Luthecker (43 page)

Isabella lunged at Alex, lightning fast, but Alex anticipated. He sidestepped the strike and parried the blade with his left arm, using his own as a lever against Isabella’s elbow as he simultaneously trapped the hand of Isabella’s that held the blade with his right, and the combination of leverage and surprising force, reversed its direction. Isabella’s elbow hinged back towards his own chest, and the blade sunk deep into the flesh just beneath the collarbone, piercing his right lung.

Isabella’s face showed surprise but no emotion as he locked eyes with Alex, and blood that began to fill his lungs quickly began to make its way out of the corners of his mouth.

Alex stepped aside as he watched Isabella slump to the floor.

He turned to look at Brown, who just stared at him, eyes wide with fear and rage.

The sound of his cell door opening got his attention. He turned to see Doctors Lax and Lansky standing at the entrance. For several seconds, none of them moved.

Alex read them and immediately knew three things: They were his beta captors, they meant him no harm, and the shorter one had been involved with “Alice.”

“I’m sorry.” He said to Lax, reading the shock and sadness in his eyes.

“We’re the ones who are sorry.” Lansky responded. “For allowing this to happen. Now go. Get out of here, while you still can. Disappear, and don’t ever let them find you.”

• • •

Nikki listened to the radio of the pick up truck as she weaved her way through traffic and towards the Coalition Properties West Building. All the stations had switched to their “Emergency Broadcast System” band, and were giving live updates of a large-scale riot taking place in the Watts District of Los Angeles County. Local police were fighting with what had been reported as private sector mercenaries, who were all meeting considerable resistance from both gang members and the local community. It had just been reported that the private forces were in retreat, the police were stabilizing the area, and local paramedics were being called in to treat the wounded. She instinctively shook her head in response. She couldn’t escape the feeling that the world was being turned upside down.

She pulled the truck up to the curb, across the street from the Coalition Properties West Building. She looked at the 9mm that Stern had left her and realized now that she was here, she had no idea what she was going to do. She certainly couldn’t storm the building with a firearm. She had attempted to contact Stern several times on the drive over, but there was no answer. She feared the worst.

She put the gun in the glove box, and decided that she would step inside the lobby, take a look around to see what was going on, and decide what to do from there. She took a deep breath for courage, got out of the car, and turned towards the building entrance. She froze in her tracks as Alex Luthecker quietly exited the building.

She watched as he surveyed the street, the look on his face a bit unsure. He eventually caught her gaze, and she saw recognition in his eyes. She replied with a brief smile and a small wave.

Alex smiled in return and approached. Nikki’s heart raced as he got closer, and she was surprised at that response. It seemed to take forever before he finally crossed the street, and stood directly across from her. Neither said a word.

“How did you get out?” She finally asked.

“I was let out.” He replied. He tilted his head with curiosity. “You had something to do with that.” He continued, half statement, half question.

“There was an agent who went in for you. His name was Marcus Stern.”

“I’m sorry.”

Nikki lowered her head.

“We should probably go.” Alex said, as gently as possible.

They both climbed into the truck, and Nikki pulled from the curb.

“Where do you want to go?” She asked.

“108
^th
Street. In Watts.”

She looked at him.

“There’s been rioting down there.” She told him. “Apparently a private security company went in there illegally, and were driven back by locals with a bunch of sticks.”

Alex smiled.

“Those are my friends. You’d like them.” Alex told her, and he realized how much he missed them.

They drove in awkward silence for several blocks.

“Thank you.” Alex said, breaking the silence.

“I saw what happened. Between you and Richard Brown.” She replied. “The terrible things he’s done…” She trailed off.

Alex remained quiet, choosing to look out the window at the passing buildings.

“I have…so many questions.”

He looked at her. She had created things, he could see in her eyes, created extensions of herself that could touch upon the countless worlds and endless patterns that had filled his mind on a daily basis, ever since he was a boy. It was an odd connection, one that Alex felt had a sense of destiny to it.

As if reading his thoughts, she smiled at him.

It was just beyond the grasp of his full understanding, but he was beginning to see that the totality of the Momentum of All Things perhaps wasn’t unreadable. That certain people were meant to meet, or not meet, live, or not live, and the micro-patterns of one person’s life, when amplified by those of another or others, would reveal the macro-patterns of the Universe in full.

“So do I.” He finally replied. “So do I…”

ONE WEEK LATER

“I think it’s perfect.” Ben Ellis said, as he looked over the two bedroom, two bathroom apartment Nikki had found on Westside Rentals. Located just off of Montana Avenue and 11
^th
Street, it was walking distance from all the restaurants and shops along Montana, and less than twelve blocks from the beach. Built in the thirties, it had a classic old world design, with hardwood floors throughout and a vintage walk-through kitchen.

“I can hang my Kayaks along the far wall of the living room.” He added.

“Hold up. That’s not going to happen.” Nikki replied. “This place has to look nice, not like a couple of fraternity brothers live here.”

“Fine. But no girly-pink or nothing.”

“Girly-pink? Have I ever done girly-pink?”

“No. No, you have not.”

She gave her brother a big playful hug. Outside of a few small scars, and some missing hair, he hardly looked as if he’d been in a serious accident.

“I’ll tell them we’ll take it. Now I’m late, I have to go.” She said, before she picked up a small backpack next to the door.

Ben noticed a pair of bamboo sticks strapped diagonally across the bag.

“You’re going to train with those guys again?”

“There’s another girl. And yes. You should come.”

“No thanks. You’re kinda into that strange little guy, aren’t you? What’s his name again? Alex?”

“Pick out whatever couch you want, as long as it’s leather, and it’s Brown or Black.” She deflected. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before she headed out the door.

• • •

Alex removed his shoes and carefully made his way across the beach towards lifeguard tower number seven. It was late afternoon, and although the air was beginning to cool, the sand still held the day’s heat. The sun hung low on the horizon, and would be setting soon. It was a rare treat that Master Winn held training on the beach, and Alex was looking forward to getting back on a more regular routine.

He saw his instructor sitting alone beneath the tower, eyes closed in meditation. Winn’s eyes opened as Alex approached. The elder man got to his feet, and he and Alex embraced.

“Where is everyone?” Alex asked.

“They will be along shortly.”

Alex examined his instructor a moment. So much had changed, and the man’s fate, so clear to Alex in the past, was a mix of conflicting patterns now.

“You knew all along, didn’t you?”

Winn answered with a wry smile.

“But I don’t understand something. There are some people whose patterns and fate that were crystal clear to me in the past, that now I can no longer see clearly.”

“Those you can’t see, are the ones capable of change.”

“Doctor Alex!” Alex turned at the sound of Yaw’s voice.

He smiled at the sight of the big man as he watched him approach, arm around Camila, Chris Aldrich and Joey Nguyen not far behind them.

The group exchanged embraces, and Alex felt like he was truly home.

He saved his last embrace for Camila.

“My man. It is good to have you home.” She said to him.

He suddenly realized something and held her out in front of him. The look on her face said it all.

Alex gave a surprised look to Yaw. The big man smiled and nodded in response.

“So, I might as well announce it, since Alex is going to know it anyway. There’s going to be a new addition to the family. Camila and I are expecting.”

“Congratulations.” Alex said to Yaw, as he shook his hand and embraced him.

“Does that mean you’re going to stop training?” Chris asked Camila. “I’m pregnant, not cripple, fool.”

“We’re just going to go easy.” Yaw added.

“Today is a good day. We’re just waiting for one more before we get started.”

They all followed Alex’ stare as he watched Nikki Ellis walking across the beach in their direction.

“Someone’s gotta work with the rookie.” Yaw said, winking at Camila while elbowing Alex.

“I got this.” Alex replied.

Many thanks for the help and encouragement from the following people: Martin Lorin, for taking the time from his busy schedule to edit and proof the initial manuscript. My sister Deborah, who knows both how I write and why I write, and therefore always gives me the best notes. Friend and fellow novelist Elizabeth Cosin, for telling me what worked and what didn't early on. And Win Calcetas, friend, fellow martial artist, and sounding board for my crazy ideas.

Keith Domingue is a screenwriter living in Los Angeles, and has written scripts for MGM, Dimension Films, and Village Roadshow Pictures. His first original screenplay ONE THIRD, is being produced by Safady Entertainment, and is set to begin production in 2013. Also a fitness coach and avid martial artist, he splits his time between the computer screen and the gym. LUTHECKER is his first novel.

You can reach the author and see what's next at
facebook.com/keith.domingue.

EVAL

R
ichard Brown woke with a single gasp for air.

Disoriented, he sat up, and tried to get his bearings. He was far from the comfort of any of his homes, and it took him a moment to adjust himself to his surroundings. Once he realized where he was, he took a deep breath to calm himself, and tried to rub the hallucinogenic images of the night’s vivid dreams from his mind’s eye. It took several moments before he could think clearly.

Gripped by severe insomnia, Brown needed heavier and heavier doses of the nonbenzodiazepine hypnotic Ambien to help him achieve unconsciousness every evening, and he wondered if his issue with nightmares were caused by the drug, a notorious side effect of its use, or by the events that had transpired at the Coalition Properties West building in Los Angeles, six months earlier. In the end, it didn’t really matter, he decided.

He finally pushed his covers aside, put his bare feet on the cold concrete floor, and slowly stood up. He winced at how stiff his feet and hips were. The pain in his joints and bones had grown progressively worse over the last two years, the doctors informing him it was the beginnings of arthritis. Always in top physical condition, he had shrugged off the suggestion, but at fifty-seven years of age, the former military commander’s body had been through a great deal, and now he was paying for it. It took several steps before the muscles in his feet and hips relaxed enough so he could walk completely upright.

He glanced at the wall clock. It read 6:15am. He had less than three hours until what he had been told would be his final psych evaluation. He carefully padded his way to the shower, and turned the water on.

It was all political cover, Brown knew, regarding the evals. Five people had been killed that day, in the Coalition Properties West building, and as CEO of The Coalition, as it was known to insiders, Brown was technically responsible for it all. He was a very wealthy man, however, and an important part of the military industrial complex, the combination of which supplied him with both a formidable legal team and plenty of cover via the cloak of national security.

Still, the Justice Department had wanted something to show for its investigation into the incident. The public exposure of that chaotic day that had ended in five deaths demanded it, they had said. There was simply no way that Brown could walk free without causing uproar and suspicion within the community. So Brown was found guilty of negligence, diagnosed with posttraumatic stress syndrome, and sentenced to six months of psychiatric evaluation in a minimum-security facility. Legally speaking, Richard Brown was a prisoner.

His cell was actually quite comfortable, essentially a studio apartment, with not only a private shower, but a king-sized bed, comfortable couch, television with access to several hundred channels, as well as internet. It even had a small kitchenette.

Interestingly enough, the facilities that held him was owned by Coalition Corrections Corporation, a wholly owned subsidiary of Coalition Properties, the company that Brown had been forced to resign from as CEO after the incident in Los Angeles. He was still a major stockholder and board member of the company however, and as such, he had been treated relatively well. It was Brown himself who had spearheaded the acquisition of prison complexes from the government. With the country deeply in debt, it was an expense political leaders of both parties were eager to get off the books. Brown saw the potential early on, that the privatization of the prison system was a growth business, as well as a source of cheap, unregulated labor. Brown knew that over time, manufacturing could be brought back to this country at a competitive price via the prison system. Therefore it was something that he wanted to control. And at over six hundred facilities and counting, Coalition Corrections Corporation would soon be the largest penitentiary chain in the country. The irony was not lost on Brown that he was now an inmate of C.C.C. He also knew that he would not be held here much longer.