Now she paced in tight, deliberate arcs across the tile. Both boots on this time - one heel clicking, the other mute. Outside, Gurgaon held its breath. Twilight pressing in, thick and metallic.
“Aren’t the cops already sniffing around? One of your muzungu got picked up last week in Phuket, didn’t they?”
Her voice softened. Not kindly: “Okay, sorry—whatever.”
“If he gets him to ask her—of course she’ll do it. Then I’ll get her back.” The words lingered in the air like smoke from her dwindling spliff. “Just convince her to come out by land.”
Silence. Long. Loaded.
“She won’t have a problem in Laos. None of the borders’ll flag her. She’s clean. No priors.”
Jas stubbed the cigarette out. Then stood. Zipped her dress with practiced finality and watched it cling in the mirror.
“Don’t make it sound impossible. Other girls have done it.”
A faint smirk ghosted across her lips. Razor-cool.
“Yes—black girls too.”
She grabbed her purse, already halfway out the room.
“Cover everything. Hotels. Food. The whole shebang. And make sure she gives your guy his cut—no excuses.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper then.
“Do the utmost. You want your investment back, right?” Syrupy and lethal.
She didn’t wait for an answer. Just drifted to the minibar, flicking ash into a saucer that once carried chocolate mints.
The line went dead.
