Page 84 of Rising Tiger

He looked at Vijay, who shrugged and said, “Many find it invigorating. Some barbers will even adjust your neck and spine for you. Do you want to try it?”

“Maybe later,” Harvath lied. He had no desire to remain in Paharganj any longer than they had to.

The labyrinthine passageways grew slimmer the farther they went. So much wiring was strung from building to building that looking up in places it appeared as if you were walking under a thick, black net.

They passed a tiny bakery, a medical clinic, and countless other small shops selling everything from chips and sodas, to eggs, lightbulbs, and cleaning supplies. It was like an endless grimy bazaar.

Up ahead, Vijay spotted their destination and pointed it out to Harvath. The exterior of the Laid Back Lounge & Social Club looked every bit the dump that Harvath had expected it to be.

A third of the lights in its sign were either broken or burned out, half of the stained stoop in front was missing, and one of its two glass doors had a long crack that had been covered over with clear packing tape. The entire place just screamed “class.”

Per the plan, Harvath had kept walking and had entered first, while Vijay had hung back. They didn’t want anyone to know that they were working together.

The façade of the Laid Back barely hinted at how seedy things were inside. Harvath could feel the soles of his shoes sticking to the floor as he walked to the end of the bar and grabbed a stool.

He had passed a pair of bored, beefy bouncers on his way in. They were seated and both had been scrolling through their phones. They barely paid him any attention, which was fine by him. So far, the place was only a pit. No snakes. Yet.

Harvath had been fascinated to learn that only about a third of India’s population drank on a regular basis. Those who abstained normally did so for religious or cultural reasons. Those who did drink, did so to get buzzed.

Spirits, especially whiskey, were the preferred libation, followed by beer. And if you were drinking beer to get buzzed, you wanted your beer to be strong. That was why “strong” beer, with an alcohol content ranging anywhere from five to eight percent, was the most popular.

Harvath looked at the list of bottled beers. There was one called Bad Monkey and another called Simba Strong. The fact that he was in some crime figure’s bar, however, made the next beer on the list the one he had to try.

Godfather, like the two others, hovered right around eight percent. Harvath wasn’t in the market to get buzzed; he just wanted to blend into the wallpaper, keep an eye on things, and not draw any attention. His plan was to take it slow.

When the barman brought it over, he politely declined a glass, paid the man with some of the rupees he had exchanged at the hotel, and told the man to keep the change.

Even in India, Thursday night was a popular night to party. The Laid Back had a good crowd, despite it not yet being even ten o’clock. It was a cross section of people.

Though largely Indian, the clientele also included a mix of young, Western backpacker types.

The beer wasn’t expensive, but it wasn’t exactly cheap, either. So, he figured there had to be another reason such a diverse crowd would be drawn to the Laid Back. It soon became obvious. The Laid Back was a bar that specialized in classic rock.

“La Grange” by ZZ Top had been playing when he had walked in and as it ended, the DJ began spinning “You Shook Me All Night Long” by AC/DC—much to the delight of a couple of female patrons who, well into their shots, simultaneously hit the stripper poles at the front of the dance floor.

If the presence of the poles themselves didn’t indicate that this sort of dancing was encouraged, the fact that the DJ started a whole bunch of flashing red lights to encourage them should have.

By the time the ladies returned to their table for more shots, and “School’s Out” by Alice Cooper started up, Harvath was pretty certain that he had the vibe of the place figured out. Definitely a rock bar.

He would’ve bet the next hundred bucks Vijay was sure to want from him for parking protection that the last song of the night, every night, was a raucous, standing-on-top-of-the-bar-and-tables sing-along to “American Pie” by Don McLean. It was just that kind of place.

If not for the provenance of its barbaric owner, it might have been the kind of place Harvath could grow to like. He enjoyed a seedy dive bar now and again. When he did, the more raucous, the better.

As if on cue, it was at that precise moment that Vijay stumbled into the Laid Back and began to give a performance worthy of an Oscar.

CHAPTER 47

Even from the other end of the bar, Harvath could smell the ex-cop before he had even seen him. He had no clue what sort of alcohol the man had briefly marinated in, but it was potent.

Taking a moment to steady himself, he then wobbled toward the bar, telling both the bouncers who tried to stop him to “Shut the fuck up” and “Go back to watching porn” on their phones.

He had everyone’s attention at the front of the establishment. Plopping himself down on a stool, he pulled out his wallet and removed a two-hundred-rupee note.

As he slapped it onto the bar and demanded a Johnnie Walker Black on the rocks, his badge was clearly visible to the bartender as well as the bouncers, who decided to disengage and let the cop be.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the barman informed him. “Johnnie Walker Black is a premium beverage. It is six hundred rupees.”

Removing the rest of the cash from his wallet, Vijay ham-handedly placed it atop the bar and, with just the hint of slurred speech, replied, “Fine, then. Bring me two.”

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