Club You to Death by Anuja Chauhan (books to improve english .TXT) 📕

‘What about Behra Mehra?’

‘Yes, on that, sir, the men we had posted outside Daily Needs have reported that General Mehra visits the shop every day and lingers to chat with the young lady for twenty-twenty minutes at a time.’

And that is Mehra’s motive, quite neatly sorted, Bhavani muses, as his eyes scan the congregation covertly. He was sweet on young Ganga, perhaps had a hand in the disappearance of her husband even, and Leo found out about it through his cultivated network of domestic staff.

He starts to hum the Cheeky Peaches song speculatively.

‘…but fate has a way of catching up with sinners

At the end of the day there are no free dinners

And I will make you pay

Oh, I will make you pay

P p p p p pay …’

Bambi gives a little shiver.

‘Don’t ACP, you have no idea how that song haunts my dreams.’

He smiles at her sympathetically. ‘It won’t any more, Bambi ji. Good thing you told the whole problem to vakeel sa’ab – we have already facilitated the returns of all the missing valuables and made up a convincing story in which nobody gets blamed!’

‘Yeah … about that …’ She smiles, a rather wry, twisted smile. ‘My father’s really angry with me for allowing myself to be blackmailed. He says I should have come to him.’

Bhavani’s eyes are sympathetic. ‘Why didn’t you go to him?’

She bites her lip, looks around the church, then lowers her voice. ‘My parents are getting divorced. I was worried he would use this information to get out of it without paying Mammu her fair share.’

‘And now he will?’

She sighs. ‘And now he will.’

He pats her hand comfortingly, looks about the pews for Roshni, and spots her amongst a gaggle of DTC Zumba girls. She is sitting next to Cookie Katoch, who, for reasons best known to herself, is attired in a maxi dress patterned with large, magenta and turquoise flowers.

‘But where’s the Jamaican choir?’ He hears her say plaintively. ‘Why are only all these converted desi Christians about?’

Roshni and the rest of her friends shush her and she subsides.

Bambi giggles. ‘She really bought that Jamaican story! It was such a bunch of lies!’

‘So you’re the big Dick, I hear?!’

It’s a high, excitable voice, very carrying and a little unhinged, and it makes everybody turn around. A bald, bright-eyed, satyr-ish character on crutches, easily identifiable as Randy Rax, has just limped into the church and snuck up behind Bhavani, emitting a strong odour of cheap alcohol mixed with Moov.

The old policeman inclines his head genially. ‘We’re the ACP in charge of the case, yes.’

‘Oh, we!’ Randy Rax gives a mock-reverent little wriggle. ‘We as in royalty? Or We as in schizophrenia?’

‘We as in polite Hindi,’ Bhavani replies genially.

Randy Rax winks. ‘Well, I know nothing about politeness, ACP! Does ACP stand for A Colossal Penis by the way?’

‘Rax, stop it!’ A mortified looking Fr Victor hurries into the church, clearly in search of the errant Rax. He turns to Bhavani Singh. ‘Forgive my friend, he just likes to be outrageous.’

Randy Rax has moved on to Bambi now. ‘Well, huh huh hello there, poppet!’ he almost-shouts. ‘You’re a pretty one! Are you one of Leo’s? Leo always had a harem around him! I used to call him a Haremzada! Haha! Isn’t that a good one?’

‘It’s a deadly one,’ Bambi tells him lightly. ‘You’ve got a great sense of humour, Rax.’

He leers at her, then taps the side of his nose. ‘But that’s not the answer to my question!’

‘I’m part of the harem, I guess,’ Bambi says ruefully. ‘But then, so is this whole church, isn’t it?’

‘O!’ Rax’s eyes widen in gleeful delight. ‘Even Jesus?’ he screeches. ‘Even, Gawd-help-us, Mother Mary?’

‘Rax.’ Victor’s voice is sharp. ‘Just, please, respect the occasion, please.’

Rax cringes extravagantly. ‘Are you with the poppet?’ he asks Kashi conspiratorially as he lowers himself into the pew beside them. ‘Cuckolded by the mighty Leo, like many, many men before you?’

‘I’m Akash Dogra,’ Kashi says smilingly. ‘Hullo, Rax.’

But Rax is busy observing the congregation, his eyes bright and inquisitive.

‘So this is Delhi high society!’ he whispers loudly. Spittle sprays freely from his mouth. Several people in the pew in front of him wince as droplets land on the backs of their necks. ‘Are they all members of the Delhi Turd Club?’

‘Please can you watch him, Akash?’ the harassed Fr Victor appeals to Kashi. ‘I have to start the mass.’

‘Yes, of course, Father Vick.’

The priest rushes away, relieved. Behind him, Rax rises again to his feet, leaning heavily against the back of the pew in front of them.

‘Lots of hot chicks!’ he announces in a loud, satisfied voice. He raises one shaky arm and points directly at a woman seated a few pews ahead. ‘That one has the biggest tits!’

The congregation gasps. Kashi gets to his feet and clamps a large hand over Rax’s mouth.

‘Chup!’ he says firmly.

Rax giggles. ‘I’m being violated from behind!’ he splutters, wriggling against Kashi’s palm. ‘That too in church! This is better than any of my fantasies!’

‘Just sit down,’ Kashi says grimly. ‘Your friend is dead – do you think you can show some respect?’

Rax nods, and Akash slowly releases him. Immediately, he lunges forward and bellows, ‘And that one is the prettiest! I think. But I can’t tell till she removes her sunglasses. Excuse me, take off your glasses please!’

The lady he has picked out for this high praise is Urvashi Khurana. She is seated a few rows ahead, to the left, wearing a sober white chikan salwar-kameez and the aforementioned dark glasses.

Instead of being offended, Urvashi takes off her glasses and smiles at Rax.

‘Thank you, young man,’ she says in her exquisitely pitched voice. Then she pats the place next to her. ‘Why don’t you come and sit with me?’

Randy Rax needs no second invitation. He lurches forward eagerly, clambering over several hapless people in his rush to get to the coveted spot.

‘Do pardon my odour,’ he says loudly to her as she wrinkles her nose slightly, ‘I applied