The Mountain Shadow

‘Bom shankar!’ Vikram shouted, reaching out for the pipe. ‘Lin, this is Naveen Adair. He’s a private detective. Honest to God. And Naveen, this is Lin, the guy I’ve been telling you about. He’s a doctor, in the slum.’

The young man stood to shake my hand.

‘You know,’ he said with a wry smile, ‘I’m not much of a detective, yet.’

‘That’s okay,’ I smiled back at him. ‘I’m not much of a doctor, period.’

The third man, who’d lit the chillum, took a puff and offered me the pipe. I smiled it away, and he passed it instead to one of the men on the bed.

‘I’m Vinson,’ he said, with a handshake like a big, happy puppy. ‘Stuart Vinson. I’ve heard, like, a lot about you, man.’

‘Every cunt has heard about Lin,’ Concannon said, accepting a pipe from one of the men on the bed. ‘Vikram goes on and on about you, like a fuckin’ groupie. Lin this, Lin that, and Lin the other fuckin’ thing. Tell me, have you sucked his cock yet, Vikram? Was he any good, or is it all talk?’

‘Jesus, Concannon!’ Vinson said.

‘What?’ Concannon asked, eyes wide. ‘What? I’m only askin’ the man a question. India’s still a free country, isn’t it? At least, the parts where they speak English.’

‘Don’t mind him,’ Vinson said to me, shrugging an apology. ‘He can’t help it. He has, like, Asshole Tourette’s or something.’

Stuart Vinson, an American, had a strong physique, wide, clear features and a thick shock of wind-strewn blonde hair, which gave him the look of a sea adventurer, a solo yachtsman. In fact, he was a drug dealer, and a pretty successful one. I’d heard about him, just as he’d heard about me.

‘This is Jamal,’ Vikram said, ignoring Vinson and Concannon and introducing me to the man sitting on the left of the bed. ‘He imports it, rubs it, rolls it and smokes it. He’s a One Man Show.’

‘One Man Show,’ Jamal repeated.

He was thin, chameleon-eyed, and covered in religious amulets. I started counting them, hypnotised by holiness, and got to five major faiths before my eyes strayed into his smile.

‘One Man Show,’ I said.

‘One Man Show,’ he repeated.

‘One Man Show,’ I said.

‘One Man Show,’ he repeated.

I would’ve said it again, but Vikram stopped me.

‘This is Billy Bhasu,’ Vikram said, gesturing toward the small, very slight, cream-skinned man sitting on the other side of the still figure. Billy Bhasu put his palms together in a greeting, and continued to clean one of the chillums.

‘Billy Bhasu is a bringer,’ Vikram announced. ‘He’ll bring whatever you want. Anything at all, from a girl to an ice cream. Test him. It’s true. Ask him to fetch you an ice cream. He’ll bring it, right now. Ask him!’

‘I don’t want –’

‘Billy, go get Lin an ice cream!’

‘At once,’ Billy replied, putting the chillum aside.

‘No, Billy,’ I said, raising a palm. ‘I don’t want an ice cream.’

‘But you love ice cream,’ Vikram observed.

‘Not enough to send somebody for it, Vikram. Settle down, man.’

‘If he’s gonna bring somethin’,’ Concannon called from the shadows, ‘my vote’s for the ice cream and the girl. Two girls. And he should fuckin’ get on with it.’

‘You hear that, Billy?’ Vikram urged.

He stepped closer to Billy, and began to drag him from the bed for the ice cream, but a voice, deep and resonant, came from the prone figure on the bed, and Vikram froze as if he was facing a gun.

‘Vikram,’ the voice said. ‘You’re killing my high, man.’

‘Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Sorry, Dennis,’ Vikram stuttered. ‘I was just introducing Lin around, to all the guys, and –’

‘Lin,’ the figure on the bed said, opening his eyes to stare at me.

They were surprisingly light, grey-coloured eyes, with a velvet radiance.

‘My name’s Dennis. I’m glad to meet you. Make yourself at home. Mi casa, es su casa.’

I stepped forward, shook the limp bird’s wing that Dennis raised for me, and stepped back again to the foot of the bed. Dennis followed me with his eyes. His mouth settled into a gentle smile of benediction.

‘Wow!’ Vinson said softly, coming to stand beside me. ‘Dennis, man! Good to see you back! Like, how was it on the other side?’

‘Quiet,’ Dennis intoned, still smiling at me. ‘Very quiet. Until a few moments ago.’

Concannon and Naveen Adair, the young detective, joined us. Everyone was staring at Dennis.

‘This is a big honour, Lin,’ Vikram said. ‘Dennis is looking at you.’

There was a little silence. Concannon broke it.

‘That’s nice, that is!’ he growled, through a toothy smile. ‘I sit here for six fuckin’ months, share my wit and wisdom, smokin’ your dope and drinkin’ your whiskey, and you only open your eyes twice. Lin walks in the door and you’re staring at him like he was on fuckin’ fire. What am I, Dennis, a total cunt?’

‘Like, totally, man,’ Vinson said quietly.

Concannon laughed hard. Dennis winced.

‘Concannon,’ he whispered, ‘I love you like a friendly ghost, but you’re killing my high.’

‘Sorry, Dennis lad,’ Concannon grinned.

‘Lin,’ Dennis murmured, his head and body perfectly still, ‘please don’t think me rude. I’ll have to rest now. It was a pleasure to meet you.’