Predator by Kartik Iyengar

dim lights in the nooks and corners for necking.’
    The clearing was about a hundred metres in diameter in the middle of the lush grapevines. To the east, a narrow path led to the cellar entrance where his Dad’s wine was stored. Chris decided to have the stage set up there for Prince and his crew to perform. There were narrow, winding lanes radiating out in all the other directions – perfect for private conversations or just privacy.
    The bar was to be at the centre and would have the best of Joe’s collection. The buffet spread was well-planned with Salmonella’s help. Chris had taken her opinion simply because she knew Grace’s taste in food.
    Some of the guests were his seniors and batch mates who he didn’t care about while in college, and didn’t give a shit about now. But they needed to be there for that’s what a crowd is all about. He made up his mind to be crafty and create a dense smoke-screen around himself, so thick that they wouldn’t be able to even see him.
    Chris was excited about one thing however, and eagerly looked forward to meeting his awesome buddies who lived like gypsies on the road, drove around the countryside and led real cool, adventurous lives. Derek Demonia, was a brawny bloke, and Chris suspected he had something going on with his sister for a while. He had a feeling the bastard had been screwing her for a long time, yet Chris adored him. Derek and his buddy, Hound Hitchhiker, used to own a pub somewhere in South Goa. However, it turned out to be a financial abyss which forced Hound to move to some shitty village near London. At least that was what Chris had heard from his friends.
    Recently, he had seen a post on Facebook from Hound that he’d returned to India and had been driving around with Derek ever since.
    Then there was their inseparable, mutual friend, Goose Goldsmith whose roving eye was nothing short of urban legend. His ability to pick up chicks with his good looks and shallow talk borrowed from the Discovery Channel was spoken of in hushed whispers in the hallowed halls of learning.
    Lastly, there was this moron; Chris couldn’t quite remember his name – but remembered that his fetish for an energy drink called Redbull was phenomenal. Chris had heard or read somewhere that he’d been desperately trying to write books to become rich and famous.
    Chris hated Chief for it was he who had given the dreadful nickname ‘Salmonella’ to his beautiful, sweet sister – Florence. Yeah, Chief – that’s what they called him, the asshole. Chris hated him.
    Derek’s post on Facebook had said that the four of them were driving down from a place called Ladakh just for the party, in their beast of a ride called Motormouth. Now that was super cool.
    They were doing a practice run on the sound system, and the Canadian band Nickelback struck up their famous track ‘Photograph ’. It conjured up images in Chris’s mind of his college days. He felt surprisingly nostalgic. His only discernible ambition at the time was to get drunk in the corridors without attracting the attention of the dean. He’d figured that was the only way to get through college without dropping out altogether. After all, his Dad was in the alcohol business.
    The entire concept of getting a college education was akin to being fed into a sausage machine, and the graduates emerged in tidy little packages to be sold in the market at a premium. Chris most definitely didn’t need that.
    He was there for Grace, but she wouldn’t even give him the time of day. If ever she did look, it would be with lofty disdain. And when her best friend, Florence rushed over to hug her weird kid brother, Grace seemed hard put not to throw up. When Chris gazed adoringly at her, Grace glared at him and he could almost see the violent thoughts chasing through her mind.
    ‘So much for love’, mumbled Chris to himself as he smiled. He was a wastrel in college, and had educated himself by watching a thousand movies, and getting