THE LANDLORD

Vikram stared at the corpse. The man lay awkwardly on the sofa, his skin blue-grey, pills scattered about the coffee table. Vikram called out to the man and prayed he was only sleeping, but the dog at the foot of the sofa barked loudly again and Vikram knew no one could sleep under that. It was the constant barking that had caused an irritated neighbor to phone in the first place. Vikram called out a final time and accepted the man was dead. He glanced at the coffee table. Hundreds of pale green pills and empty plastic baggies and a weigh scale and a line of cocaine beside a snow-dusted debit card.

Vikram knelt down and stroked the dog and it nuzzled into him weakly. He glanced again at the corpse and wondered how long the man had been dead. How long it had been since the dog had been fed. He looked around the unit. Dim light bled through thin shades. The smell of bacon grease and feces and urine. Vikram wondered whether the smell had been left by the man or the dog or both. He rose and took out his phone and called 911 and told them what he’d found. He gave them his name and the address and the number to call so that he could buzz them into the building when they arrived and they told him to stay put and that officers were on their way.

The dog whimpered at his feet and Vikram patted its head and went into the kitchen. The floor was sticky and a mound of dirty dishes sat in the sink. He opened a cupboard and found a large bowl and filled it with tapwater and placed it on the tile floor and the dog went to it and lapped it up eagerly. Vikram squatted down beside the dog and watched it drink for a minute and petted its back. He glanced at the wide cabinet under the sink. He felt strange going through a dead man’s things but dismissed this and opened the cabinet. The dog had to eat.

Under the sink was a bankers box. Vikram hesitated. He knew it was unlikely the box had any food in it, but he pulled it out onto the kitchen floor anyway and removed the top. The box was full of money. Rows of fifty-dollar bills bound with rubber bands. He picked up a wad and flipped through and counted how many bills it held. He slid his hand down the back of the box and counted the rows and columns and multiplied. The box contained a hundred-thousand dollars.

Vikram sat back and stared at the box for a minute. He glanced down at the dog drinking beside him. He pulled out his phone and checked his call history and saw it had been six minutes since he’d called 911. They’ll be here soon, he thought. His unit was only two floors down though. He could be down with the box and back up to greet the police before they even arrived. He stared at the box for some time.

———

Ten minutes later there was a knock at the door. Vikram answered and greeted two police officers and showed them inside. The officers scanned the room and saw the body on the sofa and asked if anyone else was in the apartment.

“Just him,” said Vikram.

The dog stood in the kitchen eating dog food from a steel mixing bowl set on the floor beside the dish of water.

“Is that your dog?”

Vikram shook his head. “No, sir. It’s his.”

“When did you find the body?”

“Fifteen minutes ago.”

The second officer went to the man on the sofa and felt for a pulse and found none and called it in over the radio.

“Do you know this man?” he asked.

“I know he’s a tenant,” said Vikram. “I don’t know his name.”

“Could you find that out?”

“Yes, sir.”

The first officer pulled out a notepad and pen. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you notice anything unusual when you came in?”

“You mean besides the body?”

“Yes, besides the body. Anything that drew your attention.”

“Um, well, the drugs, I guess. The pills there.”

The office glanced at the coffee table. “Mm. Do you know what kind of pills those are?”

“Not exactly.”

The officer looked up. “Not exactly?”

“I mean I assume they’re not his. Not prescribed, I mean. There’s a lot of them. What I mean is that I assumed that they’re narcotics but I’m not sure what kind.”

“You seem a little jumpy.”

“There’s a dead man on the sofa, sir.”

The officer gave a thin smile. “Of course. Did you touch’m?”

“Excuse me?”

“The pills.”

“Oh. No.”

“Have you touched anything?”

“Yes, sir. I got the dog some water and food from the kitchen.”

“What did you touch in the kitchen?”

“Well, I got the two bowls from the cupboard there. And I got the dog food from the cabinet beside the fridge. The water I got from the sink.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What?”

“That.”

Vikram pointed to the bankers box on the kitchen floor.

———

Vikram sipped a can of Coca-Cola in a chilly air-conditioned interview room at the central police station. The first officer from the apartment was named Miller and he sat across the table from Vikram and cautioned him that their interview was being recorded.

“And you’re sure you don’t want to speak to a lawyer?”

“I don’t have a lawyer, sir.”

“You could speak with duty counsel. That’s free legal advice.”

“I think I’m alright, sir. Thank you.”

Miller examined the man in front of him. Vikram was handsome with thick greying hair and strong angular features. Large hypnotic eyes. Duel pools of amber and rust.

“So when did you find the box, Vikram?”

“Not long after I came into the apartment. Maybe five minutes after I got there.”

“And you found it under the sink?”

“Yes, sir. Under the sink.”

“What were you doing down there?”

“I was looking for dog food.”

“And you thought the box might have food in it?”

“Actually, no, sir. Dog food’s usually kept in a big bag or a plastic bin or something like that.”

“But you opened the box anyway.”

“Yes, sir. I did.”

“Why?”

“I suppose I was curious.”

“Vikram, I’m going to ask you flat out: did you take any money from that box?”

“No, sir, I did not.”

“Do you know how much money was in the box?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Yes, sir, I counted it.”

“You counted the money?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I was curious, I guess.”

“Again you were curious.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And knowing how much was in there, you weren’t tempted to take some?”

“Of course I was tempted, sir.”

“But nevertheless, you left the money where it was.”

“Yes, sir. It was the right thing to do.”

“You could have easily gotten away with it. With taking the whole box, even.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

Miller leaned back in his seat and examined Vikram.

“I’m not a thief, sir,” said Vikram. “And I certainly would never steal from the dead.” He glanced off and shook his head. “That poor young man.”

“I wouldn’t lose any sleep there,” said Miller. “Those pills we found in the apartment—that’s fentanyl. You know what that is?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yeah, so, he dealt it. So don’t waste too much time on him. Never pity a scoundrel.”

“No. But you might pity the dead.”

“Though their troubles be over?”

“Yes, sir. Even so.”

Miller nodded and leaned forward again. “I understand you have surveillance cameras in the hallways of your building?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Could you make us a copy of today’s footage?”

“Yes, sir. Of course.”

———

Vikram sat on his sofa petting the dead man’s dog. Lawrence of Arabia on the TV. The dog’s head in his lap. He had found no emergency contact or next of kin on the dead man’s lease agreement and had decided to look after the dog, who he’d named Alakana, until someone came forward to claim him.

Vikram’s son Ravi arrived home and slid his key into the front lock and Alakana jumped up off the sofa and was already waiting in front of the door when he came in. Ravi knelt down and rubbed Alakana’s head and told him what a good boy he was and stood up and shut the front door behind him. He took off his shoulder bag and ballcap and hung them up on the rack and went to the kitchen and put the kettle on the stove, Alakana following closely behind.

“Has he been fed, appa?” said Ravi.

“Yes. And we just got back from a long walk, didn’t we, Alakana?” said Vikram.

The dog wagged his tail happily and smiled up at Ravi.

“Do you want some tea, appa?”

“No, thank you. How’d your exam go?”

Ravi went into the living room to wait for the kettle to boil and sat down beside his father on the sofa and Alakana followed and sat at their feet. They lived in the superintendent unit of the apartment complex. A two-bedroom suite on the first floor with a small fenced-in backyard and tiny garden. The walls of the living room were covered with numerous framed photographs. A young Vikram holding a newborn Ravi. A young Ravi helping his mother cook in Sri Lanka. Vikram playing league cricket. A wedding portrait. Vikram’s father posing in his British Indian Army uniform.

“It went very well,” said Ravi. “A few of us are heading to The Eddy tonight to celebrate.”

“You’ve got the internship interview in the morning.”

“It’s just a couple of drinks, appa.”

Vikram nodded. “Well, I’m proud of you. Your mother too. Very proud, Ravindra.”

Ravi smiled. “Do you think I can borrow the car tomorrow for my interview?”

“Yes. But give yourself plenty of time. The alternator’s still acting up.”

“We need to get that fixed.”

“Mm.”

“If you’d taken some of that money, maybe…”

“Ravindra.”

“I’m only kidding, appa.”

“Good. It was the right thing to do, leaving that money where it was.”

Vikram glanced up at the top of the entertainment unit. An antique service pistol sat in an open velvet case. A silver FN Browning with an ivory grip that Vikram had inherited from his father. The firing pin removed, the gun inoperable.

Vikram patted the bronze sobriety chip he kept in his front pants pocket.

“And don’t worry, son,” he said. “Soon we’ll have enough saved and we’ll be able to bring your mother over. Your mother and her sisters. Very soon.”

“I know, appa.”

The kettle shrieked.

———

The next morning Vikram and Alakana returned from their walk and saw a young woman sitting on the iron bench under the front portico of the building. She rose as they approached.

“That’s my dog,” she said.

She was perhaps Ravindra’s age. Early twenties. Almost pretty. Dark makeup, messy hair, very thin. Pale brittle eyes that shifted anxiously behind long lashes. Almost pretty.

“Excuse me, that’s my dog,” she said again.

She knelt down as they came under the portico and kissed Alakana on the nose.

“How are you, baby? You miss mommy?”

“This is your dog?”

“Yes. His name is Max.”

“Oh, Max. I’ve been calling him Alakana.”

“Ala-what?”

“It means handsome.”

“Oh.” She stood up.

“I’m sorry,” said Vikram, “but do you live here in the building? I don’t recognize you.”

“My boyfriend does. Well, he did.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“On the third floor?”

“Yeah.”

Vikram nodded. “I’m very sorry for your loss, young lady.”

She nodded and glanced off. An awkward silence.

“Please,” said Vikram. “Come inside and we can have a chat.”

Vikram introduced himself and shook her hand and she told him her name was Catrina. He escorted her into the building and into his unit.

“Would you like some tea?” asked Vikram, shutting the front door behind them.

“Vodka, if you have any.”

He wasn’t sure if she was kidding or not.

“I don’t drink, I’m afraid.”

Catrina nodded and walked around the living room and scratched her neck, examining the framed photographs on the wall.

“You guys not from around here, eh?”

“We’re from Sri Lanka. A town called Mallavi.”

“Jesus, what’s that?”

Catrina had noticed the antique pistol on top of the entertainment unit.

“Look at that thing, eh?” she said. She reached to pick it up.

“Please, don’t touch that,” said Vikram, raising his voice at her.

She glanced over at him, insulted.

“Please, it’s just—it’s very valuable,” said Vikram. “It was my father’s. An antique.”

Catrina held her hands up in exaggerated apology and sat down on the sofa. Vikram took a seat in the armchair across from her. A silence.

“So then,” she said. “You have my dog.”

“Yes. It seems so.”

“Which means you must be the one who found Jimmy.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“That must have been pretty fucked up.”

Vikram was put off. “It was.”

“Mm. And what else did you find?”

Vikram stared at her for a long minute before speaking.

“I didn’t take any of the money, if that’s what you’re asking me.”

“Ah. So you did find it,” said Catrina. “The police wouldn’t let me into Jimmy’s place, but I knew the money would be gone either way.”

“The police confiscated the box, yes.”

“And how much did you take for yourself before they did?”

“I didn’t take anything, young lady.”

“Nothing? C’mon. I’m realistic.”

“I’m not a thief.”

“You stole my dog.”

Vikram glanced down at Alakana laying at his feet. “I was only looking after him for the time being.”

“So, I can have him back then?”

Vikram hesitated. “Well, how do I know he’s actually yours?”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“I didn’t say that. It’s just—do you have any pictures of him or anything? Any proof?”

“Of course I have pictures. He’s my dog. And his name is Max. Not Aladdin or whatever the hell you’ve been calling him.”

“He had not been fed for days when I found him.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I just want to make sure he’ll be looked after.”

“So, you aren’t giving him back then?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t say a lot of things.”

“Please,” said Vikram. “A few pictures would go a long way.”

“You know, if you’ve grown so attached to him, maybe you could just buy him off me.”

“Buy him off you?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t take any of the money.”

Catrina shrugged. “Fair enough. C’mon, Max.”

She stood up and began towards the door and patted her thigh and Alakana raised his head and rose to his feet.

“Wait a minute,” said Vikram.

“Let’s go, Max,” she said, continuing on.

Vikram rose and went between her and the door and held his hands up in front of his chest.

“I’m sorry, just—please. You’re making me very anxious about handing him over.”

“Well, give me the money and he’s all yours.”

“I told you, I didn’t take any of the money.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You’d really sell your dog off just like that? To a total stranger?”

“Fuck you.”

“Hey, take it easy. Look, let’s just sit down and talk for a minute. I mean, I can’t let you take him like this.”

“Let me? Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Please. There’s no need to curse.”

“Fuck you, haji. Now give me back my dog before I call homeland security.”

Vikram hardened. He glowered at Catrina and turned around and opened the door and grabbed her by the wrist and threw her out into the hallway. Alakana stayed put.

“Hey, get your hands off me!” she cried.

“I’ve tried to be patient and I’ve tried to be polite,” said Vikram, “but you have repeatedly disrespected me in my own home. Now, if you want your dog back, I suggest you contact the police. My name is Vikram Thavarajah, I am the landlord of this building, and I will be holding onto Alakana until you can prove that he is your dog and that he will be properly taken care of. Good day.”

Vikram slammed the door in Catrina’s face and she stood there in the hallway for a minute in disbelief before she began pounding on the door. Ravi had entered the hallway, having returned from his interview, and now saw this strange young lady throwing a tantrum on his doorstep.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Can I help you with something?”

Catrina turned and stared Ravi up and down. He took in her face and thought he vaguely recognized her, but before he could place her, she cursed at him and kicked his front door a final time before turning and storming out of the building.

———

Vikram sat at the small dining room table. He ended the call with his sister-in-law and set the phone down. Ravi looked over at him from the sofa and turned off the TV and got up and joined his father at the table. It was a long time before Vikram said anything.

“Your mother’s situation has gotten worse,” he said. “They’ve had to move her out of her unit. They’ve taken her to a hospice outside of town.”

“Why did they move her?”

Vikram hung his head. “Because your aunts and I can no longer afford to pay for her facility.”

“Is she going to be alright?”

“I don’t know, Ravindra. I—she’s very ill.”

Ravi turned and stared off through the sliding patio door into the moonlit backyard. A bitter expression on his face, the night still and blue. They were both silent for some time.

“You know, I’ve seen that girl before,” said Ravi. “The dog woman? Last night at The Eddy.”

Vikram nodded. He glanced at Alakana lying on the living room floor.

“There’s something else I have to tell you.”

Ravi looked back at his father.

“I took Alakana to the vet this morning,” said Vikram. “The vomiting. He has stomach cancer, Ravindra. He’ll need surgery.”

Ravi stared hard at his father for a moment before abruptly pushing his chair back and rising, the legs scraping loudly against the hardwood.

“Ravindra,” said Vikram.

But Ravi continued off to his bedroom and shut the door behind him, leaving Vikram alone at the dining table. He sat there for a long time. The amber glow of the backlot vapour lamp cut through the sliding glass door and cast shapes across the dining table and Vikram stared down at the boney limbs of the tall oak shadowed on the pocked linoleum in front of him. Hands long and dark.

———

When Vikram and Ravi returned from the supermarket the following evening they discovered their apartment had been broken into. The plate window of the sliding door had been shattered and a half cinderblock sat above bits of glass in the middle of the living room. The dining table was overturned and the TV smashed and items from the refrigerator had been poured out onto the kitchen floor. Milk and tomato sauce and orange juice. Vikram quickly went and searched their bedrooms and the bathroom and the closets and came back into the living room. Alakana was gone. Vikram hopped through the threshold of the smashed sliding door and ran out into the back lot calling the dog’s name.

Ravi surveyed the unit. His bedroom. The bathroom. The medicine cabinet had been raided and a few of his father’s prescription bottles had been stolen. He came back into the living room and saw a bunch of framed photographs had been smashed. He picked one up off the ground. A family portrait tattered and broken.

Vikram returned from the back lot and came in through the shattered sliding door and looked over the living room. He let out a loud cry and threw his hands over his mouth and Ravi turned and soon saw what was wrong. The antique pistol was gone.

Vikram tried not to but began to sob and Ravi went to him and put his hand on his shoulder and sat him down in the armchair. Ravi went to the kitchen and poured a glass of water and returned and handed it to his father. Vikram wiped his eyes and begged aloud for his own father to forgive him.

“This was her, wasn’t it?” said Ravi. “That bitch dog owner.”

“Don’t curse, Ravindra.”

“What are we going to do?”

Vikram sat up straight and took a breath and composed himself. He pulled out his phone.

“Who are you calling?” said Ravi.

“The police.”

“The police? What will they do? We can’t prove she did this.”

“We need to call the police, son. It’s the right thing to do.”

“Always the right thing to do with you, appa. Look around at what the right thing got us! Some bitch destroys our home and steals from us!”

“Ravindra, please.”

“No. Enough, appa. The police can’t help us. We’re on our own. I’ll find that woman myself and take back what she stole from us.”

“Stop it, Ravindra.”

Ravi patted his jacket pocket and pulled out the car keys and headed through the sliding door.

“Ravindra, no,” said Vikram. “Listen to me.”

“I’ll be back soon, appa. You stay here. Don’t worry. It’ll all be fine.”

“No. You’re too upset, Ravindra,” said Vikram. “You’ll get into trouble!”

But Ravi stormed across the back lot and climbed into their car and pulled out and sped off into the darkening evening while Vikram stood watching helplessly from the threshold.

———

Officer Miller saw the dispatch appear on his mobile computer and recognized the address and accepted the call and drove to the apartment complex. Vikram buzzed him into the building and was surprised to see his face again and smiled and showed him into his unit. Miller scanned the damage.

“Where’s your son?” he said.

“He took off,” said Vikram. “He was very upset.”

“He took off?”

“He just needed to calm down. She stole something very valuable from us.”

“She?”

“I think I know who did this.”

Miller waited.

“A girl named Catrina,” said Vikram. “She was the girlfriend of the deceased man from the third floor. I don’t know her last name.”

“And why do you think it was her who did this?”

“Because the dog is gone. The dead man’s dog. Alakana. She stole him.”

“The dog was here in the apartment?”

“Yes, sir. I was looking after him until an owner came forward. And she came here and said it was hers.”

“And said she wanted it back?”

“Yes, sir. Actually she wanted me to buy the dog from her.”

Miller nodded and looked around. “Have you noticed anything else missing?”

“My father’s pistol.”

“You kept a pistol in the house?”

“Yes, sir,” said Vikram. He pointed to the empty velvet case on top of the entertainment unit. “It was my father’s service pistol. An antique silver FN Browning with an ivory grip.”

“Was it operable?”

“No, sir. The firing pin had been removed years ago. It’d been certified.”

Miller took out his notepad.

“Can you describe this Catrina girl?”

———

Ravi glanced at his face in the long wide mirror in front of him. Neon labels glowing kaleidoscopic upon it. His eyes wet and searching. The bartender asked how he was doing and Ravi ordered another double. The bartender poured it and Ravi paid and sipped the double Jack & Coke and glanced around The Eddy. A few oldtimers sat at the woodtop watching the game. A few younger people played pool. Burn-outs with neck tattoos and cheap jewelry and pants hanging low. All sunken eyes and discolored teeth and a dangerous unintelligence like they thought they had nothing to lose. But there was always something to lose, thought Ravi. He took another sip.

The front door of the bar opened and Ravi glanced over and there she was. A dark hoodie pulled up over her head. Ravi turned away slightly and pulled the brim of his ballcap lower so she wouldn’t recognize him. Catrina went to the bar and got the bartender’s attention and he acknowledged her and poured her a shot of tequila. She took the shot back and reached into her pocket and set two folded twenty-dollar bills on the bartop. The bartender took the money and casually set a small baggie on the bartop in front of Catrina just long enough for Ravi to see the two green pills inside. Catrina snatched up the baggie and put it in her pocket and left the bar just as quickly as she’d came.

Ravi sat there for a minute and thought about what to do. He glanced around the room again. As if someone would appear to help him. He chugged his drink and exited the bar.

The Eddy was set on the street corner of an otherwise residential neighborhood. Rows of identical attached townhouses with fractured rust-colored brick. Weather-worn porches and shallow unkempt lawns and crooked chain-link fences. The night was warm and still and shadows fell sharp against the pavement. Ravi glanced down the street and saw Catrina walking away silhouetted by a tall streetlamp. He put his hands in his pockets and began after her.

He followed her for several blocks and the neighborhood grew rougher as they went. He passed a concrete playground that sat beyond a wrought iron gate. A swing hanged broken from a single chain and dangled in the breeze, creaking like a pained ghost. When he glanced up the street again Ravi saw Catrina had entered a yard. She climbed the few steps and disappeared into a dilapidated townhouse with boarded up windows and a concrete lawn.

Ravi stopped and stood there for a minute on the sidewalk and thought about what to do. He rubbed his wet nose and pulled his hat lower and walked into the yard and went onto the porch. He took a deep breath and knocked on the thick front door. No one answered. He waited and then banged hard with his fist and the door opened an inch. He peered through the sliver opening into the blackness beyond and glanced over his shoulders to see if anyone in the neighborhood was watching. He pushed the door open further and crept inside.

Ravi stepped into the foyer of the large decrepit townhouse. Shoddy warped hardwood lined the front hallway, a dark kitchen at its end. Rooms divided into single units. A wooden staircase on the left that led to the second floor, its missing banister posts like the cracked teeth of a marionette. The smell of burnt plastic and cat litter and chemical smoke. Heavy metal thumped from a room upstairs.

Ravi called out again but no one answered. He stood frozen in the foyer for a moment and peered up the staircase. He moved toward it and called out again and slowly began up the stairs. They cracked and bent beneath him. He looked towards the top landing and saw the second floor was dimly lit by the glow of some open room. He reached the top of the stairs and turned to the glow and saw a room at the end of the hallway with its door half open. The light and heavy metal music beyond it bleeding out into the hallway.

Ravi glanced into another room directly beside him. It was a squalid bedroom faintly lit by a lamp with a pink pillowcase over top of it. On a black sidetable sat the antique pistol. Its white grip glowing hibiscus in the light. Ravi went in and grabbed the pistol and tucked it into his back waistband. His heart beat heavy against his chest.

Ravi went to leave the house, but reaching the staircase he heard a jarring thud from the room at the end of the hall. He held still on the landing. He called out over the heavy metal. Nothing. He stood there for a minute and thought about what to do. He began down the hallway to the room. The light grew brighter. He called out again. The heavy metal throbbed.

He reached the room and slowly pushed the door open. It was a common room with a sofa and torn leather chair and a widescreen TV and stereo speakers and a few death metal posters on the wall. Catrina convulsed violently in the middle of the floor, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. A disturbing snoring noise escaped past the vomit that ran down her cheek. Ravi went to her immediately and knelt down and shook her by the shoulders and saw her tiny pupils contracting into nothingness.

———

Miller sat in his police cruiser in front of Vikram’s building, typing the dead man’s name and date of birth into a CPIC search on his mobile computer. He looked at the man’s criminal record and arrest reports and found that he’d been previously charged with a co-accused named Catrina Ross. He punched her information in and discovered a long history of drug arrests, breaking and entering, multiple failure to complies. He noted her last known address and recognized it as a historic drug house and drove there and parked his cruiser across the street. He stared at the front door of the house for a minute before he checked his watch and jotted the time down in his notebook and exited his cruiser and began across the street.

He found the front door open and knocked loudly and went inside and announced himself. He heard the heavy metal upstairs and called out again louder. He glanced down the dark front hallway and heard a dog barking behind a door and turned towards the staircase and saw the glow of light bleeding from the second floor. He set his hand over his Glock sidearm and began up the stairs.

He announced himself again as he reached the landing on the second floor and turned and saw the light coming from the open room at the end of the hall. Two bodies on the floor. He unholstered his gun and raised it in front of him and came upon the room. Catrina was blue on the floor and Ravi was knelt over her. Miller pointed his gun at Ravi and screamed at him over the heavy metal to put his hands in the air. Ravi looked up shocked and terrified and did as he was told.

“Move away from the body,” shouted Miller.

Ravi stood up and did and all at once became aware of the antique pistol tucked into the back of his waistband.

“Are you alone?” asked Miller.

“Sir, I have a—”

“Are you alone?!”

“Yes, I’m alone.”

“Don’t move. Stay right where you are.”

Miller held his gun on Ravi and took his free hand and clicked on the microphone of his shoulder radio and called for assistance. Ravi stood trembling. Sweat collected on his forehead and in his armpits and at the small of his back. He glanced down at the wooden coffee table beside him and thought about setting the pistol down.

Miller looked down at Catrina. She didn’t move. Her lips were blue and her eyes vacant. He knew she was dead. He looked back at Ravi and saw he was reaching for something in his back waistband and screamed for him to stop. But Ravi continued and Miller caught the silver shine of the pistol emerge and he squeezed his Glock and fired.

The sound blunted the heavy metal and Ravi collapsed to the floor with a loud thud. He’d been shot straight through the neck, blood now pouring out all over the hardwood. Miller stood frozen for a moment and smelled the cordite and the blood and the fresh excrement. He glanced down and saw the antique pistol on the floor beside Ravi. A silver FN Browning with an ivory grip.

Miller stared down at the boy. He wasn’t quite dead yet. Ravi lay face up on the floor, his expression helpless and terrified. His body shook stiffly and his left foot twitched and his eyes fogged into a milky grey as all memory and history and everything that ever was drained out from him.

———

Vikram awoke over the ocean, his head against the window pane. The nightmare evaporated once more like an echo in his mind. He took a deep breath and sat up straight. He stretched his neck and checked his watch. The flight attendant stopped at his row and asked if he’d like anything to drink. Vikram thought about it for an awkward moment and smiled thinly and asked for a rye and ginger. The flight attendant set a few ice cubes in a plastic cup and emptied a mini-bottle of Canadian Club into it and handed the cup and a chilled can of ginger ale to Vikram.

He set the cup and the can down on his table tray and stared at them for some time. He had quit so long ago. The day Ravindra was born. And now the first and the last folded over to meet one another. Like a wormhole through space. He looked at the can of ginger ale. It beaded with condensation. Weeping.

Vikram glanced out the window, violated by his thoughts. He wondered if he’d ever get to see Ravindra again. Perhaps when his own time came. Somewhere out in that great beyond. He wondered if his wife would make it through all this. If their son’s shooting would not prove to be her death knell. He prayed she’d hold on until he at least could return to her side in Sri Lanka. He even wondered about Miller. How he was doing. He’d resigned from the police force after being cleared for the shooting, but Vikram knew he’d never be the same and he pitied him for it. But most of all, as he sat and stared out the window into the dark ocean below, Vikram wondered about Alakana. Sedated and alone inside his small crate in the cargo compartment of the plane. Weak from surgery. Hungry, maybe.

Vikram turned back to the cup of rye on the table tray in front of him. He stared at it and it stared back. He exhaled slowly and closed his eyes and thought of Ravindra. His sweet boy. That holy face. His eyes misted and stung and he blotted them with his finger and opened them and glanced at the whiskey a final time. He looked around and got the attention of the returning flight attendant and handed her the cup and asked her to throw it away and she smiled and took it from him. He cracked his can of ginger ale and took a long sip and stared out the window again. He patted the sobriety chip in his pants pocket. Though no one would begrudge him for it, though no one would even have known, he was glad he had withstood the temptation. It was the right thing to do.

THE END