster so she wouldn’t notice its excitement.

  The woman finally came and sat on the bar stool next to me. Her eyes were sparkling, crystal clear. Her hair had that soft, brushed-shiny look, and her face was rose-and-white softness that seemed to glow from the inside. She was wearing a red dress hugging her slim figure. I admired the shape it was taking near her hips. She was a nine on ten. Ekdum maal.

  She turned her face to look at me; knowing what effect I could have on women, I got back to my beer and let her check me out. I saw from the corner of my eye that her eyes rested on the scar on my jawline. It seemed to have turned something in her. She took a deep breath, smiling at me, and her breasts swelled. Monster was happy and hopeful.

  “Who was that guy?” I asked her before I could get distracted by her breathing.

  She didn’t answer and turned to her glass of wine. The barman must have placed it stealthily, because I hadn’t even noticed when the glass came in front of her. And the man was back on the stool now. I need to be more alert, I told myself.

  Meanwhile, she turned her head and looked at me, taking her time about it. Looking me over very carefully. Ye bhi gai!

  She turned away, picking up her drink again. “First you tell me who are you. And why didn’t you stay out of this mess even when I asked you to.”

  “If I had stayed out of this mess, you wouldn’t be sitting here asking me this question. I see one slap wasn’t enough.” That caught her attention and her casual look changed to business in a click. Now I could talk on my terms. “If you want this conversation to go any further, then you need to tell me who that guy was and why he was being so lovey-dovey close back there.” I picked up my beer and dug my lips and smile into it.

  “Silky Sinha…” Did I imagine that? “…that’s my name.”

  Did her parents not know what all men could do with that name, or was she just trying to trap me into silky thoughts of her. “Well, that’s a good start.”

  “Of course it is! Because I’ve never met a man before who didn’t have a name.”

  “Oh, I am sorry. I’m Raja Tiwari.” I shook hands with her. Silky to touch.

  Her expression remained cold and I wondered if I should show her some of my other scars to bring her about. “Who was that guy? I saved your life, I deserve an answer,” I snapped.

  “His name is Mirza. He is a very dangerous man and responsible for most of the crimes in this area. He was looking for my friend Thakur. They had done some job together and Mirza says Thakur owed him some money out of the share.” She stopped to look at me in the eyes. I was trying to read what she was thinking, but I have been bad at understanding women. At least out of bed, they were beyond me. “No one has stood up against Mirza, ever. You are the first one to actually show dirt to him.” She gulped down her remaining drink in one big gulp and placed the glass on the table. She motioned to the bartender for a refill, and he did that quickly. He gave me a long hard glare as he placed it in front of her. This time I kept an eye on him; he seemed like the one who hears and sees everything, moving stealthily, and causing damage unawares.

  “Well, that’s about me. What about you? I haven’t seen you around. Are you new to this town?” she asked.

  I came here because it was my destiny to share a drink with a silky young woman. I had to cook up a story; surely she wouldn’t have entertained a just-released c
onvict with such attention.

  “Oh, I have just had a very strange day,” I said, kind of laughing to myself. “I was driving to Delhi with this friend of mine, Anwar Ali and our bike stalled. I walked to a garage to get help. So I get back with help, and that crazy Anwar is gone. I imagine what happened is…”

  “…before you reached, Anwar got the bike started himself,” she said sarcastically. “That’s what happened. He started looking for you, and somehow you passed each other on the highway. Now he doesn’t know where you are, and you don’t know where he is.”

  “That crazy Anwar Ali,” I said, laughing and shaking my head. “I wonder where in the world he can be.”

  “Oh yes, because you look like a man from the 16th century who wouldn’t know a thing about mobile phones.” She was looking at me sceptically, but I raised my hands to show I had none. “And he has probably decided to stay away from you so that you could come and rescue me from Mirza.” Sarcasm had changed to coquetry now, “I am so glad you came, Tiwari.” She gulped half of her glass and looked at me.

  I was wondering why she was hitting on a stranger. She hardly knew me. She was just another one of those who had fallen for me in the first meeting. So my total score now: one hundred and thirty-two.

  The bartender jumped up and began jerking his thumb towards the door. “Okay, you should disappear now. I don’t want any trouble here. Anybody who is Mirza’s enemy is not welcome in my bar.”

  “Listen up, old man! I haven’t done anything; I’ve been acting alright. Just showing off in front of a pretty girl. Plus, you’ve got no right to…”

  “…Beat it!” he almost shouted. “This is my bar, and I decide whether a person can stay here or not. Got it?”

  The veins in my throat were bulging. Just be as polite to me as I am being with you. This man was hell bent on testing my patience. Everything began to look blurred and hazy as my anger swelled. Raja Tiwari, ab padega in sab pey bhaari.