“Very good.”
He drinks all the whisky in one go.
“More.”
“Let’s play a game. Whisky for answers. It has a wonderful dynamic.”
Gautam taps his glass on the table. “Pour.”
“You are keen.”
“Pour.”
Chandra does. A little less this time.
Gautam doesn’t wait for the water. He swallows it impatiently.
“Not exactly playing your cards close to your chest, are you?” Chandra says.
“What does Sunny want?” Gautam snaps.
“I’ll ask the questions, Mr. Rathore.”
“He did send you though, didn’t he? Or at least, you’re here on his behalf.”
He tries to pour another whisky himself, but Chandra pulls the decanter away.
“How would you characterize your relationship with Sunny Wadia?”
“Purely transactional,” Gautam says.
“In what way?”
“I consult for him.”
“On what?”
“This and that.”
“Can you be more specific.”
“Failure. I consult on failure. It’s my specialty. I’m good at it. I notice he’s good at it too.”
Chandra sips his own drink.
“You consult for him on hotels.”
“Yes. This is getting tiresome.”
“Do you enjoy his company socially?”
“We’re not fucking, if that’s what you mean.”
“The thought hadn’t crossed my mind.”
Gautam snorts. “I’m sure it has now.”
Chandra, a wan smile. “Quite.”
“For heaven’s sake, man, give me a drink. A proper measure. Patiala at the least.”
“How much cocaine have you been using in recent months, Mr. Rathore?”
“As much as Daddy will give me.”
“Daddy?”
“The universal Daddy in the sky.”
“Your relationship with your own father is . . .”
Gautam hoots, claps his hands together. “You’re a psychologist!”
“Merely a lawyer.”
“Do you think I got where I am today,” Gautam says, “by being an idiot?”
“Your father has more or less disowned you, is that so?”
“I’d venture it’s the other way round.”
“And you’re quite happy in your current situation?”
“Don’t I look happy?” He taps his glass. “Drink.”
“Tell me something about Sunny.”
“He hates his father.”
“Tell me something we don’t already know.”
Gautam hesitates. “He was planning to leave him. How’s that for news?”
Chandra pours a drink.
“And you encouraged that?”
A bitter laugh. “I listened to his complaints, like a good and loyal friend.”
“And the cocaine?”
“What about it?”
“Where did it come from?”
“A lady never tells.”
“Was it his?”
“Pffft. Absolutely not. I have my people.”
“But Sunny paid for it?”
“Naturally.”
“And he took it too.”
“Naturally. Now what’s all this about?”
“Aren’t you at all curious, Mr. Rathore, to know why you’re here? To know why I’m here with you?”
A cloud passes over Gautam’s face. A moment of seriousness. He swallows his whisky, pushes his glass forward. “More.”
“What exactly do you remember about last night?”
“More.”
“I need you relatively sober Gautam.”
“It’ll take a lot more than this to get me drunk.”
Chandra pours him another small measure.
“And a cigarette.”
Chandra offers him the pack. “Keep it.”
“I am quite happy to talk,” Gautam goes on, taking Chandra’s gold lighter, lighting the cigarette, putting the lighter in his pocket. “As I said, I’m no fool.”
“I’d like the lighter back.”
Gautam looks perplexed, but removes it, slides it back.
“Are you in the habit of taking whatever you want?”
“Back to psychology now?”
“Do you see the world as essentially yours?”
“I’m quite happy to talk.”
“Last night . . .”
“What has Sunny done?”
“Last night . . .”
Gautam suddenly sits up. “He’s not dead, is he?” He frowns. “He didn’t . . .”