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feeling of
    dread came over him, a deep resistance at having to deal with this
    situation. The men who were gathered at the gate during a thunderstorm were not going to forget about their fallen comrade any time
    soon. He knew that. This is fucked up, he thought. I come to this
    country just trying to do my fucking job, and next thing I know, I’m
    dealing with a mob that has some serious hatred on their faces.
    By the time he walked through the long hallway that led to his
    office, anger had replaced fear. He noticed that every light in the
    one-floor corporate building had been turned on, and for some
    reason, this irritated him. Did these people think this was a picnic
    or something? Who the hell did they think was paying their electric
    bills?
    He was further annoyed to find Gulab Singh sitting on his chair
    at his desk and using his phone. At least the man had the decency to
    rise from Frank’s chair when he entered the room. “ Achcha ,” Gulab
    was saying. “Okay, no problem. First thing tomorrow morning I
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    will be there. But the big boss just walked in. We will talk again
    tomorrow, achcha ?” He disconnected the phone.
    “What the hell is going on, Gulab?” Frank said before the other
    man could greet him. “What happened to Anand?”
    Gulab took out a white handkerchief from his jeans pocket and
    deliberately wiped off the phone’s mouthpiece before setting it
    down. Stupid Indian habit, Frank thought. All he’s doing is moving
    the germs around. He forced himself to take his mind off the phone
    and focus on Gulab.
    Frank’s head of security was a big, burly man with a cleanshaven, strong jaw, a boxer’s nose, and large, meaty hands. He
    was by far the largest Indian that Frank had ever met. Everything
    about him exuded power and raw, brute strength. He alternated
    in dress between the traditional Sikh long tunic and pajamas to
    occasionally showing up at the factory in a shirt and blue jeans.
    It was as if he changed his dressing habits often enough to remain
    something of a mystery. Something about Gulab had always made
    Frank uneasy, but he had never been able to put a finger on it.
    Unlike the other workers, Gulab always kept his word, was hardworking, reliable, and could think for himself. Nor was he obsequious or ingratiating like the others, traits that Frank despised.
    Most of the Indians he knew were either as blunt as a fist to the
    mouth or ingratiating as hell. But their fawning just made him feel
    aloof and distant. The more distant he got, the greater the intensity of the vigorous head-nodding and the smiles and the yessirs.
    Though, in fairness, he didn’t quite like the opposite either, this
    new sternness and seriousness that had overcome them since the
    labor situation arose two months ago. Men who had seemed infantile to him just a few months ago now seemed hardened and
    mature, and looked at him as if they saw something in him that he
    himself couldn’t see, as if he was something more than just Frank
    Benton from Ann Arbor, who had accepted a posting in a distant
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    land and was trying to make a go of it, a working stiff (when you
    got right down to it) the same as any of them.
    “So what’s going on?” Frank said again, taking his position
    behind his desk so that Gulab had no choice other than to sit on the
    visitor’s chairs facing him.
    Gulab shook his head. “It’s not a good situation, sir. As you
    know, Anand was taken in police custody two days ago. And—”
    “Wait. Did I know this?”
    Gulab shot him a curious look. “I informed you myself, boss.”
    There was something in his voice Frank could not pick up on. “I
    think you were on your way to the weekly meeting when I told you.
    And your answer was—you asked me to take care of it.”
    Frank felt something form in the pit of his stomach. “So what did
    you do, Gulab?”
    Gulab spoke slowly. “I thought your instructions were clear, sir.
    So I