WANTED: for the greater good

Wanted

19 hours ago (Thursday, 10:00 am)

Virat's whole body felt uneasy when he woke up.

He consulted his wristwatch, and that revealed the reason: it was 10 o'clock, well past his normal time of waking up. The day always started off horribly if one woke up after seven and didn't have breakfast--but look at his team, sprawled around, deep in sleep.

Never go to sleep so late again, Virat told himself. Wait, why had he gone to sleep that late?

His eyes fell on Zoravar, snuggled in between Rohit and Jaddu, and then roved over his surroundings--the interior of a dingy, ill-ventilated shack, packed with people, a damp shovel and two lawn mowers.

Shit, how had he forgotten?

See? More adverse effects of a bad sleep schedule.

As Virat gently dislodged Jassi's head from his shoulder and sat up, another person sat up in the opposite corner, who turned out to be Shreyas.

"Morning, Virat bhaiya," he said cheerfully. "Is it just me or are you also starving?"

"Starving," agreed Virat. "Come, let's go for a scrounge while these idiots sleep."

Shreyas' snigger made Ash stir in his sleep and mumble a profanity.

"Don't irk him," Virat whispered, that set off Shreyas into fresh sniggers. "You saw what he did yesterday night."

They tiptoed out into the pleasant summer air. A short way to the north, they found themselves on a busy street, cars zooming by, people walking on the kerb with swinging bags, crowded shops lining either side. One of the food stalls caught both their notice together, and they crossed the street, Virat counting how much cash he had.

"Virat bhaiya, look!" Shreyas hissed.

"What? Where?"

Shreyas caught his arm and pulled him discreetly along the kerb till Virat spotted the flashy poster with Zoravar's face printed on it. Below it, bold letters spelt out 'MISSING.'

"Whoa," Virat breathed, gazing at the word, but not for long, because the adjacent poster was even more attention-demanding.

Ayesha's face was plastered on that one, labelled 'Police on the lookout for perpetrators of murder attempt on boxer Ayesha Mukherjee.'

'WANTED,' was stamped across it in red.

Virat glanced around to see if anyone else was looking at the posters; then he saw that the kerbs were lined with them. MISSING. WANTED. MISSING. WANTED.

This time he caught Shreyas' arm and pulled him away, towards the food stall. When the latter opened his mouth to say something, Virat warned, "Later."

"Er--"

"What d'you want to eat?"

Shreyas held his tongue while Virat placed a large order of whatever was available--sausage, rolls, burgers and, of course, lots of salads. Then Shreyas whined nonstop till he agreed to buying half a dozen caramel slices from the bakery next door, too. Initially he'd conceded to a single slice, but Shreyas insisted that was unthinkable.

"Who else will fancy these awful sweet stuff over a late breakfast?" Virat demanded.

"Everyone except you," said Shreyas, not at all untruthfully.

Half an hour later, laden with bags, they were walking as inconspicuously as possible across the road and into the alleyway leading to their shack.

Then Shreyas spoke.