This chapter deals with Jalina's rescue. Bullets fly.

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The Rescue 8

Characters.
Beverly Taff. Transvestite
James or Jamie Transgendered kid.
Candice Jamie’s Younger Sister.
Sergeant Williams Hate crime police officer
David Evans Knife-boy. (Son of Dewi Evans.)
Margaret Beckinsale. Jamie and Candice’s mum. (AKA Madge.)
Sandie Beverly’s best Transvestite friend.
Elizabeth Todd Beverly’s next door neighbour.
Jennifer Todd Elizabeth Todd’s daughter. A barrister. (QC.) Beverly’s best female friend & ‘girl next door’ through childhood.
Rastus Elizabeth Todd’s cat (Now owned by Beverly.)
Dewi Evans Bent politician and criminal.
Paul. Beverly’s transvestite Boss.
Calista Paul’s Transgendered girlfriend.
Stephanie Jenny and Beverly’s daughter.
Phoebe Paul’s Sister.
Rachel. Jennifer’s new girlfriend. (After Stephanie was born.)
Jalina Sha. Indian Engineering graduate (Now Hijra.)
Pradjit Sha Salina’s father.
Sanji Sha. Salina’s younger brother.
Kansha Sha Salina’s mother
Surala Woman Police Constable. (WPC)

The auction got underway again and the bidding proceeded at its same (to my mind,) leisurely rate. A girl or hijra would be paraded on the stage. Bidders would step forward and ‘examine the merchandise’ by feeling the poor individual, checking their teeth, smelling their breath and then probing into their most intimate parts. It was obvious that some of the bidders were getting their rocks off by the inspections. Paul and I were sickened by the process but we managed to maintain our composure. We even had to step forward ourselves along with the police inspector, and make a plausible show of checking out the merchandise.
As we persevered with the revolting procedures the Police inspector pointed at us and made a loud objection. Claiming we were destroying the freedom of the other buyers to make their preferred purchases.

Paul and I couldn’t understand his tactics but I managed to see him wink as we stood facing each other with some apparent pugnacity. He demanded that the auctioneer bar us from the remainder of the auction. The auctioneer was determined to get his maximum commission from the sale of Jalina and he ruled firmly that his was an open auction with open shouts. The Europeans were entitled to bid. Paul wagged his head as we finally settled back in our seats and then Kansha pushed a grubby little note into my hand with a murmured instruction not to open it immediately. I kept my fist closed around it as I slipped into the lavatory to read it. It was from the inspector’s policewoman partner Surala.

‘My boss only fomented the incident to make both of us look more credible. By causing an argument he was made to look like some peevish Indian spiv who was watching his main chance pass him by. He looked as though he was trying to do all the other traders a favour at the auction by getting rid of you and letting them have a fairer crack of the whip. Suddenly he is perceived as ‘one of them’ and you are the intruders. This will suite his plan.’

‘So, he’s got a plan,’ I thought ruefully. ‘Hope it doesn’t involve us getting shot or something.’

I folded the note up and left the lavatory just as the last but one girl was stepping out onto the stage. She was very pretty and the bidding was brisk. It seemed that a lot of the buyers had given up any hopes of buying the beautiful Jalina so they were bidding for ‘second best’. The inspector ended up ‘buying her’ and smirked resentfully at Paul while making a pretence of chagrin that he would not be able to match Paul’s purse when it came to bidding for Jalina. The news of Paul’s huge fifty grand ‘nest-egg’ was now well known around the auction-room.

The auctioneer made a huge show of finally coming to the big prize for the evening namely Jalina. The inspector forced his ‘purchase’ to sit at his table and caused something of a commotion amongst the other buyers who normally left their purchases to wait fearfully in a coffle before they were taken away after the show was over. The buyers usually socialised after the auction was over and it would appear unseemly to socialise with whores and untouchables. Such was their perverted view of themselves that they actually considered themselves a ‘cut above’ their traumatised victims. The inspector had deliberately brought his ‘slave’ to their table to cause a commotion and in that commotion Surala slipped me another note.

I read it under the table and slipped it to Kansha who read it and passed it to Paul. Surala had written; -

‘My boss believes several of the richer whoremongers are banding together to out-bid you. If you need to, go to whatever it takes to recover Jalina. His SWAT team are in place and we have more funds to cover the purchase. If things go pear-shaped and bullets start to fly get under a table and leave it to us. Some of the other bidders are not happy about you being here.’

Paul and I exchanged knowing looks as he read the last sentence. We knew full well that we Europeans were not welcome amongst these criminals.

Eventually there was a murmur of anticipation around the hall. All eyes turned to study the lithesome beauty as she swayed seductively onto the stage and finished centre stage with her jaw set determinedly. Jalina was doing her utmost to hold herself together as the auctioneer invited prospective buyers to step up and check out the merchandise. Paul, Kansha and I deliberately stayed back until last. We were at the back of the hall anyway and the last to enter the auction so it behoved us to keep as low a profile as we could. From the well lit stage, Jalina could not recognise us in the shadows at the back of the hall.

By mutual agreement, between the Police Inspector and us, he lingered at length around Jalina until he got the opportunity to whisper a warning in her ear.

“Help is at hand girl. Don’t act surprised or excited.”

Jalina is not stupid and she realised something was afoot. She recognised us as Paul and I stepped up to the stage and I had to admire her stoicism. Once she recognised us she quickly realised the meaning of the inspector’s words. I had to admire her acting ability, after that single fleeting glance as she recognised us, she resumed her defeated posture.

The auctioneer now set to the bidding with gusto. The time for tantalising and temptation was over. It was his intention now to somehow foment an atmosphere of frenzy to panic the bidders into ridiculous bids. Paul and I sat motionless as the bidding quickly rose into the thousands and the auctioneer kept looking towards us. It hadn’t yet reached ten thousand; the figure which Paul deemed a suitable point to enter the bidding.

For a while the bidding stuck at seven thousand so Paul put a bid in just to prompt the sale. Immediately a counter bid came from across the hall for seven — five. The bidder was very canny and used his familiarity with the auctioneer to give his secret signals while maintaining his anonymity. As Paul bid again I caught the inspector’s eye and he surreptitiously tapped his watch to indicate his trap was set.

The counterbid came back so Paul upped the ante and bid ten thousand. It was met with fifteen thousand. Somebody in the hall was really moving the goalposts.

“Have you seen who’s bidding against us yet?” Paul asked me.

“No.” I replied. “It’s too dark over that side of the hall. Somebody had deliberately dimmed the lights.”

With that I felt a hand tap my arm, it was Kansha.

“I’ve got to go to the loo. Tell Paul to slow it down. Make it look as though he’s having second thoughts.” She whispered.

“What’s up?” I whispered back.

“I’ve just had the eye-eye from Surala the police woman. She's got some more info for me.”

I nodded and Kansha slipped away.

Women were held in such low esteem by the scum who attended these auctions that little attention was paid to Kansha.

She slipped into the shadows and I lost sight of her as Paul put in another bid for twenty five grand. As he lowered his hand after the auctioneer’s acknowledgement I tugged at his sleeve. He turned to me.

“Have you spotted him yet?”

“No. But Kansha’s up to something with the police woman. Slow down your bid. Look as though you and I are arguing or something. The police might have a message for us.”

The anonymous bidder upped to thirty thousand and Paul did as I suggested. In truth we really were a bit apprehensive; the previous ‘slave’ had only gone for three thousand. Jalina’s sale had entered a different league. We chatted at length and fell into discussion, so much so that the auctioneer prompted the bidding.

“Are there any more bids?”

Paul waved his mobile phone and made a pretence of organising some more funds in case his known fifty thousand wasn’t enough even when supplemented by the inspectors contribution. The auctioneer recognised Paul’s ploy and hesitated. Paul turned to me and whispered urgently.

“After my fifty and the inspectors ten we’re out of funds unless the auctioneer accepts a check.”

“Ask him?” I replied.

“Can’t do that, it might reveal my hand.”

“I’ll take him a note asking him. He can only say yes or no.”

Paul frowned and quickly opened his briefcase to pull out a noterbook and pen. Several eyes spotted the money in the case and another murmur went around the hall. Paul had just reinforced his credentials as a very serious bidder but now the whole hall knew that there was ready cash floating around, easy pickings for a robbery. Quickly Paul scribbled a note and put it in my hand with instructions to take it to the dias. I objected vociferously.

“I can’t leave you alone, here at the back of the hall. You could get robbed if you stay here. People have noticed the money. Follow me to the front of the hall and make a big kerfuffle about it. The more obvious we are, the less chance of us getting mugged right here inside the hall.”

Paul could see my logic so he stuck to me like glue and his two minders from the bank backed him up. The four of us eased our way to the front and in passing the Inspector quietly joined us. His lady constable had just returned from the lavatory where she had spoken to Kansha about the police intelligence. As we approached the front and stood under the bright light, Kansha spotted us and rejoined us. I reached up and passed Paul’s note to the auctioneer then I turned to meet Kansha. She told me the news and I relayed it to Paul in an even softer whisper.

“She’s just spoken to the police woman who’s spoken to the inspector’s sergeant. They think they’ve spotted who the other bidder is. He’s a pretty nasty piece of work and he’s got his cronies located around the hall. There could be a hit if he doesn’t like the result. The police want to know how far are you prepared to go. Their plan includes you winning the bidding.”
Paul shrugged and looked up as the auctioneer nodded affirmation. He would accept a cheque! Both Paul and I were slightly amazed. I mean by any stretch of the imagination, this was, after all; an illegal auction.

‘Just how corrupt could Kolkata be?’ I wondered.

Paul obviously wondered the same thing as he looked at me and shrugged. We could go all the way now. The sky was the limit. He immediately put in a bid for forty thousand. The auctioneer’s eyes widened with greed as he turned immediately to the anonymous bidder. There was a moment’s hesitation at the back of the hall and some activity as a small group of men shrank below the heads in the crowd and fell into discussion. This was exactly what the police had been waiting for. Now they had a fix on the big fish, the leaders amongst the bidders, the cabal who were ganging up against Paul. This in itself was not illegal but it gave the police extra ammunition when they sprung their trap. They now had visual identities and a couple of the inspector’s spies were busy pretending to be on their mobile phones whilst actually videoing the group.

For now the inspector bided his time as the delayed response came back, - fifty thousand!

Paul immediately bid sixty and we settled back expecting some sparks to start flying soon.

We sensed the tension in the hall increase as the dispute within the group (who had now betrayed their identity by their own internal wrangling,) - spilled over into audible debate. We learned later that ‘Mr Big’s ego had taken over and he was determined to show his power and status by bidding for the beauty.

The contention was raised by more level heads amidst his circle of cronies who argued, correctly that if they got stuck with the hijra they would never make their money out of it. There was no way a hijra prostitute would ever recover the sort of sum being bid. They were not prepared to throw good money after bad by massaging Mr Big’s ego.

The sparks were not long coming. Mr Big bid seventy thousand and one of his coterie finally fell out.

There was a loud argument followed by a curse and the dissenter stalked out. We couldn’t understand his Hindu but we didn’t need to. They were obviously at loggerheads. Paul glanced slyly at me and we deliberately hesitated before raising our bid to give the brothel-owning cartel time to fall further apart. I couldn’t help reflecting with a smile that there was no honour among thieves.

As the tumult at the back of the hall grew to a crescendo the Inspector slowly ‘drifted’ through the punters as they thinned out nervously. Those who had not been successful at auction were beginning to sidle away as they sensed some sort of trouble brewing. This was not the usual auction they had been used to with sensible sums being bid. The Inspector instructed his SWAT team to let them pass. They were mostly small fry and indeed, had not actually broken any laws if they had not actually ‘purchased’ a hijra sex slave. The successful buyers had to stay to collect their property and pay the auctioneer. As the hall thinned out I began to understand the inspector’s strategy and I was also beginning to sense the dangerous mood.

Finally, Paul bid eighty thousand and then the shit really hit the fan.

The cabal finally fell apart as the maths became clearly apparent to the rest of the group. They could never make a profit if they got stuck with the bitch.

They turned as one and fell to arguing with ‘Mr Big’ who gave a loud curse and conceded defeat. The auctioneer sensed the limit had been reached, (it would have been impossible not to,) and he raised his hammer for the first time.
Mr Big gave a loud curse and bid ninety thousand. Paul immediately topped it and the thug screamed his rage. He pulled out a pistol and pointed it at Paul. There was a tremendous bang and the bullet split my ear before it perforated Paul’s upper outer arm and finally smashed into the auctioneer’s dais. I squealed, Paul screamed, the auctioneer cursed and the inspector blew hard on his whistle. Plain clothed police appeared at every door with their guns levelled at the crowd. Nobody was going anywhere.

A second bullet crashed into the woodwork at the back of the stage and showered Jalina with wooden splinters and broken plaster. It was Jalina’s turn to scream but her cry was drowned out by a fusillade of shots all aimed at Mr Big. Immediately several dozen’s of pairs of hands shot skywards as everybody in the hall got the message. Whoever had surrounded the auction hall meant business.

There was a loud bellow of ‘Police!’ on a bull horn and order was restored. The inspector’s SWAT team had been well trained and they all knew each other well. Despite his being in the middle of the crowd and dressed like a Spiv from the Kalabangan slums his men instantly recognised him as ‘The Governor!’

The arrests followed immediately and Jalina dashed across the stage to grab her friend Ganshai. Kansha and I scrambled up the steps onto the stage and joined them as they gave a wail of relief. Jalina pointed to my dripping ear and blood stained shirt. Kansha turned to look at me and gave a shocked curse as she noticed my wound for the first time. She pulled a handkerchief from her bag and scolded me for being so silly.

“Just look at you. You’re a frightful mess. There's blood coming from your ear and all down your shirt. You should be with Paul getting your wound seen to. I’ll look after my daughter.”

With these words uttered in the heat of the moment, I realised that Kansha was now truly reconciled to Jalina’s condition. There was no need for me to stand by the crying hijra as her mother cuddled both Jalina and her erstwhile friend. With some relief I stumbled off the stage and ended up sitting on the stage steps as a medic treated my ear. Paul sat on one of the dining tables getting his arm seen to.

I had to admire the Inspector’s preparations; he even had a paramedic team standing by. As I winced while the nurse disinfected my wound the inspector came over.

“Job done Beverly, you and Paul played your parts perfectly but next time; discuss your part with me first.”

I glanced at him ruefully as I touched my ear gingerly and grinned.

“Yeah Inspector, I’ll remember. This’ll remind me every time we meet.”

He chuckled as he went back to check Paul’s wounded arm then he started organising the arrests. This was for him and Surala the most rewarding part.

I couldn’t hide my disgust when the auctioneer was dragged past protesting his innocence and saying that his was an honest auction house. The shit-head actually thought that because he was honest about the running of the auction and the open shouts with no floor cheating his auctions were honest. He had absolutely no concern at all for the tragic commodity he was dealing in, namely sex slaves! I actually saw the inspector thump him really hard to shut him up. Then Surala joined us.

“Any of you ready to give statements?”

“Can we give them in the morning? It’s getting late.”

“I’d prefer them now. While your memories are fresh.”

“The paramedic says I’ve got to go to hospital. The bullet nicked the bone.” Paul advised her.

Surala shrugged and turned to me, Kansha and Jalina.

“You first then Jalina. Right from when they kidnapped you.”

“We’ll be here till the morning.” Jalina protested.

“Alright then. A skeleton to hang the story on tomorrow. Events, times and places mainly. A history for us to organise our forensic research.”

Jalina sighed and gave Surala a long list of events with the occasional comment. I did the same, as did Kansha and we returned to the hotel with our money intact. The real business of statements and reports would start on the morrow.

Soon after breakfast the police cars arrived at the hotel to ferry us down to the police station for full statements then drive us to the previous locations where incidents had happened. This took two whole days and it was extremely traumatic for Jalina and her remaining surviving friend Ganshai, for they also had to identify their two dead companions. Kansha and I accompanied Jalina and her friend and many tears were shed as we returned to locations where the two beautiful hijras had suffered beatings and assaults.

The more Kansha and I heard and saw, the angrier we became and the more determined we became to help Jalina in her plan to provide some work for some of the oppressed hijras.

Each night we visited Paul in the hospital as he recovered from the surgery on his arm. After four days our lives returned to some semblance of normality and we reorganised our schedule.

It was on the fifth day as we discussed Sanji’s probable part in the kidnapping that we gave the police a major breakthrough.
More correctly, Jalina gave the police the crucial evidence. Jalina and her friend were staying with us at the hotel now for their own safety until the trial. We were sat at the breakfast table discussing past events and I raised the issue of proving Sanji’s complicity.

“I’m pretty sure he’s tied up in it because he hates you Jalina.”

“But how can we prove it?” Paul wondered as he gently massaged his wounded arm.

“Well,” I frowned, “he didn’t seem to turn a hair that morning in Jalina’s office when the report of your kidnap came through. In fact he just wasn’t bothered. When we three took off in Kansha’s car he simply stayed at the office.”

“He had no need to. He doesn’t know I’m his sister.” Jalina shrugged. “He never did care for other people.”

We talked at length around the table until Jalina called a halt.

“I think I’ve heard enough. The whole issue is getting to me and upsetting me.

We digested Jalina’s words as her mobile rang. It was the new factory. Jalina listened to the message as her face darkened. Finally she snapped her mobile shut and spoke.

“Speak of the devil! That was my brother. He’s in my office now pretending to be in charge. I’d better get back there before he fouls up the whole operation.”

I looked at her and wondered. Her office would have all sorts of reminders of events leading up to her kidnap but Jalina seemed to be recovering faster than any of us. There was no doubt about it. Jalina was a tough cookie but then she must have had indomitable courage to come out as hijra. She stood up as she sipped her last cup of tea and turned to face us.

“Well are we off then? I’ve got that office to face and there’ll be a mountain of stuff for us to get through. The work doesn’t stop just because I was kidnapped.”

We exchanged glances and quickly finished our breakfasts. Jalina was one tough cookie.

We arrived at her office to find Sanji occupying Jalina’s desk and lording it over a new girl that Jalina did not recognise. Sanji had taken her on to replace the girls who had been murdered. To say Jalina was annoyed put it mildly. The familiar red spots appeared on her cheeks as she ‘ever so quietly’ suggested that Sanji vacate her chair. For a moment he seemed to ignore her then as she leant across his view and blocked his vision of the paperwork he had been addressing he finally got the point.

“I thought you might have stayed off a little longer, - to recover from your ordeal.” He observed.

Jalina said nothing but continued leaning obstructively across his hands until he was forced to acknowledge her intentions. He frowned and slid Jalina’s executive chair back to evacuate it. Jalina looked up at him as she quickly occupied it and looked daggers at her arrogant brother. Finally she spoke.

“I hope you haven’t made any alterations around here apart from this young lady.”

“There were some papers that needed signing.” He offered lamely.

“You could have waited or called Mummy.”

Even as she said it Jalina cursed. She had been addressing Kansha as ‘Mummy’ throughout her recovery at the hotel and she had used it automatically.

Sanji squinted at her but fortunately Jalina recovered herself.

“Your mummy that is, Kansha.”

“Sanji picked up on a completely different tack.”

“Who do you think you are referring to my mother as ‘Mummy’? I’m not her mummy’s boy and you should show her respect. She’s Mrs Sha to you.”

Jalina flashed an angry glare at Sanji but let his remark pass.

“Thank you Sanji. I’ll remember that in future. Now if you don’t mind, Mr Whitworth and I have business to discuss.”

“I should be attending then. I’m still a shareholder.”

“And I’m the managing director, the chief executive so, - leave us.”

Sanji cursed and beckoned to the girl to accompany him. Jalina motioned to her to stay. The girl now knew who the real boss was. She poised to leave but Jalina spoke.

“Stay here. I need to speak to you. What’s your name?”

“Prati Miss.” The girl was frightened.

Jalina rolled the name ‘Prati’ softly around her tongue as Paul and I waited. We fully expected Jalina to dismiss her out of hand for she had only been employed by Sanji since Monday. After all Jalina had a perfectly competent secretary in Ganshai her last remaining hijra companion. Prati stood petrified as she waited for ‘the axe’ to fall. Jalina looked up at her.

“So Prati. What qualifications have you?”

“I, - I graduated out of Kolkata university last year Ma-am. English and History. A two, - one Ma-am. I have my certificate in my ca,-”

“Oh. Upper second eh.” Jalina interrupted. “Hmm; so you’re not just a pretty face then; something Sanji fancied, - eye candy to feed his ego.”

The girl flashed a fleeting look of resentment then stared hard at the floor to hide her anger. Paul and I had seen that mood a hundred times, usually in the eyes of an intelligent girl who was only being judged for her good looks. In India this circumstance was even more prevalent than in Europe. Jalina also knew it for if anybody had walked such a walk, it was Jalina.

Being sold as a prostitute because of her beauty, - ‘Could it get any worse?’ I asked myself.

Jalina studied Prati for a few more seconds as a tense silence descended then she spoke to the girl in Hindi. (Here I translate for English readers.)

“So what do you think of that Idiot Sanji?”

Prati remained silent wondering if some sort of trap was being set.

“Come on. Out with it girl, what d’you think of him?”

“He, - he, - he’s always pestering me.” Prati stuttered with terror.

Jalina nodded sagely.

“Yes. That figures. Can you type girl?”

“Yes Ma-am and I do shorthand.”

“Oh, so you’re doubly useful, good. Maybe I can find some use for you. We will be taking on many more staff shortly and I could never trust that fool Sanji as a personnel officer. His brain’s too close to his dick.”

Prati let out a snort of suppressed, embarrassed laughter. She couldn’t help herself. Jalina’s remark had both shocked and amused her. Prati came from a poor but respectable family and she had worked her way into college on a hard earned scholarship. She had rarely heard a woman express herself so vulgarly.

She raised her eyes respectfully to find Jalina’s eyes twinkling with amusement as she explained.

“You’ll hear worse language that that in here young lady. I deal with men in this office and European men at that.”

Prati’s brow wrinkled.

“Are they worse than Indian men Ma-am?”

“Sometimes, but these two are perfect beauties. Mr Whitworth is the other major shareholder in this new venture. He owns one third, I own one third and the Sha family own the remaining third between them. Mr Whitworth and Mr Taff are gentlemen and they are scrupulously fair. They both know I am hijra but they treat me with the utmost respect. They are good men. India could do with a few more like these two.”

“Yes Ma-am. Would they like a cup of tea?”

“You will not be employed to make tea. I usually make my own; however it will be your job to keep my stock replenished. You’re main job will be as my secretary. My hijra friend Ganshai acts as my girl Friday. You will share an office with her. Have you any objections to working with a hijra?”

Prati hesitated for a moment which demonstrated her honesty. She came from a modest rural village further up the Hooghly and the stories she had heard about Kolkata’s hijra had been nearly all derogatory. Jalina had been the very first hijra she had ever knowingly met. That in itself had been an unnerving experience at first. Then Prati considered her first encounter and decided it had been a not unpleasant one. Indeed had she not known of it beforehand thanks to Sanji’s cruel tongue, she would have truly mistaken Jalina for a lady and an attractive one at that! Prati considered her first few minutes in the presence of a hijra and decided she had not felt in the least bit threatened or revolted. Indeed the experience had been positively pleasant compared with the lascivious Sanji’s constant attempts to sexually exploit Prati’s vulnerable position.

If this Ganshai was as feminine and seemingly fair as Jalina, Prati felt she could see her way to working with her. She replied cautiously.

“I think I can do it Ma-am. I will give it a try.”

“Well that’s an honest answer. Very well girl go and organise yourself a desk in the outer office and don’t take the space by the window. I don’t know who rearranged the furniture in there but Ganshai's desk used to be there.”

Prati smiled gratefully, said ‘thank you Ma-am and retreated into her new office. Jalina turned to us and resumed speaking English.

“Well that’s the issue of my secretary sorted. So Paul shall we get down to business?”

We spent the rest of the day discussing plans and arrangements as Jalina addressed the mountain of paperwork that had accumulated on her desk in the few days she had been gone. She tut-tutted many times as she opened a simple letter and swore.

“Just look at this. A simple letter inquiring about supplying lighting and that lazy arsehole of a brother cannot even sort that. Look there are several more bids by reputable firms all around Kolkata. He hasn’t even begun to compare the bids. He’s a lazy twat! How could he possibly be trusted with an executive position? I think it would benefit us all if he went back into law.”

“It would be better still if we could connect him to the kidnaps.” I observed.

Paul and Jalina both nodded thoughtfully.

We finished the day happy with the ground we’d covered and we retired to our hotel.