CHAPTER FIVE
At that moment, Arman came running.
He lunged past the confusion and grabbed one of the boys by the collar. The kid had been so lost in his stupor that he had sat there swaying with his head hanging low. A few blows had already landed on him, but neither Ali nor Kusum had paid him much attention.
Arman, however, had noticed something from a distance. He seized the boy by the hair and yanked his head back. The moment he saw his face, all doubt vanished. Gripping him by the collar and a fistful of hair, Arman dragged him out of the crowd. Slaps and punches rained down on his face, back, and ribs. Inspector Kashem approached, the smile gone from his face, replaced by a look of cold fury. Grabbing the boy by the waistband, he shoved him forward. A foul stench burst into the air.
Sofi nearly gagged, “Filthy bastards,” he muttered. “Don’t they ever wash themselves?”
Beating him all the while, they hauled the boy toward the van. Only then did the others begin to come to their senses. Realizing that one of their own was being taken away, they charged after the vehicle, cursing and shouting.
Ali spun around in one swift motion. Drawing his pistol, he pointed it at them, “Not one step closer, you bastards! Get out of here, or I’ll haul every one of you in!”
The group stopped in their tracks but continued to scream obscenities. A few of them hurled chunks of brick.
That was when the Ansar guards moved in. Batons rose and fell, scattering the crowd and driving them away from the station.
Inside the van, Sofi and Kusum climbed into the rear seat. Ali took the middle row behind the driver. The boy was shoved in beside him, with Arman sitting on the other side. Kashem occupied the front passenger seat.
The moment they were seated, Sofi pulled a black cloth over the boy’s head and tied it tightly around his mouth. Unable to scream, the captive could only writhe helplessly as Ali struck him repeatedly with the butt of his pistol, blows landing on the head and neck.
“Enough!” Kashem barked. “You’ll kill him. We need him alive and in one piece. This is our money idiots.”
Sofi sank into the seat and lit a cigarette. Sweat streamed down his face. Watching him through the rearview mirror, Kashem allowed himself a faint smile.
He knew Sofi was an honest man. A good man. And brave.
Exactly the kind of man he had been looking for a permanent partner, someone he could draw into his own affairs. Taking out his phone, Kashem dialed a number.
As soon as the call was answered, he lowered his voice, “Write down a number.”
He read out the van’s registration and continued, “Inform every checkpoint in Gulshan. Nobody stops this vehicle.”
There was a pause.
Then, in an even colder voice, he added, “I don’t like questions. I’m in the vehicle myself. You don’t need to know anything else.”
And with that, he ended the call.
CHAPTER SIX
Ali's shirt was soaked through with sweat.
For two days now, they had been hiding in an underground room beneath the garage of a secluded house. The boy Hassan, they picked up or in a sense they kidnapped, had been subjected to a steady regimen of "light questioning," though none of them, save Inspector Kashem, knew exactly why.
No one new had come. None of them had left.
Kashem had managed everything himself, venturing out only a handful of times to bring back food and other necessities. The silence had allowed countless theories to take root in their minds, but none of them possessed the courage to question Kashem directly.
Finally, unable to bear the uncertainty any longer, Sofi turned to Kusum, "Uncle, you're the elder among us. You've known Sir longer than anyone. Why don't you ask him what's really going on? We're completely in the dark. He told us to bring the boy in, so we did. Surely we deserve to know something."
Kusum let out a long sigh, "You're right. We ought to know what exactly we're involved in."
He rose from his chair. A short distance away, Inspector Kashem sat smoking quietly. Seeing Kusum approach, he straightened in his seat, "What's all the whispering about, Brother Kusum?"
Clearing his throat, Kusum began carefully, "Sir... the truth is, we don't really know why we've brought this boy here. Or why we're beating him. What exactly has he done? What is he—"
Kashem raised a hand, cutting him off, "So many questions," he said with a smile. "And every question deserves an answer. Just not all at once. Call the others."
Kusum gathered everyone around.
Kashem flicked away his cigarette and took a drink from a bottle beside him. Then he leaned back in his chair, as though preparing to tell a bedtime story, "So," he said, "all of you are curious about what's happening here. Am I right?"
Heads nodded in unison, "Have you seen Aynabaji? It’s a Bangla movie acted by Chanchal Chowdhury?"
Everyone nodded again. Everyone except Kusum.
Kashem chuckled, "ohh Brother Kusum, you can't spend your entire life working. A little entertainment now and then won't kill you."
He paused, "The story in that film? Things like that happen in real life too. More often than you'd think."
Again, everyone nodded. Everyone except Kusum.
Kashem laughed harder, "You do know about substitute prisoners, don't you? Men serving sentences in place of others? What kind of police career have you had all these years?"
Embarrassed, even Kusum nodded.
Kashem lit another cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke, "The nephew of a secretary did something... unfortunate. A beloved nephew. Untouchable. I was called in. There were plenty of important people at that meeting, trying to figure out a solution."
He smiled, "Then someone had an idea. We find someone who looks like the nephew. Trim him down a little, polish him up, and let him stand trial in the nephew's place."
His smile widened, "It didn't take long to find one. The nephew's a lucky man. And the lucky man we found..."
He pointed downward, "...is sleeping beneath our feet."
A heavy silence fell over the room, "The difference between reality and Aynabaji," Kashem continued, "is that the hero in the movie knew exactly what he was doing. He agreed to it. Our boy doesn't. And I doubt he ever will."
The color drained from everyone's faces. Even Ali. Hot-tempered and corrupt though he was, guilt crept into him for the first time. He had beaten the boy mercilessly.
A boy who had committed no crime at all.
Seeing their expressions, Kashem burst out laughing, "Oh, don't look so miserable."
He wiped tears from his eyes, "Tonight's the last night. Tomorrow morning everyone important will arrive, and we'll decide what comes next. Your job was simple, bring him in and guard him. Whether you're involved in the next phase is entirely up to you. You'll get your money tomorrow."
He paused, "And there's only one condition. Keep your mouths shut."
He shrugged, "Though I doubt it'll ever come to that. The boy's a nobody. No family. No one looking for him. And he resembles the nephew well enough. With a little luck, we'll close the case with him."
The words had barely left his mouth when Kashem's eyes suddenly widened. The door leading down to the underground room stood open.
He sprang to his feet, "Shit!"
Turning to Arman, he barked, "The door's open! That bastard. what if he heard everything? Go! Check on him!"
Sofi and Arman raced downstairs. Earlier, Ali had left Hassan hanging for a while before dropping him onto the floor. He lay there now in the same position, motionless. The two men exchanged relieved glances.
Arman smiled, "Still unconscious."
Satisfied, they headed back upstairs, pulling the door shut behind them. Or so they thought.
But Hassan had heard every word. And for the first time in two days, he was no longer unconscious.
He simply kept his eyes closed.
**To be continue...