Page 70 of The Kat Bunglar

?Chapter 13

The Road to Morelia

Los Angeles

August 9th

Khatira Kar

Khatira walked outof LAX airport, her Sabyasachi glasses firmly planted on her face as she inhaled the familiar Los Angeles air. It smelled like smog and burnt Cheetos, but strangely enough, it also felt like home. She had stayed in Indiana longer than expected. Without the anxiety of survival nipping at her stomach, she found she was actually able to enjoy her parents’ company. She’d even gotten to know Mr. Benji by taking him on walks and learning about his favorite treats.

It was on these walks that she had accidentally run into the neighbor’s son, Khaleel, who had been walking back from the neighborhood store. Khaleel was on break from Purdue, where he was majoring in criminal justice and hoping to carve out a career in criminal investigation. Khatira found his earnestness endearing, if not slightly naive.

Somehow, every night for the next three nights, whenever Khatira took Mr. Benji for a walk, Khaleel just happened to be coming back from the store. She found the coincidence ridiculous, but she allowed it. Because, if she was being honest, it was also slightly appealing. She liked making him laugh, and she liked the way he listened to her. Peering intently into her eyes, really paying attention. And he wasn’t awful to look at. Slightly lanky, his chin a bit too pointy, his hair overgrown and brushing over his horn-rimmed glasses. But behind those glasses, his eyes held a kindness that felt... nice.

There was that one day when his family had come over, and they’d all played Scrabble while her father grilled up lamb kebabs, which they ate with naan bread and fresh salad. As far as family visits went, this time around hadn’t been awful.

Khatira shook her head to clear away those thoughts. August was here, and with it, her court date right around the corner. A month ago, she would have been a ball of nerves, but after living through robbing someone, almost getting shot at, and bartering with seedy pawnshop owners, she felt like she could take anything on.

As Khatira waited for her rideshare, her thoughts drifted back to Khaleel’s steady hand slipping into hers that one evening. She had pretended not to notice. It wasn’t romantic—at least that’s what she had told herself. It had been a friendly gesture, but there was something comforting about him. Something dependable. Someone she could possibly trust her life with.

Khatira shook her head, thankful her phone rang, jarring her out of her own sentimentality. “Khatira here,” she said into the phone.

“Hey girl, heeey,” Janvi’s voice rang in her ear, all sing-song.

“Janvi?” Khatira asked, confused. “How did you get this number?”

“My girl Christian hooked me up. You know I love when she drops her pearls of Wednesday Wisdom. I never miss a video,” Janvi chirped.

Khatira wasn’t buying the act. “Uh-huh. What do you want?”

“Okay, Deepica was legit asking for you at her Live Tinted event a few weeks ago. You know, the one you stood me up at,” Janvi rushed through her words. “There’s a marketing consultant aspect of her business she wants to explore—helping start-ups across the nation get recognition, funding, and all that. And since you took yourself off the map—”

“Changed careers because influencing is like skin grafting one aspect of your soul at a time,” Khatira interjected.

“Whatever—you went dark, but you still have that mystery around your deleted page. The Port of Long Beach shooting. Putting bad guys away,” Janvi retorted, making Khatira realize how little she was on social media anymore. “You’re not going to have this demand going for long, so I say capitalize on it.”

“Why are you being nice to me?” Khatira asked, watching the LA scenery whiz by. “What’s in it for you?”

There was an exaggerated gasp on the other end of the phone. “You know I can be a nice person—”

“No,” Khatira corrected. “You really can’t and aren’t.” Khatira chuckled at the shocked silence on the other end of the line. She loved not playing the suck-up influencer game anymore. She didn’t miss the high falsetto tones and overly gushy compliments over nonsense. She vowed to always be this way going forward—cut-throat and honest.

Finally, Janvi cleared her throat and responded. “Well, if you’re consulting for up-and-coming companies who need a social media presence, perhaps you’ll remember an influencer who has 166K followers and who NoFilter Magazine referred to as ‘the perfect combination of Bollywood meets Cardi B.”

Khatira squinted her eyes in thought. “I’m pretty sure no publication has ever written that sentence in print. Ever.”

As Khatira thought about the consulting opportunity, her mind veered toward the perks. The travel. The access. The chance to meet people with money to burn. Entrepreneurs, the kind of people who wouldn’t bat an eye at her slipping into their world. Who wouldn’t notice her presence until it was too late. She’d move in their circles, learn their secrets, and have the perfect cover. She’d take from the rich and powerful. No one would suspect her. Consulting was just another name for networking—and with the right connections, she could rob them all blind.

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