Bollywood P.I. Get Ready

Chapter One

"There is something infinitely powerful that will transform you in the fight between right and wrong, between good and evil. What is this power? Look inside...you will find the answer."

Inspector Dutt

CHAPTER 1

Unaware that my life was about to change forever, a week before the accident I tied a yellow-and-gold rakhi around Sunny's wrist for Rahksha Bandan and beamed. After a meaningful pause and some eyebrow-waggling by yours truly, Sunny laughed and handed me $250 in crisp notes for what he called the dubious honor of being my cousin.

"I assume you'll be putting this money towards that enormous credit card bill of yours?"

I assumed he wouldn't mind not knowing I planned to buy two Dolce & Gabbana knock-offs and a ticket to see Audioslave.

Sunny glanced at his phone as he made his way across the living room. We sat down on Mama's couch, the leather creaking loudly, cradling steaming mugs of jasmine tea, the perfume strong and heady.

I slipped the latest Bollywood P.I. installment into the DVD player. Inspector Dutt, sixty-something and elegant with only the faintest hint of paunch, sauntered onscreen across the camera, sunglasses flashing roguishly. He had forty-five minutes each weekday to solve a mystery, do three songs and dances with multiple wardrobe changes and look "fabulous, yet not effeminate." This week featured Uncle Bhinder, who reported a robbery from his bank's safety deposit boxes.

I leaned forward and peered at Uncle Bhinder. "What's that ghastly thing on his lip?"

"That would be a mustache," said Sunny.

"What did he use on it? Fertilizer? He could make wigs out of that."

Fifteen girls dressed in outfits that would have driven Cher into a slavering blub of envy, sprang out in the middle of the bank and minxed their way through a dance number. I made a mental note to Google some of those outfits.

Sunny turned off the TV and put the remote down. "What are you up to this week?" he asked. "In the evenings."

I raised my eyebrows. Sunny worked overtime at least six days a week and when he was seen by the general public, he was plugged into his BlackBerry like a maestro on a pianoforte.

"How about we go for a burger tomorrow at La Mesa?" he said. "And maybe we can just hang out for the rest of the week."

"Okay." I said. "How's work?"

He rubbed his face and looked up at the ceiling without answering.

"You're on a case again," I said. "Is it confidential?"

"Yes and not yet," he said. "There's a woman from India who moved here about four years ago. She's been reported missing now but there's no record of her anywhere. No pictures, no credit cards, nothing. And no one in the local community seems to have heard of her."

"Didn't she contact her family from here?"

Sunny shook his head.

"That's weird."

"Naina," he said, pensively.

"Is that her name?"

"Yes." It was a sweet name, meaning beautiful eyes.

"How did she get into the country?"

"She got married to an American," he said, wiping condensation off a coaster. "Her family told my guy that she flew out of Mumbai but they don't know which airline, even though they were at the airport." He shook his head. "Too trusting. Anyway, they tried checking through Air India but there was no record of her on any of those flights in the month before or after she disappeared. We haven't been able to narrow it down yet through other airlines - Mumbai's a global hub."