Free Brutal by Uday Satpathy

‘Absolutely,’ Prakash replied and then bolted from that place.
    Over the years, he had been in many such tough situations that had shaped his reputation as a crime reporter.
    He squinted on seeing the headlights of an approaching car, the loud music played in it audible from this far. Looks like him. He started waving his hands. The car slowed down in response. He walked towards the car and stopped on the driver’s side.
    A lean guy wearing thick-rimmed specs was at the wheel. He wore cargo pants and a T-shirt with a massive skull-and-bones graffiti drawn over it. Thin beard and moustache, shoulder length hair tucked behind his head in a ponytail, with a few strands of hair dangling over his face – he looked like a rapper, minus the jewellery.
    “Hey, hey, hey. Stop the music!” Prakash said, trying desperately to keep his voice low. “The whole Ambala city will know that the great fucking Mrinal is here.”
    Mrinal, grinning, opened his door and said in his usual hip-hop style of speaking, “It gives me the fuel to work through the night, baby.” He turned off his music player.
    “Don’t come out of the car. Be seated. We need to talk,” Prakash said. He moved towards the other side of the car, got on to the front seat and closed the door.
    “What’s this?” Mrinal whined. “I thought you’d have booked a room for me.”
    “Yes, I have. But we need to go somewhere.”
    “Go? Now? Man, it’s past 1 o’clock in this ghost town and you’re telling me we are going somewhere? I’ve been driving for last three hours. Even night-owls like me need rest,” he protested and then added with a wink, “By the way, we aren’t going for a date. Are we?”
    “Buddy, I think I heard correctly when you said you’re willing to work for Globe News as an external consultant on this story. You’re getting paid by the hour. So, why not start talking about something serious.”
    “OK. OK. Begin.”
    “We are going to get into Afroz’s house now.”
    “You got permission from the police so quickly?”
    “No. We are going on our own. Without anybody’s permission.”
    “Are you crazy? The police would have sealed that place. If we get caught, we’ll get our asses fried in jail.”
    “I know, but we can’t wait. I have a hunch that we are going to find something big there. Something that these lousy policemen will never find, because they don’t suspect anything fishy in this case.”
    “Spare me pal. I’m just a discarded equity analyst who feeds himself by working as a researcher-on-hire,” Mrinal said. “With all due respect to your injurious profession, I ain’t a journo. I’m a desk jockey!”
    “Relax Mrinal. You don’t need to do anything there. Just hang around with me. I need an extra brain to get to the bottom of this.”
    “Do you media guys always use consultants this way?” Mrinal asked with a frown, making Prakash almost laugh.
    “You’re a genius. You need to be treated differently,” Prakash answered with a smile. He knew that a little bit of praise worked on his friend.
    “You are so sweet,” Mrinal replied with a mocking smile. “But I’ll charge overtime rates.”
    “I know, I know. You better justify your rates then.”
    “Hmmm. So where’s the party tonight?”

13

New Delhi
    S eema woke up with a start . She had passed out on her study table waiting for a response to her mail. She rubbed her eyes and looked around. Her reading lamp was still on. So was her laptop. She looked at her watch. 2 AM.
    She thought about shutting down her laptop and moving to her bedroom, but was tempted to check her mailbox one last time. She unlocked her machine and eyed her Outlook screen. One unread mail. There was a reply to her mail. She felt her heartbeat rise as she clicked on the mail. It was a very curt reply.
    ‘I know you are not an acquaintance of Nitin. So, who are you exactly, Seema? And why should I trust you?’
    Shit! Mr X or Miss X seems to know Nitin quite well. Seema