He rose to meet me. “I’ve been waiting for you, Dan,” he called, his strangled, high-pitched voice sounding all the more menacing due to his use of my first name. He’d never called me that before.

I approached, glancing to the corners and the side entrance, looking for other policemen. He was alone. And he seemed different that night. Friendly.

“Hello, Inspector,” I said. “How can I help you?”

He fixed me with his stare for a brief moment, then smiled, baring the white teeth behind his bristly mustache. “I think you might want to offer me a tipple,” he said.

“A tipple? Really?” I’d never heard that word actually spoken. “Sure. Why don’t you come up and have a … tipple … with me?”

Lokhande shuffled into my flat and helped himself to a seat before the television. I broke out the Chivas Sushmita had sent and asked him if whisky was all right. He nodded and told me he took it neat.

“Fine stuff,” he said once he’d taken a sip.

We sat there in silence for a minute or so. He appeared perfectly at ease as he swirled the whisky in his glass and examined the color and legs like a connoisseur.

“Why do you add ice to your drink?” he asked, gazing at his scotch. “You’ll ruin it.”

“Isn’t it too strong neat?”

He frowned. “The sting tells you you’re alive. Do you drink like a woman?”

Lokhande took a swig and grinned his self-satisfied smile. He held the power in our relationship, after all, whether I was serving the booze or not. He might just as easily have commandeered my stash for himself and arrested me for smuggling. Still, I felt we were nearing some kind of equilibrium. I could stand my ground with him.

“I don’t have anything to offer you to eat,” I said. “Nothing but some chakli.”

“Chakli? I love chakli.”

I went to the kitchen, dumped what was left in the bag into a bowl, and served it up to the cop. He broke off a piece of one of the rounds with his right hand and chomped away, orange crumbs collecting in his mustache as he did.

“A little stale,” he said. “I’ll tell you where to get the best chakli in Colaba Causeway.”

Then he waggled his glass to indicate he was ready for a refill.

“How can I help you, Inspector?” I asked once I’d poured him another.

“You don’t think I might make a social call? You and I are getting to be old friends, Dan.”

“You must want something besides a drink and Ramu’s stale chakli.”

“Kya? This is Ramu’s chakli?”

I nodded.

“You serve me your servant’s food? Are you mad?”