Chapter 32: The Cost of Applause
The credits rolled. The screen went black.
For a second, there was silence in the massive IMAX hall. Then, the applause started. It began as a ripple and swelled into a roar. The audience stood up, whistling, cheering for the hero who had just saved the village on screen.
Arjun stood up, buttoning his jacket. He looked at the cheering crowd. They weren't clapping for the art; they were clapping for the spectacle. And for Mahaa Enterprises, they were clapping for the money.
"Impressive," DGP Jaidev stood up next to him, his face unreadable. "The public seems to have forgotten the controversy."
"The public has a short memory, Sir," Arjun said, his voice flat. "Give them a hero, and they forget the villain."
Aisha was beaming. She turned to Arjun, her eyes shining with the adrenaline of the climax.
"That was amazing! I didn't think you had an eye for mass action movies."
"I just paid for it, Aisha," Arjun smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "The director had the eye."
As they moved toward the exit, the VIP crowd swarmed them. Producers, directors, and politicians who had ignored Arjun's calls two days ago were now rushing to shake his hand. Arjun navigated the sea of sycophants with practiced politeness, but his mind was elsewhere.
He was thinking about the basement. The grease on his hands. The man he had knocked out.
They reached the lobby. The air was cool, but Arjun felt a bead of sweat trickle down his spine.
"Arjun," Jaidev stopped near the exit doors. The crowd gave them space, sensing the aura of authority around the DGP.
"Sir?"
Jaidev looked at Arjun's hands. Specifically, his right hand. The knuckles were red and slightly swollen from where he had smashed the wrench into the circuit board.
"You said you checked the projection room," Jaidev said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register.
"Yes."
"Then why are your knuckles bruised?" Jaidev's eyes bored into him. "And why do you smell of hydraulic oil and sewage?"
Arjun didn't flinch. He held the DGP's gaze. This was the interrogation he expected.
"The equipment is old, Sir," Arjun lied smoothly. "I had to help the technician loosen a jammed lever. It was messy."
"A CEO turning a wrench in a tuxedo," Jaidev stepped closer. "Either you are incredibly dedicated, or you are hiding a disaster."
"Dad, stop interrogating him," Aisha stepped in, grabbing Arjun's arm. Her hand brushed his bruised knuckles. She winced, feeling the heat of the inflammation.
"You really are hurt," she whispered, looking at him with concern. "You should put ice on that."
Arjun gently pulled his hand away. The touch felt electric, dangerous.
"It's fine," Arjun said, distancing himself. "Just a scratch."
"We should go," Jaidev said, his suspicion not gone but momentarily parked. "Thank you for the evening, Arjun. It was... illuminating."
"My driver will escort you," Arjun signaled.
"I have my own security," Jaidev said curtly. He guided Aisha toward his waiting convoy.
Before getting into the car, Aisha looked back. She waved. A small, hesitant wave.
Arjun didn't wave back. He just nodded once.
As the DGP's convoy rolled away, the smile vanished from Arjun's face. The mask crumbled.
"Mallesh," Arjun said, his voice cutting through the noise of the paparazzi. "Car. Now."
Mahaa Enterprises, Hitech City. 11:00 PM.
The office was quiet. The city lights flickered below, oblivious to the tension in the room.
Nanda sat at the table, his head in his hands. Mallesh was pacing, his face dark with rage. Shiva stood by the window, cleaning a speck of blood from his fingernail.
Arjun walked in, throwing his tuxedo jacket onto a chair. He loosened his tie.
"We won the night," Arjun said, pouring himself a glass of water. "The movie is a hit. The collections will start flowing tomorrow."
"There are no collections, Bhai," Nanda said, his voice hollow.
Arjun paused, the glass halfway to his mouth. "What?"
"We focused on the premiere," Nanda looked up, his eyes terrified. "We secured the theater. We secured the VIPs. But we forgot the cash."
"Speak clearly," Arjun placed the glass down.
"The single screens in the Old City and Secunderabad," Mallesh growled. "They collected the advance cash from the ticket counters. Forty lakhs. It was being transported to our office in a van."
"And?"
"Satya's men hit the van at the Chaderghat bridge," Mallesh kicked a chair. "They didn't just steal the money. They burned the van. With the driver inside."
The silence in the room was deafening.
Arjun didn't shout. He didn't break anything. He walked to the window and looked at his reflection.
He had miscalculated. He had been so focused on the "Image"—the premiere, the DGP, the prestige—that he had neglected the "Asset." He thought Satya would attack the stage. Instead, Satya attacked the wallet.
"The driver?" Arjun asked quietly.
"Ramesh. He had two kids," Shiva said softly. "He burned to death."
Arjun closed his eyes. This wasn't a business loss. This was a message. You play celebrity, I play gangster.
"Forty lakhs is nothing," Arjun opened his eyes. They were cold, devoid of the charm he had shown Aisha. "But the fire... that's an insult."
"Satya is laughing at us," Mallesh said. "We need to hit back. Tonight. I know where his warehouse is."
"No," Nanda interjected. "If we retaliate now, the police will link it to the movie. The DGP is already suspicious. If a gang war starts tonight, he will shut down the theaters tomorrow. We lose everything."
Arjun looked at Nanda. The accountant was right. Satya wanted a street war because he knew Arjun had more to lose legally.
"Nanda is right," Arjun said. "We don't hit the streets."
"So we do nothing?" Mallesh shouted. "Ramesh is dead!"
"We don't do nothing," Arjun turned around. "We change the game."
He walked to the table.
"Satya burned a van? Fine. We burn his supply line. Not with fire. But with silence."
"How?"
"Who supplies the diesel for his trucks?" Arjun asked.
"The Syndicate. Controlled by the MLA," Mallesh replied.
"And who supplies the sand for his construction sites?"
"The Krishna River dredging union."
"Buy them," Arjun ordered. "Not tomorrow. Tonight. Wake them up. Offer them double. Triple. I don't care about the cost. By sunrise, I want Satya's trucks grounded. I want his construction sites silent. I want him to bleed cash every hour."
"It will cost crores, Bhai," Nanda warned. "Our liquidity..."
"Spend it!" Arjun slammed his hand on the table. "Money comes back. Respect doesn't."
Satya's Farmhouse. Midnight.
The mood here was celebratory. Alcohol flowed. The news of the burning van had reached them.
Satya sat on his throne-like chair, laughing as Reddy recounted the screams of the driver.
"He wants to be a hero," Satya mocked, pouring whiskey. "Let him save the city. I'll own the ashes."
Suddenly, the heavy wooden doors of the farmhouse creaked open.
The laughter died down.
A man walked in. He was not big like Shiva. He was lean, wiry, wearing a dirty grey shirt and trousers that looked like they hadn't been washed in weeks. He carried a distinct smell—the metallic tang of dried blood and rust.
He held a butcher's cleaver in his hand, casually tapping it against his thigh. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Satya stopped drinking. He sat up straight.
"Kaala," Satya said. "You're late."
The man, Kaala, stopped in the center of the room. He looked around at the celebrating goons with dead, shark-like eyes. He didn't blink.
"The train was slow," Kaala said. His voice was raspy, like grinding stones.
"Did you hear the news?" Satya grinned. "We burned his van."
" burning is for children," Kaala said, looking at the cleaver. "Fire eats everything. It leaves no mark."
He looked at Satya.
"You called me to end a businessman?"
"He's not just a businessman," Satya warned. "He has good dogs. A big one named Shiva."
Kaala's eyes flickered. For the first time, a small, twisted smile appeared on his face.
"Shiva," Kaala tested the name on his tongue. "Does he bleed red?"
"Everyone bleeds red, Kaala."
"Good," Kaala turned around, walking toward the shadows of the guest quarters. "I'll sharpen the knife."
Satya watched him go. Even he felt a shiver. He had unleashed a rabid dog. And once Kaala started cutting, he wouldn't stop until the meat was off the bone.
The Premiere was over. The intermission was done.
Now, the slaughter began.