Syndicate [Thriller]

Chapter 4: Daily Routine

Outside, the crisp air bit at my skin, but I barely noticed. I lit another cigarette as I walked across the yard to the bookmaking shop, the chatter of customers growing louder as I neared. Men were gathering for the day's races, the excitement building in the air, their eyes flicking between the odds boards and the piles of money changing hands.

Inside, the place was alive with activity. The regulars were placing their bets, huddled around the counters, arguing about which horses had the edge, while the staff moved quickly to keep the chaos in check. It was loud, almost comforting in a way—this controlled madness.

I moved past the crowd and into my office, the door closing behind me, muffling the noise of the shop. The office was small, dimly lit by a single lamp on the desk, with old racing posters on the walls. I sat down in the worn leather chair behind the desk, taking a slow drag from the cigarette as I stared out at the chaos beyond the glass window.

The heavy steel door of the bookmaking shop clanged shut behind me, the morning mist still hanging thick in the air as I made my way inside. The early risers were already there, hunched over their newspapers, murmuring quietly about the day's horse races. The place had the familiar scent of ink, paper, and stale smoke—the smell of men placing their bets on things they couldn't control.

I passed through the rows of eager punters, nodding at a few familiar faces, before heading toward the back. The family meeting was scheduled for early this morning, and I needed to make my appearance. Business could wait.

As I stepped out into the crisp morning air again, I made my way across town to the old family house. It had been a while since the eldest brother had called for a meeting, and when he did, it was usually serious. When I reached the front door, I took a breath before stepping inside.

The room was filled with faces—most of them family, some trusted associates. Vijay, my eldest brother, stood at the head of the long table, his presence commanding, as always. Rangan was to his right, looking restless as usual. Aunt Rollie sat toward the back, her watchful eyes darting between the men in the room, always one to pick up on the smallest details. Brijesh and Harish, fresh in from Calcutta, sat quietly on one side, their expressions grim.

As I walked in, all eyes turned toward me. Vijay waited until I'd taken my place at the table before he began.

"Now that we're all here, let's get to it," Vijay said, his voice low and steady, but with an edge of tension. "Harish and Brijesh have brought word from Calcutta. There's been talk of a new task force. We don't know exactly why it's been created yet."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

Without thinking, I spoke up. "They're looking for Naxalites," I said, my voice cutting through the quiet. "They've stolen a military cargo—a convoy. That's what the task force is after."

Every face in the room turned toward me, a mix of shock and disbelief. Even Aunt Rollie straightened in her chair, her usually calm expression shifting. Rangan, his brow furrowed, stared at me like I'd just dropped a bomb on the table.

Vijay's eyes narrowed, his voice sharp. "And how the hell do you know so bloody much, Ajay?"

I shrugged, keeping my face unreadable. "Cops on the payroll," I said simply, hiding the real reason—Uday Bakshy and his task force. "They like to talk when they're paid well enough."

Rangan scoffed, crossing his arms, his voice brimming with defiance. "So what? We're not scared of them. Naxalites or task force—what difference does it make? We run this city, not them."

Vijay shot him a look, silencing him with a flicker of annoyance. But I could see the tension rising in the room. This wasn't just about some political shift. This was about control, and everyone knew it.