THE STERADIAN TRAIL: BOOK #0 OF THE INFINITY CYCLE by M.N. KRISH Read Free Book Online Page A

it set off a mini-war among the drivers.
    Durai had run out of luck with the previous guest who had lodged there a few weeks ago. The fellow happened to be somewhat of a welfare-minded socialist and kept asking for a new car for his excursions every day, spreading his largesse over a bigger base – directly in US dollars. Sadly, Durai had been assigned exclusively to a tight-fisted tycoon from Bombay who showed no signs of leaving, visiting this temple or that down south to give a facelift to his karmic profile. So Durai had to forgo his share of the American’s bounty and remain content watching his comrades – none of whom spoke English half as well as he did – go home with dollar bills in their pockets and a big smile on their faces while he himself stood under the streetlight counting the coins the tycoon had flung at him. So he did not leave anything to chance this time. As soon as he heard that a new guest was taking the luxury suite – an American once again – he pounced on the dispatcher like a panther and made sure he and no one else was assigned to him. He served Joshua with all the politeness and dedication he could muster, leaving very little room for complaint. All that effort had been about to bear fruit when fate struck in the form of cops and tugged the rug under his feet. He drove back morosely, puzzled as to why this should happen to him of all people.
    They reached the hotel and Durai offloaded Joshua’s luggage from the boot to the pavement. It was very late in the night and the concierge was not to be found at his post in the porch. Durai started hollering at the security guard to summon the concierge. He had seen Joshua pull out some money from his wallet and wanted no slips between the cup and the lip this time.
    Joshua got down from the car and stood by the side, sweating, the cash clutched in hand. He was still somewhat detached, oblivious to Durai’s eager efforts. He piped up when Durai returned to the car, after setting the security guard on a hunt for the missing concierge. ‘Do you mind opening the boot again, Durai?’ he asked.
    Durai quietly opened the boot and stepped aside. Joshua leaned in and took a peek.
    His curiosity getting the better of him, Durai too joined in after a little hesitation.
    The placard was still there, battered even more under the weight of Joshua’s luggage:
    MR WI L LAI M J
    A poorly spelt version of Mr William J. or even Mr Williams J. Joshua knitted his brows and relapsed into thought-marshalling mode for a few moments before speaking. ‘The name on the placard . . .?’
    ‘Yes sir?’ Durai said.
    ‘Is he staying here or something?’
    ‘No sir, this is an old placard. He must have come and gone already. There was a conference last month and a lot of foreigners came and stayed in the hotel; he was probably one of those people.’
    ‘Any chance you picked him up or drove him around?’
    ‘No sir. It wasn’t me – my spelling is not so bad,’ Durai said, somewhat offended. ‘It must have been some other driver. The car keeps changing hands, sir. That driver must have forgotten to discard the placard,’ he said, a touch poetically. Then with much hesitation, ‘Why are you asking, sir? You know this person?’
    Joshua didn’t reply.
    Durai noticed that Joshua’s manner had become stiff, as if possessed by an unknown fear. He stood brooding with the tip money in his hand – so hermetically closed inside his fist that Durai couldn’t guess how much it was.
    Durai felt caught in a quandary. He badly wanted to go back home after a long day. But how was he to go without collecting his tip? The smile on the face of his wife depended on it. Even if he were to do the unthinkable thing of writing it off and leaving without waiting for Joshua, he figured Joshua might get offended. Especially since his luggage lay unattended in the porch; with even the security guard gone in search of the concierge, there was no one else to take charge.
    Durai stood