Chapter II
DJ, Inspector Lomdi and I stood staring at the dead body of the black marketer found in the fish market. We were at the morgue.
“Al Topper was running a mail scam”, explained Inspector Lomdi as DJ walked around the corpse observing it from every angle. “3 Down and Dirty Tricks to Crack Any Tough Nut Exam – that was his promise. A lot of students in the Bahrain University paid for it and the Tips, it turned out, were not as dirty as promised. Many suspects there too, DJ.”
I wanted to ask what the tips were but did not have the nerve for it. I was sure that DJ would not approve.
Finally, DJ took out a pen and lifted Al Toppers ear. There, as Faris had promised, was a mark left by the killer. It was the drawing of a tiny bell in black ink. DJ gently scratched it and licked his finger.
“Hmm… common ball point pen – untraceable. But I already know who he is.”
As soon as we reached home, DJ plunged into a pile of old newspapers, frantically searching for some particular piece of news. I sighed, realizing that DJ was in one of those bad moods when he would curse himself for not reading the newspaper on a rainy Thursday three months ago and then go rummaging for it, all in an insane attempt to be completely aware of the world around him. I was about to retire to my room when DJ, with a loud yelp, as if a rabid dog had sunk its teeth into his backside, waded through the sea of newspapers, clutching a sheaf.
We went through them, dating almost two years back, and in each of them, there was a major robbery. An ancient crown from Morocco, a gem studded scepter from Calais, the Golden Camel that belonged to the ruling family of Oman, the first copy of the first issue of the Playgirl magazine from a Polish museum…. and so went the list. In each of the scenes, the thief left a calling card – the crude drawing of a bell.
“That last one”, said DJ, “the Playgirl issue. He was in a hurry there. Left a witness who gave a dead accurate sketch. The Interpol sent it out and found him a week later. He was masquerading as the Professor of Linguistics in the Cairo University. But he gave them the slip before they could nab him.”
“Who is he, DJ?” I asked.
“Professor Maniarty”, said DJ, a hardened look of constipation gracing his countenance.
“Erm… DJ, what exactly is Linguistics?”
“Doctor”, sighed DJ running his hands through his hair1, “While your bottomless ignorance is at times fanciful, I do find it fatiguing now. You must thank your stars, for I possess a certain flair for languages. The word Linguistics, if you must know, comes from the archaic Arabic word lingam, which means penis. Professor Maniarty, it appears, is a master of the secrets of the penis and the mysterious ways. Many have gone in search of its answers, none have returned…”
His last few words faded away and DJ sat staring into nothingness. I got alarmed and shook him, “DJ, what is it?”
“This man, Doctor, is more wily and crooked than anyone I’ve been against. His list of devilish deeds is indeed endless. He is, I must say, the Napoleon Dynamite of crime.”
1. DJ later, in one of his mushroom induced deliriums, revealed to me that he did this to relieve his palms of the uncontrollable itch to slap me on account of my ever present idiocy and mediocre intelligence.
Chapter I
“Good evening, DJ”, said Faris Al Farik standing still in his cell, glaring at the man who had put him there1. During the whole intercourse that followed, not once did Faris glance at me.
“Good evening, Faris. What is it that you wanted to see me about?” asked DJ.
“Ahh… not so fast, DJ”, said Faris grinning maliciously and scratching his beard. “All good things come to him who waits.”
“Fate is the question, time is the answer”, replied DJ. I felt they were speaking in Klangon2.
Faris seemed slightly thrown off balance with DJ’s dialogue but nevertheless he recovered quickly. He raised his head slightly up and smelled the air.
“Hmmm… You use cheap perfume and haven’t taken bath for a week, have you?”
DJ blushed, no mean feat for him. He looked into Faris’ cell. There were several charcoal drawings of male nudes.
“Did you do those drawings, Faris?”, gulped DJ.
“Why else would they be in my cell? For a great detective, you really aren’t that sharp now, are you?”
“All that detail from memory?” asked DJ, striving to keep the topic off himself and thus prevent Faris’ entry into his head.
“Memory, DJ, is what I have instead of view”, replied Faris once again scratching his beard. “Now, about why I called you. Have you heard of the murder in the fish market, last Sunday night?”
DJ nodded. “It was a black market dealer. Someone called Al Topper. Inspector Lomdi decided it was a deal gone bad.”
“Well if we had left all the decisions to Inspector Lomdi, I’m sure we’d all be rubbing two rocks to get some warmth”, said Faris, “Although I know a few other tricks too.”
“Well then why don’t you reveal to me what it is all about?” shouted DJ obviously hurt by the remark about his friend, the Inspector.
“You’re sooo ambitious, aren’t you…?”, Faris shouted back, “You know what you look like to me, with your black jacket and black T-shirt and black cap and your cheap perfume? You look like a noob. A good chainsaw has trimmed some of that hair of yours, but you’re not more than one generation from coffee pickers and slave dealers, are you DJ…? That accent you’re trying so desperately to shed – pure Chaththanoor3. And oh, how you dreamed of getting away from it all… stocking supermarket shelves, scrubbing floors and talking to imaginary girlfriends, while you could only dream of getting out. Getting anywhere – yes? Getting all the way – to the L…D…A4“.
His every word struck DJ like a tiny, precise dart. But he squared his jaw and did not give ground. “You see a lot, Faris. Perhaps you should direct that wisdom at Al Topper and tell me who killed him.”
“Well I have told all I wanted to, DJ”, said Faris, “Now good day to you.”
DJ bit down his anger and walked away. As he crossed the next cell, its occupant walked towards him and flung his palm out. Something hit DJ on the side of his face. He touched it and found that it was moist, but not blood. It was -
“Yuck”, shouted DJ fumbling in his pocket for the handkerchief he never carried along.
“DJ, DJ, come here”, called Faris from his cell, agitated. We ran to him.
“That was ugly, even by my standards”, said Faris.
“Then tell me who killed Al Topper”, pleaded DJ.
“I myself do not know that. But you should check behind his ear… Al Topper’s. The killer left a clue there. Now hurry. I don’t think Banti next door could not manage one more so soon, even if he is crazy – do you?”
We ran out of there.
1. DJ, with my help of course, had captured the criminal mastermind in The Mystery Of The Stolen Jewels. He was at the time masquerading (?) as the Sheikha’s eunuch and it had taken DJ a lot of cunning and skill to apprehend Faris in time to recover the Royal Jewels.
2. An obscure language DJ once claimed to know. He told me that African Grey parrots communicate in Klangon.
3. A town in the south of India known for its supermarkets and tuition centers. Now hailed as the birthplace of DJ and so a tourist destination.
4. Short for League of Detectives of Arabia. Initially formed as the League of Official Detectives of Arabia, the ‘Official’ was dropped from the title after its calling cards created a furore among the migrant population. Founded by Detective Dolby, it was short lived organisation created for the welfare and unity of the numerous detectives in all of Arabia. DJ left it shortly after the events of this adventure which caused him and Detective Dolby to be bitter rivals for years to come.
Chapter VIII
“The plan to rob the jewels was such a masterly one that I doubt whether a third mind could have been behind the whole scheme. The only hardship in the entire process would be to get into the room housing the jewels. Antonio could get it out of the palace, but he could not get into the secure room. So it all began about two months ago when Faris1 underwent a massive liposuction surgery and then brought a flesh colored corset for himself. He then had a minor face alteration to resemble one of the Sheikha’s eunuchs, quite possibly a distant family member of his own. The real eunuch was then disposed of, by what manner, we are yet unsure.
“Then on the day of the robbery, Antonio set fire to the transformer near the courtyard and screamed in several voices, among them a girl, an old woman and an injured dog. The Sheikha on hearing these sounds rushed to see what the racket was about. In the confusion, she did not notice that one of her escorts failed to follow her. Faris, who remained behind, smashed the glass cases with ease. Since the transformer was out, the alarms did not sound. Faris then stuffed the jewels into a cloth back and rushed to the door to hand it over to Antonio. It is here that the plan fell apart and the human factor played its part.
“Antonio, after setting the fire in the courtyard and mimicking various injuries to some degree of success, was rushing to the secure room when he happened to see the serving woman in the palace mess. According to Faris, who blames the mess woman for the failure of the plan, even though the woman was ugly and twice his age, Antonio could not take his eyes off her.
“Faris realizing that time was running out and that his absence would be noticed any second, pulled up a tile in secure room itself and buried the bag there before joining his eunuch comrades.
“Antonio sensed his mistake but knew it was too late to do something about it. He went to the unnamed bar which was the rendezvous and was waiting there for Faris when the kind Doctor and I approached him. He ran away after assaulting us. I believe Faris informed him where he had hidden the jewels and it was now upon Antonio to retrieve them. So he set himself up on the adjacent rooftop with a sniper rifle pointed into the secure room.
Then when I was examining the room, I noticed a goose feather on top of the glass shards. This could only mean that a eunuch or someone poising as a eunuch was there after the glass had been shattered. Since it seemed improbable that a man would sacrifice those for a few jewels, I decided to follow my second hunch. So there were two suspects now. Then as I bent to pick up the feather, Antonio took his shot.
“Using my wit and ingenuity, I was able to escape the dreaded assassin and save the Doctor too. Then a series of misfortunes, which we have all agreed to put behind us, prevented us from visiting the room again. Nevertheless, my skill and dexterity once again permitted us to escape our bounds and reach the room before Antonio could. Then as the faithful Doctor would admit, I fought tooth and nail to snatch back the Royal jewels, nearly losing by life in the process. My only regret is that Antonio is still out there, but then again, he lives to get caught another day be me.
Inspector Lomdi has agreed not to let Faris out of his sight. I guess it is time the Doctor and I be off to our humble abode for some fresh coffee and chocolate muffins, and possibly a new mystery. After all, crime does not sleep. So long, gentlemen.”
****************************************THE END*********************************************
1. Faris Al Farik, known in criminal underworld as the ‘Swami of Saudi’, is a master infiltrator and scam runner in the leagues of Pappu the Bossad. Born, Vivek Bin Lodan, the second son of the fifth wife of a wealthy Saudi businessman, Faris joined the underworld as a small time gunrunner. His romantic liason with Saddam Hussein’s right hand man Chemical Jain brought him to the notice of the Interpol for the first time. Exiled by the family due to the unthinkable union, Faris then went to the north of India where his days were lost in a haze of ganja and cheap liquor. Dropping off the radar for a few months, he then resurfaced in Baroda as a blessed hermit claiming powers of healing and quickly found a large following of youth who named him ‘Swami of Saudi’. When it was discovered that he drugged his male followers and took advantage of them, Faris once again had to flee. He then successfully pulled off a series of daring heists across the globe before being apprehended by the even more cunning DJ.
Chapter VII
I followed the sounds emanating from the dark. Like Hansel and Gretel following breadcrumbs, I followed the trail of destruction in the magnificent palace rooms vaguely aware of lights coming on in various parts of the castle. Happily copulating statues were beheaded or worse, annihilated. Tapestries were ripped to shreds. Fountains were shattered, their water flowing on to the lush carpet and ruining them too. Although the devastation was heart breaking, I trudged on, always a step behind the yells, groans, screams and thuds.
Finally, I saw the two of them in the grand hall at the entrance of the palace, engaged in a fistfight of the most barbaric nature. Antonio had his arm around DJ’s neck in an attempt to strangle him to death, at the same time trying to avoid DJ’s hair. DJ’s grabbed his assailant’s arm and with an aboriginal animalistic cry, bit into it. Antonio howled in pain, drew back him arm, and poked DJ in the eye.
DJ, blinded by the unexpected move, lashed out hoping to hit his foe. He instead tripped on the coffee table and tumbled to the floor. Antonio bent down and removed a small knife from an ankle holster to finish off his enemy. I grabbed a nearby hat stand and swung it wildly. It caught Antonio in the face and went on to hit DJ, who was trying to get back on his feet, on the head, and both fell to the floor. I ran to DJ. Fortunately, his hair had borne the brunt of the hit and DJ was still conscious, although a bit groggy. As I pulled him up, smoke started filling the hall. We ran into the next room coughing violently.
“The bugger used a smoke grenade”, said DJ as our eyes welled up due to the smoke.
“What about the jewels?” I asked.
With a triumphant smile, DJ reached into this UMM shirt and pulled out the black bag.
“We have won DJ!” I exclaimed punching the air.
“Not yet”, said DJ, “We have one more thing to take care of. The palace has woken up, Doctor. We must be careful. Let us take advantage of the smoke. Follow me, if you will”.
We tied kerchiefs to our faces to keep the smoke out and then plunged into the vicious cloud that had permeated into most of the ground floor of the palace. I was surprised to see DJ climb the stairs. I was really surprised when he proceeded towards the Sheikha’s room. I grabbed his arm.
“DJ, have you lost your senses”.
“Oh, no. I have all of them intact”, replied DJ curtly as he opened the door and went in.
The Sheikha was watching an Arabic reality show on her large television. Sheikh Madar was beside her, a host of palace guards near him. The eunuchs, wearing their skirts of large goose feathers, stood behind the Sheikha, respectfully but with a look of boredom. The reality show apparently was of little interest to them.
Sheikh Madar looked up. Seeing us, his face took on a look of displeasure. The guards drew out their blades. DJ held up his hands.
“I come in peace”.
“Do not come closer, DJ. Stay away from the Sheikha”.
A faint look of pain flitted across DJ’s countenance. “I know how the jewels were stolen. All I need to prove my theory is that television remote and a minute of your time”.
Shaking his head in disbelief, the Sheikh picked up the remote and threw it to DJ. “You have thirty seconds”.
DJ flicked through the channels until Fashion TV came up. A Victoria’s secret lingerie line up was on display with almost naked models parading their wares. The Sheikha gave a cry of revulsion and covered her face with her hands. Sheikh Madar gave DJ a look of disgust.
DJ stared at the Sheikha but as the seconds ticked by, his eyebrows approached each other and a chill of dread ran down my spine. A look of confusion slowly etched its way into DJ’s face.
“This is wrong. I’m missing something”, remarked DJ as the palace guards approached us.
“If your show of blasphemy is over, its time to return to the dungeon”, roared Sheikh Madar. Looking at the guards he said, “This time all of you stay outside the door. If he tries to sneak out, tie him up”.
“No, No, I cannot be mistaken”, screamed DJ, jabbing the remote furiously, as the guards lifted us with ease and threw us over their shoulders like sacks of spoiled potatoes. And then, curiously enough, he stopped shouting and stared at the Sheikha. Just as we reached the door, pointing at the Sheikha, DJ yelled, “There, there. I knew I was right!”
I looked at the television, which was now playing the show ‘Beast Master’. In it, the Beast Master was bathing at a waterfall, flexing his biceps impressively. I then looked at the Sheikha. Behind her, in front of the eunuch who had put a blade to my throat only a few hours earlier, a goose feather stirred and then slowly rose up.
“Faris Al Farik”, exclaimed DJ as the guards put us down.
Chapter VI
“They can lock me up in a cage, but there are some things they can never take away from me”, said DJ as he scratched his head.
I was thinking on the lines of ‘Loyalty’, ‘Courage’, and ‘Friendship’ when DJ uttered, “My hair”.
He then held up a single strand of hair to the light. It stood straight up, defying gravity and all the rules that came with it. DJ then licked his thumb and slowly bent the hair so that it resembled a tiny hook. Holding it thus, he blew onto it, drying and hardening it once again. With a crooked smile on his face, he walked to the door and fell on his knees. Carefully slipping the hair hook into the keyhole, DJ listened intently and moved the hair until he caught the lever of the lock, which he then pulled away with ease. The door was unlocked.
We slipped out into total darkness and once again DJ’s biological Tracking System kicked into gear and we found ourselves at the door to the basement in no time.
“What is your plan DJ?” I asked as we sneaked out.
DJ gave me a look of pity and said, “We need to recover the stolen jewels before the Arabi Council assembles tomorrow morning. That will earn some favor in their eyes”.
“But aren’t the jewels gone?”
“That’s what everyone thinks. Now keep silence and follow me”.
DJ slithered and scampered through the palace rooms like a sliver of night itself, utterly undetectable to the naked half-sleepy human eye, possessed by the night guards. It was a task in itself to keep him in sight let alone follow him. At last, we reached the room where it all started. The room that housed the jewels before they were stolen and where we were targets of the devious sniper.
“I hope we are not too late”, muttered DJ as we carefully stepped around the glass shards on the floor, lit by the moonlight coming in through the high windows, and reached a counter. “Now let’s hide behind this counter. And dear Doctor, do not utter a word. One way or the other, this will all be over soon.”
So we sat behind the wooden counter for about two hours until DJ lightly nudged me and brought a finger to his lips. I nodded and peered through the narrow gap between the counter and the wall. At first, nothing was noticeable but then the moonlight revealed another figure attired in black entering the room. He was wearing rubber-soled shoes that made little noise even when he stepped on the glass, which he seemed not to mind. It was evident that he had incapacitated the nearby guards.
As we stared, the intruder walked to the wall beside the door. There he turned and walked towards us counting his steps. After ten, he removed something from his pockets and in the pale light, I saw the gleam of a knife blade. He went down on one knee, jammed it into floor, and pried loose the tile in front of him, exposing a hollow. He then reached inwards and lifted out a black bag made of cloth, which made a light clinking sound. He fished into the bag and when his fist emerged, I saw the glitter of gold and precious stones. We had found the stolen Royal jewels!
In my excitement, I took a step backwards forgetting the fact that I was crouching for so long and my legs had cramped. I fell back with a thud and groaned. The thief at once became alert.
“Who goes there?” he asked, eyes in our direction but clearly unable to see anything since we were in the shadows. He slowly stood up, the knife stretched out in front of him. His face was covered by a cloth mask. This was the man who had given us the slip at the unnamed bar in the evening. DJ now had no option but to confront him.
“Drop your knife and the bag of jewels. I have a gun”, bluffed DJ, standing up in the shadows.
“If you had a gun, you would have shown it to me by now”, sneered the intruder, “You must be that weird guy in black that came before. I had you in my sights, you know.”
“You missed your chance, sunny boy”, said DJ stepping into the light, adopting a traditional ninjutsu stance.
“It was merely a foreplay”, commented the sniper and thief, who then looked a bit confused at his own statement and proceeded to correct it, “It was not foreplay, just a roleplay”. This time, he looked even more confused. Like a black mamba striking its unsuspecting prey, DJ took advantage of his foe’s puzzlement and leaning forward, he knocked the deadly weapon out of the villain’s grasp. As he drew back his hand, the intruder’s mask came off and we saw his face. It was a terrible face like no other.
“Toni”, gasped DJ recognizing the horrible face in front of him1. DJ’s single moment of distraction was enough for the thief who then head butted him and ran off into the dark.
“Not this time”, yelled DJ as he followed.
1. Antonio ‘Toni’ Boobpressky, half Italian, half Russian, rest God-knows-what was a skilled assassin active during the late nineties all over the world except for Australia and Antarctica. Though he killed for a relatively short period, his success rate was second only to Carlos the Jackal’s. Antonio was born in Pala-ermo, a factor that contributed to his infamous nickname ‘The Tit-Grabber of Pala-ermo’. From an early age onwards, Antonio took great pleasure is worming his way through crowded streets and railway stations smothering any pretty damsel’s mammary glands or hindquarters. As Antonio hit puberty, staying loyal to his modus operandi, he switched his attention to older women, preferably ones that worked in the catering business.
For all his skills in knocking off famous people, Antonio’s only drawback lay in his insane desire to master languages, something that conflicted sharply with his god given abilities. However, this never subdued his enthusiasm and often his puerile attempts to blend in caused him a great deal of trouble. Once in Ethiopia, he tried bargaining for fish in the local market and they almost executed him for abusing the National Anthem. Another time in North India, Antonio was arrested for pimping in disguise, when all he tried was disguise as a street peddler selling peacock oil.
DJ later informed me that it was the slip of the tongue and the confusion thereafter that revealed the dreaded assassin’s identity to him rather than the terrible face.
[Editor's Note] It was presumed that Toni Boobpressky was killed in some unrelated incident around the beginning of the millennium as his activities reportedly came to a standstill. However, recent evidence suggests that he might me the villain known only as the MilfHunter, who terrorized Gudham City sometime back. Given his proclivity for the elderly, the assumption does not seem farfetched.
Chapter V
[The Story So Far] A gruesome robbery was committed at the Royal Palace of Bahrain leaving the best minds of the Bahrain State Police Force (BSPF) baffled. Inspector Lomdi invited DJ and the Doctor to recover the missing Crown Jewels, but DJ had ulterior motives in entering the Royal Palace. After narrowing escaping from a wily sniper, DJ and the Doctor sneaked into the Sheikha’s chambers. DJ promptly began disrobing himself.
******************************************************************************
The Sheikha began to scream. Then I began to scream1.
DJ had relieved himself of the black UMM shirt and was untying the knots of his trousers when it all began to go downhill. The eunuchs slept lightly, a fact I realized late. With a shriek that would put a French prostitute to shame, they were upon us with cutlasses and scimitars. I stopped screaming as a blade caressed my throat. The eunuch holding it licked his lips and glared at me.
DJ on the other hand, had tried resistance, but as his legs were hampered by the partially removed trousers, he knocked himself to the floor. Half a dozen eunuchs pounced upon him and held him to the floor. A rope was procured and his hands and feet were tied.
“I’m innocent. It’s not what it looks like”, DJ kept saying over and over. The eunuchs got annoyed and stuffed some unwashed undergarment down his throat. Sheikh Madar, hastily dressed and eyes bleary, came shortly, a look of disbelief etched on his face.
“What were you thinking, DJ?”, he asked. DJ moaned and shook his head. I felt the Sheikh faintly smelled of hay but let it pass. “Attempting to rob the chastity of a Sheikha of Bahrain!”. To be truthful, it felt much worse, hearing the accusation from the Sheikh.
“The Arabi Council will convene tomorrow morning and decide what to do with the two of you”.
“Two?”, I protested, “But I had my clothes on!”
“It does not matter any more, Doctor”, said Sheikh Madar as he stepped out of the room shaking his head in disgust. I noticed that Sheikha Mariam had slipped out in the midst of all this mayhem.
The eunuchs then marched us to the basement. It was smelly, dark and dirty. One of them opened a metal door that creaked loudly and the others threw us in. I was able to grab the wall in time but DJ landed on the cold stone floor with a dull thud. The ropes tying DJ’s limbs were sliced off and the door was banged shut. A key turned in the lock and all fell silent.
A tiny bulb on the ceiling threw yellow light. DJ rolled over and lay on his back, lost in thought. No one spoke for a couple of hours. The adrenaline was slowly receding and I was falling into an uncomfortable sleep when DJ spoke up.
“Doctor, there is something I have to show you”.
I said nothing. DJ got up and once again began undoing the knots of his trousers. He slipped them a little downward and came closer.
“See here. This mark”.
I strained to see in the faint light and the dark skin and sure enough, there was a crescent shaped almost imperceptible mark on his hip.
“What does this mean, DJ?”, I asked.
“This is the birth mark of the Royal Bahrain blood line. It is found on all the male members of the Royal family”.
“So the Sheikha is your…”
“Mother”, completed DJ.
I stared at him in disbelief, “But DJ, you look nothing like her. You look like a…”
“Shush, Doctor”, cut in DJ, agony plastered all over his face, “The other half of my genetic makeup is not something I wish to talk about. I was merely a folly of her youth. Created when curiosity met desire on a fateful afternoon. Back then they did not have eunuchs for Royal escorts”.
I sighed not knowing how to comfort the unnamed heir to the throne of Bahrain2.
“But then, we can mention this at tomorrow’s Arabi Council”, suggested I.
“Have you no brains, Doctor”, DJ cried in exasperation3, “If I reveal the truth, the Sheikha will be defamed for eternity. A scandal would ensue that would ruin everyone involved. That I cannot have. This secret will go with me to the grave. Promise me Doctor, that you will utter this to no living being4“.
“Well in that case, we won’t have to bear the burden for too long”, I commented dryly, “The Arabi Council usually chops away something when its assembled”.
“Fear not, Doctor. All is not lost”, said DJ, the light coming back to his eyes, “I have a plan”.
1. Events were spiraling out of control and I had no idea what else to do.
2. Being the eldest son in the bloodline generation, this would have entitled DJ to the throne.
3. This is one of the only three times I have seen DJ display something resembling a human emotion.
4. [Editor's Note] The promise was revoked when the regime was toppled and the Sheikha passed away shortly thereafter of a mysterious illness undisclosed by the palace authorities. This has led many conspiracy theorists to believe that the disease was one brought about on account of the Sheikha’s promiscuity. This narrative was added to the volume only after her death, making this the last one, but is placed here to maintain the chronological order.
Chapter IV
“What do we do now, DJ?”, I asked, terror-stricken.
“Stay calm, Doctor. He has missed once. And that will be his downfall.”
“Do you have a plan, DJ?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact I do”, said DJ pulling out a peashooter from somewhere inside the UMM shirt. “This room has too much lighting. Try to locate the switches, Doctor.”
We looked around and found them on the wall across the room, about eleven feet away.
“Close enough”, muttered DJ as he scratched his head violently.
“Do you have lice, DJ?” I asked in alarm, a life of itching, if I were to survive the sniper, flashing before my eyes.
“No, I need a hair”, hissed DJ in irriatation1. He finally managed to pull one out. He then inserted it carefully into the peashooter. Leaning forward and taking careful aim, DJ blew. The lights went out.
“Now, Doctor”, growled DJ and we scampered out of the room into safety.
“Hmm”, remarked DJ standing up and brushing dust off the UMM shirt. “This is stranger than I thought.” He had the air of a man who had been told that his cab would be five minutes late, not one who had narrowly escaped death. A lady with a broken heel would have been more worried2.
We found our way back to the grand hall, where Sheikh Madar was anxiously waiting for us.
“What happened?” he enquired as we walked in.
“Nothing new, my good Sheikh. Just a few badly aimed bullets flying about.”
The simple sheikh let it go. “I’ve arranged quarters for you. Come with me.”
We followed him into a large cozy bedroom where we promptly changed and took to our beds. The exhaustion quickly lulled me into a deep slumber.
It was past midnight when I was awoken by DJ who was violently shaking my arm. “Wake up, Doctor.”
“DJ, its still night. Are you on yet another one of those chemical concoctions of yours that makes you sleepless?” I asked, my annoyance clearly expressed in my voice and on my face.
“No Doctor, I need to see the Sheikha. There are things of importance that I must tell her. It cannot wait. Please Doctor, you are the closest I have to a friend.”
This last statement strangely seemed to cheer me up and I got out of bed and dressed.
“Her room is on the second floor”, whispered DJ as we crept out. We made our way up the stairs listening intently for the smallest of noises. The empty suits of armor on the stairs provided us ample cover. In the end, we reached our destination. DJ, making sure the coast was clear, gently turned the door handle. As expected, the door was not locked3.
A single candle at the far end of the room was the only source of light in the room. As I was about to be step in, DJ stopped me.
“Be careful where you step, Doctor”, warned DJ, “The eunuchs sleep on the floor.”
Sure enough, as we entered we spied them sleeping on the floor. There were eight of them and they all looked identical in the poor light. They were unclothed save for a skirt made of goose feathers loosely strung together.
There was a large bed in the corner of the room beside the burning candle. We silently approached the bed. A woman of exquisite beauty was sleeping in it. She had flawless skin that made it impossible to determine her biological age accurately. I took in the sight of her high forehead, arched eyebrows and slightly pouty lips with much delight. DJ simply stared. As if our looks pricked her, she opened her eyes.
Like a black panther, DJ quickly pounced upon her and cupped his hand around her mouth.
“I’m not here to harm you”, informed DJ in a low voice, “All I need is to show you something, and then say something. I will remove my hand if you agree to keep quiet. Do you understand?”
She gently nodded, fear intruding her eyes. DJ slowly removed his hand.
And then, he began to disrobe.
1. Having to explain every tiny detail of a meticulously hatched escape plan to a minion of inferior intellect always drove DJ to frustration. In time, I stopped plaguing the detective with unnecessary queries thus delaying the explanation of many of his seemingly bird-brained actions to the end when he would gleefully narrate them with an exhilaration matched only by that of an eighty year old man waking up with an erection after two decades.
2. Prof. Woodman in his landmark book, The Interpretation of Sex Dreams, classifies male personality types. After careful scrutiny, I must note here that DJ fits the Delta profile and that his lack of emotions is probably on account of some grave trauma suffered during childhood.
3. Who would dare to walk in, anyway?
Chapter III
By the time we reached the door, the scoundrel had disappeared.
“Damn”, cursed DJ slamming a fist into a palm, “He must be a ninja. Only a ninja can outrun me.”
“It’s okay DJ, we’ll run him down some other time”, I tried to soothe him.
It was dark when we reached the palace. An uncouth cad with a leering smile who went by the name Abdulla Al Tibari forestalled us at the gates and informed that there were no vacancies in domestic help at present. This flared up DJ who was about to deliver a well calculated head butt when Inspector Lomdi promptly appeared at the gates.
“Ah DJ”, he exclaimed while leading us in, much to the consternation of the gatekeeper, “I thought you would never come.”
“I’m a man of my word, Inspector”, reminded DJ, “even though I’m man of few words. Please take us through the terrible affair once.”
The Inspector nodded gravely1. “Okay, here’s what I was able to gather. The jewels are kept in a locked up secure room most of the time. The Sheikha was to see them today and so the room was opened. While she was admiring them, a fire broke out in the courtyard and there was screaming. The Sheikha, along with her escorts ran to the see what the whole ruckus was about leaving the door open. When they returned, it was all gone.”
“Is any of the household missing?”
“None. And we questioned everyone. No one appears suspicious.”
“Forgive me Inspector, but an honest man like you can be easily deceived. But a sharp mind like mine…”
“No offense taken DJ. That’s why I called you.”
We had reached the palace entrance. A huge and heavily decorated hall was before us. As we stepped in, a familiar voice greeted us.
“Hello there”. It was Sheikh Madar2. I smiled and shook his hand. DJ merely nodded his head.
“I am relieved to see you here, DJ. Now I know the jewels will be recovered. Since the Sheikh is away on a foreign trip, I have been entrusted with everything, including the camel stables. Anything you need, DJ?”
“I would like to speak to the Sheikha in private”, said DJ.
Sheikh Madar was taken aback for a second. “I’m sorry DJ”, he said, “The Sheikha is very much grief stricken after the terrible tragedy. Besides she does not grant private audience anymore.”
“Very well. Take us to the scene of this most unpleasant crime please.”
“Follow me”, said Inspector Lomdi. We left Sheikh Madar to his business. The Inspector took us through several rooms each grander than the last one. There were beautifully embroidered tapestries, handsome marble statues in various stages of copulation and magnificently carved dark wood furniture. Intricate murals and expensive paintings3 adorned the walls. A couple of rooms had splendid fountains in them. The air was sweet had a mild fragrance of jasmine. At last, we were taken to a small room with only one door and only high windows. Yellow crime scene tape bearing the BSPF logo crisscrossed the entire room. Smashed glass lay everywhere, sad remnants of the cases that once housed the precious jewels.
“Why was no alarm triggered?” enquired DJ.
“The fire in the courtyard blew out the transformers. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some paperwork to complete.” Inspector Lomdi left us.
DJ walked around the room taking in the destruction and probably the imagining the malice that lay behind it.
“We must speak with the Sheikha”, said DJ.
“But why?”, I asked, “How could she possibly help us?”
“It’s not about the robbery. I have some unfinished business with her and this palace, Doctor”.
I was about to ask more on this business when DJ noticed something on the floor. As he bent to pick it up, a there sounded a tiny click somewhere in the room. At once DJ leaped behind a counter pulling me down with him.
“We have a sniper on the rooftop of the next building”, whispered DJ, “and he is sniping”.
1. I asked the Inspector later what DJ’s dialogue meant and whether it had some Zen wisdom to it. The Inspector respectfully informed me that he had stopped caring about such matters long ago.
2. Sheikh Sanjeev Bin Marathe Al M’chod, fondly known as Sheikh Madar to his friends, is one of the wealthiest people in the whole of Arabia. I met him during the course of The Mystery of the Missing Underwear where DJ and I were successfully able to recover the Sheikh’s prized golden underwear. The Sheikh is known for his works of unnecessary philanthropy, relationship counseling, strictly adhered monogamy and fondness for camels, the degree of which is a tad suspicious.
3. I noticed Van Gogh’s The Orchids and Manet’s The Funeral On The River Bank amongst others.
Chapter II
It was a trick of the dark or maybe a play of the shadows. I squinted and peered and gazed and eyeballed but still was unable to catch a form or a face. Like the leather costume of a dominatrix, it was all black save for the mysterious letters ‘UMM’ emblazoned across what would be DJ’s chest, if it were possible to see him.
“This is more camouflage than disguise”, I remarked rather dryly.
“You are correct, my dear Doctor”, boomed DJ’s voice from the door and I could sense the smile that would have formed at his lips, “Even the brightest flashes and the sharpest lens would fail to capture me in this attire. Plus it lends an air of mystery to the innocent bystander.” He then walked into the light, but it did not make much of a difference.
“That is if he can see you”, I added as we left.
Twenty minutes later, the cab discharged us in what appeared to be a shady and seedy part of the town. I felt a chill run down my spine. DJ walked towards a door set in a stone building with no markings. He rapped twice, paused and then rapped thrice. Instantly the door opened but I noticed no one standing behind it1.
It was a bar. The lighting was dim and there was Egyptian music playing in the background. As we walked to the counter, I noticed that almost all the tables were occupied. For an unadvertised establishment, it looked quite popular.
The bartender, Ritspick was his name, was a man with a big smile. As soon as he saw us, he raised the index and middle fingers of his right hand in a ‘V’ sign. “What can I get you folks?”
DJ, who never smiles in public, was all business and mumbled, “Whiskey, double shot, on the rocks and no ice please. I have a sore throat.”
As I stared with my mouth open2, the bartender’s smile vanished for a second, but soon reappeared. “I am all ears”, he said.
“Heard anything on a robbery at the Royal Palace?” whispered DJ.
“Word on the table is that it was someone from abroad”, the bartender whispered back, “You might want to check out that shady guy sitting in the corner there. He just appeared after the robbery and seems pretty shifty about something.”
I glanced at a small man sitting in the corner. He had his back to us.
DJ nodded lightly and then whispered, “Hickory Dickory Dock, The mouse ran up the clock.” The bartender’s smile once again disappeared for an instant.
We approached the man in the corner. As we drew near, I saw with a start that the man had a scarf covering his face3. There was a small hole at the mouth and using a straw, he was drinking whiskey. Suddenly he looked dangerous.
“Hello there, I am DJ and this is my friend, the faithful Doctor. We have a few questions on the theft that happened at the Royal Palace this afternoon4.”
With an agility that belied his form, the man in the mask leaped up, the whiskey glass firm in his grip. He threw the contents of the glass onto my face and crashed the glass on DJ’s head. However, he was in for a surprise on that last part. The glass turned to powder but DJ was left unharmed.
“You really should not have wasted that glass on my hair”5, quipped DJ as he cleanly connected a left hook to the stranger’s jaw bringing him down. As DJ turned around to help me up, I noticed the masked man scrambling away.
“After him DJ”, I screamed. He had reached the door and we dashed towards him.
1. Obviously there was some hidden mechanism.
2. To the naïve reader, this might seem like the rambling of an idiot, but as I was to learn in The Mystery of the Mysterious Sex Tape, this was a secret code to unlock the mind of the bartender who was already hypnotized. By whom and for what, I am still unaware.
3. As if he was trying in vain to protect himself from swine flu.
4. Tact was never one of DJ’s strengths.
5. This, in my opinion, is one of DJ’s most original and humorous quotes. This incident brought DJ’s hair and it’s mysterious properties, of which I was to learn more later, to my attention. I had no idea that this was just the tip of the iceberg (or hair).
Chapter I
It was a couple of weeks after the events in the Mystery of the Missing Underwear. My right leg had almost healed and limp was becoming less pronounced now. I was sitting in the parlor, a mug of hot unsweetened coffee in one hand and the Bahrain National Times in the other, when the door opened and in came DJ’s nasty Arab maid. She gave me a look of pure disgust1, one that I had grown quite accustomed to by now, and led in a stranger. She pointed the sofa in front of me and mumbled something in her slurry dialect to which the stranger nodded and sat down. I assumed he had come to see DJ. The woman shuffled away, closing the door behind her.
I took in the man sitting before me cautiously. He was unhealthily thin and garbed in the usual Arab costume, head dress and all, but there was something shifty about him. He kept glancing at the huge clock behind me furtively, and patting his knees. I could see that his palms were sweating profusely by the damp marks they left on his knees.
After a length of time, the door opened and DJ sneaked in. Despite his extensive attempts, one of his eye-brows was still lopsided2.
Seeing the visitor, DJ gave a cry of familiarity. “Inspector Lomdi, what brings you to my door step ?”
The stranger pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his forehead, “There are some matters of importance DJ.”
DJ patted him gently on the shoulder. He turned to me and asked, “Doctor, have you met Inspector Lomdi ?” I shook my head.
“This is Inspector Lomdi bin Rejindran of the Bahrain State Police Force or the BSPF as we know it. He consults me on delicate matters from time to time”, and turning to the Inspector, “The kind Doctor has graced me with his presence for a few days, Inspector. Pray, how is it I may be of help ?”
Inspector Lomdi glanced at me suspiciously prompting DJ to say, “Please Inspector, the Doctor is a good friend, and quite discreet too.”
Inspector Lomdi seemed to accept it and spoke in a low voice, “There has been a robbery DJ, one of the most vile nature. The Royal Jewels have been stolen.”
At the mention of the Royal Jewels, DJ sprang up, as if a camel had kicked him in unmentionable places. “Which Royal Jewels ?”, he asked3.
“The ones belonging to Sheikha Mariam”, explained Inspector Lomdi. “We are totally stumped on this one, my dear DJ.”
DJ appeared to have slipped into a sweet reverie.
“Will you help DJ ?”, moaned Inspector Lomdi, his voice almost on the verge of tears.
DJ blinked. “Yes, of course”, he replied standing up, “Fear not Inspector Lomdi, the brave Doctor and I shall visit a few shady underground hang-outs to see if this was planned. We will meet you at the Royal Palace. Go in peace, Inspector.”
As the Inspector left, DJ turned to me, “We shall have to disguise ourselves, Doctor. You look fine. I will be back in a minute.”
A minute later, the door opened and I stood aghast at the apparition that stood there.
1. The source of this unfriendliness is as yet unknown to me.
2. In another futile attempt to discover the perfect nicotine solution (higher than 7%) that would render him sleepless for a fortnight on end, DJ had blown up part of the chemical lab and in the process singed his eyebrows too. Being not much of a people-person, DJ was frightened of others asking him after his disfigurement; and spent upto 2 hours a day painstakingly trying to recreate his eyebrows using a felt marker. Also the burnt part of his face was lighter than the rest, thus hindering his abilities of stealth.
3. To the un-Arab reader, this might seem a strange question, reason being that any nation has only a single set of Royal Jewels. But Bahrain is not ‘any nation’ and the Sheikh (known dearly amongst his people as the ‘White Cockroach’) was famed for his polygamy in addition to his multiple affairs at any given time (thus giving rise to several sets of Royal Jewels at a time). “I have too much affection to give to any single woman”, the Sheikh was heard to have exclaimed as he was charged with multiple counts of indecency and a host of other crimes when his regime was toppled almost five years after the incidents mentioned here.
