When I came back, Badshah called me out to the Emerald Lodge. The room was familiar, but the décor more stark. No drinks on the table, no mood lighting, no smiling girl in sight. The curtain, looking cheaper in the glare of neon overheads, moved imperceptibly from the blowing air-conditioner. Badshah himself looked preoccupied.

"Is everything alright, Badshah?" I asked, sensing that it was not.

"No, I have some troubles," he said grimly.

"But you are the great trouble-shooter," I said in a feeble attempt to make things light.

"I need your help, Andalib," said Badshah, looking at me with no shred of humor in his eyes.

I was stunned. "My help? What could I possibly do for you?"

"I need money," said Badshah briskly, as if he had no time to waste.

"How much?"

"One crore," he said, unblinkingly. "Give it to me as a loan," he said, after a pause, leaning back into his sofa, a ghastly green affair with large wild flower prints. Why had I never noticed before how ugly this room was?

I felt a sudden churn in my stomach, and then my throat went completely dry. I looked around for a drink of water. Badshah must have seen the color drain from my face. He walked over to the writing table to pour a glass of water for me from the decanter. Handing it to me he said, "You must have at least a crore left from the sale of the house. Surely, you're not going to ignore me in my time of need?"

"I told you, don't get too close to him," said Shamim.

"You are the one who introduced me to him again," I said churlishly.

"Yes, but I didn't tell you to go whoring with him!"

I did what people do in these situations. I began to avoid Badshah. I asked for time. I tried to explain with only a shred a of truth that my wife had drained me of most of the proceedings from the sale in child support and alimony. I scheduled work trips which I could have assigned to subordinates. I took my mother to Bangkok for a check up, and stayed longer than we had to. Then Badshah got hold of me one day and said, in a tone I had never heard before, "I am beginning to feel insulted. Please don't insult me. Meet me at the Lodge tonight and don't come empty-handed."

I thought of telling Shamim where and when I'd be meeting Badshah, in case I didn't come back. Then I laughed at my own sense of drama. This time Badshah was in a much better mood than when we had last met. I felt greatly relieved not only to see drinks on the table, but especially to see one of the nubile hostesses flit in and out with chips and an ice bucket with only tongs, no picks. I reassured myself with sightings of other people in the lobby; a cleaner in the corridor.

"Have you been avoiding me, Andalib?" Badshah asked with a smile that hovered in some enigmatic space between affability and threat.

My sense of ease evaporated just as quickly; I repeated the ineffectual excuses with which I had tried to fend him off all these months.

"I know you have the money," Badshah said with discomforting certainty. "I can't understand why you won't give it to me. Perhaps you don't believe me when I say it'll be a loan. I'll even return it with interest."

"It's a lot of money," I said dully.

"Of course it's a lot of money. I wouldn't have to ask you if I didn't need so much. You think I like asking a friend?"

"Are we really friends?" I asked with sudden courage.

"I thought we were real friends when you guys took off for America, England, Canada, and never wrote me a letter. Never sent me even a five-pence postcard. Until then I used to think we were friends. I couldn't get a five-minute appointment with Shamim when I was starting out. But, he found me alright when he needed me. So did you. You ask me are we real friends?" There was no heat in Badshah's voice, nor even malice. With a wave he sent away the girl who came in to fill up our glasses.

I was sitting up on the edge of my sofa. I could see him clearly for the first time. He was no killer. He was a small-timer. He was once a goon, now a con. He had some business, a family and debts. I could see now who might have sent me that letter. I had brought five lacs with me, thinking it'd be enough to buy some more time. Now I thought fifty thousand would get rid of him for good. But, I didn't want to give him even five. I wanted to give him a piece of my mind.

When I finished, Badshah just smiled. "You think I am trying to use you? You think I am a criminal? Look around you. Look at this city, this society. Even the good people, your family, everyone wants to use you. They'll never ask what you want, nor listen if you tell them. We chew each other up, suck out the marrow, then throw the bone out for someone else to lick. Why blame me alone?"

I hadn't expected such a personal outburst from him. Badshah's forehead was beaded with sweat. By the moment he was growing smaller, and more human. He was emerging from the shadow of menace and sordidness that had surrounded him all these months. Or, that I had cast on him. I felt I could walk away and there was not a thing that Badshah could do to me. It was all bluff. Perhaps he'd hire an urchin to throw a brick at my car one day, nothing more.

Then two more men came into the room. They lacked Badshah's humanity. You could see in their eyes that some part of their brain was missing. They could not comprehend pain in others any more than they could comprehend any risk to themselves. This was why they made good killers. I knew they wouldn't kill me. They dragged me out of the sofa and threw me onto the floor.

I wish I could say that the anticipation was the worst part of it. But, the anticipation lasted the whole time, every kick, every blow, the pause between them was filled with suspense. Where would it land next? Instinctively I tried to protect my face. Mercifully they didn't pry my arms open; they kicked me around lazily on whatever parts were exposed. I don't remember when Badshah walked out of the room. Nor when or who pulled the money out of my waistband.

I don't know why I never went to the police. I never even told Shamim what happened. I told my mother I had had a small car crash; she would not notice the car. Luckily nothing was broken; the recovery was quick. I don't know if Badshah had planned to beat me up all along. I don't know why Badshah didn't try to get more money out of me. Perhaps it's because Dhaka is such a big city now; all relationships are so transient. We make our transactions and move on.

My mother and I have moved to an apartment block--New Horizon Towers--while the builders develop our plot. I go to my bank; I have become senior vice-president. I talk to my daughter; her French is well past mine by now. My mother keeps up with her Mah-jongg. I keep track of the crime news in my area. I check the rearview before stepping out every time. Shamim was right; it takes at least a full year to get fully reoriented.

Now, I feel at home again.

Kazi Anis Ahmed is director of academic affaires, University of Liberal Arts, Bangladesh.