Breeders (12 page)

The guy stepped back and swung a right at Bruce’s face. He didn’t reach. He was hysterical. “Who is Chucky?” He swung again. Bruce caught his hand this time.

“You are, little man.”

“Dad, stop,” Alexa said and pulled the man’s hand free.

“Stay out of this!” Dlamini shouted and shoved her back.

“Whoa, now you’ve gone too far,” Neil said and stepped forward.

“Everyone calm down,” Bruce said. He turned to Moolman. “You know this guy, talk some sense into him.”

Moolman gave Bruce a droopy stare, lifted his hand to say something, then hiccuped.

One of the ogres stepped forward then connected a glancing blow on Bruce’s jaw. The other guy stood behind Dlamini, his hand on his holster.

Bruce glanced at the man, moving his jaw. “You’re a witness. He hit first, right?” he asked Neil.
 

Neil glanced his way, ready for action. “That’s right.”

This was going to be interesting. He needed to sort out the trigger-happy meatloaf first, then he would take care of the other ogre and Chucky, if necessary. Usually it wouldn’t be, but then he needed to teach the first guy a real good lesson.

Bruce stepped forward, bumping Dlamini out of his way, and drove a palm into the nose of the man behind him. He went down in a messy tangle of arms and legs. Bruce turned to the guy on the left. He could see the man’s nostrils flare, open and closed, open and closed. Either he was fuming, or he had a bad case of nostril flares. Bruce found it amusing.

The punch was telegraphed by the slight adjustment to the ogre’s left heel. It was going to be a jab. This guy was a boxer. He certainly looked it, Bruce thought. He had been beaten by the ugly stick then fell out of the ugly tree before being driven over by the ugly truck. He wasn’t pretty. Cauliflower ears, pockmarked face, unibrow, and a flat nose. With a serious case of flaring nostrilitis.

Bruce side-stepped the punch and threw a short front chop against his throat. The guy stood still then clutched his throat, a surprised look on his face. Then he started gulping, making funny noises, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.
 

Bruce took a step back. This was new; usually they went down straightaway. His breathing tubes must be made of steel. A punch to the stomach made him double over; he glanced upward, clutching his stomach with one hand and his throat with the other. A knee to the face finally sent him spiraling to the ground like a corkscrew. He lay there squirming like a gaping fish out of water. The nostrilitis had disappeared. Job done.

Bruce turned to Dlamini. He was jumping around from foot to foot like a kid throwing a tantrum. “You bastard, you killed Billy!” he shouted.

Neil nudged the guy on the ground with his toe. “Nah, he’s not dead yet.”

Dlamini stuck a finger in Bruce’s face. “You’ve opened the hornets’ nest, asshole, this is going to go all the way up—”

Bruce grabbed him by the chest, scrunching up his oversized jacket, then picked him up and heaved him into the water. He fell with a tiny splash, barely larger than a kid would make, then started thrashing around. “I can’t swim.”

Moolman swayed forward, undid his tie, then threw it out to the man like a rescue rope. He sat on his knees, trying to fish the guy out, teetering forward. Unbelievably, Dlamini managed to grab the tie, but then he pulled Moolman into the water with him.

Bruce turned to Alexa. “I guess we should help them out?”

Alexa smiled, combing her bangs back with her hand. “I guess.”

“Should I get us a beer first?” Neil asked.

“Excellent idea,” Alexa said.

He sauntered off to the pub and returned a minute later.

By now Moolman had grabbed the guy by the legs and lifted him out of the water. The guy’s crotch was in Moolman’s face, and he was thrashing and flailing his arms, trying to wipe the water from his face.

They sipped their beers, watching the spectacle. “Cheers,” Neil said with a smile.

“This is turning out to be a great day,” Bruce said and laughed as Moolman and Dlamini disappeared beneath the water again.

Alexa was anxious to get back to Slander’s Peak. She wanted to talk to Mitsu and Jake, see if she could somehow get to the bottom of the case.

She checked her watch; Bruce would be picking her up in five minutes. Alexa folded everything she owned neatly then packed it into her Rimowa rolling suitcase. She didn’t believe in excess; she owned seven items of clothing. Having grown up with Bruce, she knew how to travel light. She soon came to realize that extra garments were a burden. If she needed something out of the ordinary, she would buy it, wear it once, and give it away. She would stock up on new underwear weekly, discarding it after wearing it for a day.

She bought her combo-wear outfits online, shipping them to wherever she knew she would be stationed in a month’s time. They were made from a poly-cotton blend which didn’t wrinkle easily, and combined she had dozens of different outfits to choose from.
 

She packed her electric toothbrush, make-up bag, and underwear that was still in the packaging. Next was a red two-piece bikini and her most treasured piece of clothing: a blue and white cashmere shawl that Bruce had given her. She could use it as a sarong on the beach or a scarf in colder climes. She had even used it as a burka when she was stationed in Iran.

Finally, she packed her Boker dive knife, a spare Glock, and ten magazines.
 

She checked that the clip on her Glock was full, slipped it into her shoulder holster, then shrugged on a black leather jacket. Satisfied, she clipped the suitcase closed and spun the combination lock on the latches to secure it.
 

Bruce rapped on the door. “You ready?” he asked.

She nodded and picked up her suitcase. “Ready.”

“Hang on a sec, Alexa. We need to talk.” He massaged his neck then pulled out a chair and sat. “Please, sit,” he said.

She kicked off her shoes and sat on the bed, folding her legs beneath her. “OK, what’s wrong?”

Bruce sighed. “I once read this fascinating book called Steppenwolf by a guy called Hermann Hesse.”

Alexa nodded. According to Bruce, all of life’s most difficult questions were answered in Steppenwolf. She never heard him quote anything else.

“The main character is a guy called Harry Haller.” He shifted in his chair then placed his elbows on his knees, leaning forward. “Now, by using the discoveries that Sigmund Freud had made at that time, Hesse shows us a world which represents the unconscious and conscious levels of Haller’s mind.” He shrugged. “Of all human minds, I guess.”

Alexa sighed; this was going to take a while. Bruce stood up and sat down next to her on the bed. “Look, Alexa, all of us suffer some form of neuroses during our lifetimes.”

Alexa laughed and started to stand up. “Dad, I’m fine.”

Bruce took her hand and pulled her down. “No, you’re not, my baby.” He smiled then gently rubbed her cheek with his thumb. “Now back to the book. This Haller suffered from all types of psychological afflictions. He had a sense of despair, and he felt everything around him was in a constant flux of chaos.”
 

Bruce glanced up to see if she was still listening. “He couldn’t find the meaning of his life, which he called the riddle of human destiny. Everything sent a conflicting message: sensuality versus spirituality, time versus eternity, the human versus the divine, self-acceptance versus guilt.”

Alexa was now listening intently. She was actually finding this quite interesting.

“Hesse tells the story of how Haller tries to find meaning in his life. Then Haller figures something out.”

Alexa leaned forward.

“At first he thought he was part evil, part divine; he called this two spheres of his personality being hostile to one another.”

She understood that.

“He thought he was part man, part wolf, and he hated that beast within him, wanting to cut it out of his being. But then again, the wolf scorned all his human activities, calling them absurd, misplaced, stupid, and in vain.”

Alexa nodded. She felt that way pretty much all of the time. People living the rat race, keeping up with the Joneses, working their nine-to-fives to eventually have enough money to stop working and then die.

“But then this guy discovers that his personality is much more complex than these two opposite spheres.”
 

He looked up at the ceiling, trying to remember the exact words. “‘For there is not a single human being, not even the idiot, who is so conveniently simple that his being can be explained as the sum of two or three principal elements; and to explain so complex a man as Haller by the artless division into wolf and man is a hopelessly childish attempt. Harry consists of a hundred or a thousand selves, not of two. His life oscillates, as everyone's does, not merely between two poles, such as the body and the spirit, the saint and the sinner, but between thousand and thousands.’”

He looked at Alexa. “Do you understand what he meant, baby?”

Alexa nodded. “I think so. Some days I may be a little bad and other days much more,” she said with a wink.

“You know that’s not what I meant—”

“I know, Dad, I’m joking.” She picked up the pillow and hugged it to her chest. “Maybe I’m not just angry for almost losing Neil when he tried to protect me; maybe I’m feeling guilty for not having protected him better, for allowing myself to get into that situation. Maybe I could have handled it differently. I feel sad and cross and angry and guilty.” She shrugged. “I honestly don’t know how I feel dad, everything is so . . .”

“Conflicting?”

Alexa nodded. She had a lump in her throat.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “You oscillating, Alexa, or are you stuck in a rut?”

Alexa watched him closely. “What’s so wrong about being stuck in a rut?”

“Because you’re living in the past.”

Alexa ground her teeth. “You ever hear about the stages of grief, Dad? Kübler-Ross, not Sigmund Freud.”

Bruce nodded, massaging his temples. “So how long are you going to be stuck being angry?”

She took his large hand and squeezed it. “I thought Neil was dead, Dad. I thought I had allowed him to die.”

He looked her straight in the eye for a couple of seconds then shook his head. “You’re getting too emotionally attached to this case. I’m going to ask Laiveaux to relieve you.”

“You’re what?”

“I need you to be clearheaded.”

“Look, Dad, you know me.”

“I guess I do.”

“I don’t live a life of fear, I’m not afraid of anything.”

“I know.”

“I don’t care about money or cars or things—”

“OK.”

“I care about people,” she said, her voice cracking.

“OK.”

She was close to tears. Bruce couldn’t take her off the case, not now. “When I thought Neil was dead, it was the first time in my life I feared for something.” She sobbed. “I love him dad, and he almost got taken away from me. I almost got him killed.”

Bruce scrutinized her closely. “But you didn’t. Remember, Alexa, you’re not a steppenwolf. The feelings inside you are not right or wrong, they’re a part of your psychological makeup. The experience has made you what you are today.”

Alexa sniffed then wiped away a tear with the back of her hand.

“The question is, how would you deal with a situation like that if it ever happened again? Have you learned anything from the experience?”

She remembered the day as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. “Oh, Daddy, that must never happen again,” she cried, throwing her arms around his neck.

“But if it did?”

Bruce hugged her as she cried and cried, purging the pain and the ghosts and the fear and the guilt from her system. He patted her back uncomfortably then pushed her away. “You need to stay strong, kiddo.”

Alexa nodded, sniffing and wiping the tears away with her palms.

“I need you to have a clear head.”

She nodded.

“Listen to me, Alexa,” he said urgently.

She looked up.

“The tracks I found up at Mueller’s Dam—”

“Yes?”

“They belong to a kid.”

Alexa looked up, surprised. Bruce wouldn’t be wrong, he’d been tracking since he was a child. “A kid?”

“I guess the kid lived in the cave, couldn’t have been for much longer than two weeks.”

“Do you think he or she could have been a survivor from the container that we found?”

Bruce shrugged. “It’s possible, if she managed to escape through the bars somehow. The currents are strong, they could have swept her to shore. They all eventually do.”

“But how did she survive?”

“There was food and water bottles in the cave. She probably stole it.”

“But why not ask for help?”

Bruce pressed his palms to his eyes and rested his elbows on his legs. “I don’t know, Alexa. Maybe she doesn’t trust people. I know I sure as hell wouldn’t if someone chucked me into a container and dropped me into the ocean.”