Lost in his thoughts, Demond didn’t notice Arjun had returned and was standing next to him. He was gone for more than fifteen minutes. He had another man with him, Hari. Demond and Nanji exchanged glances not knowing what was happening. Had Hari called the authorities to hand them over? But they had not done anything openly to raise suspicion.

“Sorry to leave you two alone. Very sorry.” Arjun said as he bowed and removed the empty plates. “Is there anything I can bring you?”

Demond requested a glass of water.

“Who do we have here?” Nanji asked.

“Very sorry, again. My boss, Mr. Hari, Sir”

Hari was the first one to break the silence before Demond and Nanji opened their mouth.

“How’s it going? Looks like you gentleman like Indian food,” He said with a heavy Indian accent. He was short but not too short like Arjun. He spoke with the confidence of a businessman.

“Yes sir,” Demond said. “And Arjun here has taken good care of us. You should give him a baksheesh.”

“Yes. He’s one of our best.”

There was a moment of silence when nobody knew what to say.

“You gentlemen care to come by my office in the back when you are done?” Hari asked.

“Sure.” Demond and Nanji said together. Demond looked at Nanji with raised eyebrows.

They both skipped the desert and walked over to Hari’s office, wondering what he was up to.

Hari’s office was tucked in a corner beside the kitchen. One could hear the rattle of the dishes and sizzle of the fryer, but once the door was closed it was quiet. The office, if one can call it, was just a bit bigger than a closet. Two overhead fluorescent tubes emitted dim light. Receipts were pushed through a metal stabber. A calculator lay besides a thick ledger. A calendar with a color photo of lord Krishna playing flute hung on the wall facing Hari’s desk.

“We are expanding,” Hari said as he asked them to sit on two metal chairs facing his mini desk.

“Thank you for helping in growing our business. We knew the risk involved, but so far we’ve been lucky.” Hari continued. “We’ve an opportunity to open a branch in the East Village in lower Manhattan.”

Hari didn’t bow and smile like Arjun. Demond and Nanji looked at him with curiosity. This was getting interesting.

“Manhattan, like, in New York?” Nanji asked.

“Yes, Sir. It’ll be a simple restaurant with an added feature. A hookah bar in the back.” Hari said with an animated gesture. He said his brother Ranjan, who lived in New York’s lower east side, talked about the hippies with long hair, who showed a free spirit and looked for a cool place to hang out, listen to soothing music and get high. He said these youngsters were protesting the war in Vietnam and were looking for an outlet for their frustrations against the Government’s actions in the war, the death of innocent lives.

“Your stuff will be very popular with the Sitar music in the background,” Hari added. “Can you provide it in larger quantities?”

“Sure. We’ll do all we can to meet your needs,” Demond said when Hari stopped talking. “Just give us advance notice.”

“Of course.”