Naked Tao (17 page)

“There is magic within mystery.” – Padma

Dad’s truck was dead. If I didn’t get us to the warehouse soon, Ginny would be too. I couldn’t believe it. The old rust bucket wasn’t pretty, but had always been reliable. Eric thought I was crazy, but I had trusted it during my travels across the country. Not once had it ever let me down.  The last road trip was to Glacier National Park for a backpacking trip a few weeks earlier. 

“That does not sound good, Master Li,” said Padma in his ridiculously cheerful voice. 

If I hadn’t been in shock about the truck and filled with worry about Ginny’s safety, I might have taken a moment to wonder why he called me that, but I was too busy feeling tested like the biblical Job. How many setbacks can a man endure before he loses faith in himself? I guess that’s the question we all have to answer for ourselves. 

“Focus on the challenge before you,” said Padma. “What’s the solution?” 

The truck needed repairs, but there wasn’t time. We were at the end of the sidewalk and needed to leave immediately. I knew what I had to do. My mind was racing for some other option, and there was one, but it was the last thing I wanted to do.  On the verge of panic, an image of Ginny popped into my mind. I pictured her scared and hurt. I had made my decision. 

“Come with me,” I said. 

We hurried to the back of the house and stood in front of the garage. Taking a deep breath, I raised the overhead door. The inside was neat and orderly. This was Uncle Jim’s man cave and he ran a tight ship. Everything had its place. 

In the corner, hidden by an old bed sheet covered with faded yellow daisies, was the thing I hated most in this world.  Padma patted me on the shoulder and gave me a little nudge in its direction. I wasn’t sure I could do this. 

My feet didn’t want to move, but I willed myself forward until we stood next to it. I could feel the blood pounding in my temples as I reached for the sheet and tossed it to the floor. There she was. For the first time in years, I looked at the motorcycle that had killed my dad. 

Glancing at my clenched fists, Padma said, “You look like you want to hurt someone.” 

I relaxed my hands and answered in a hoarse whisper, “This was my dad’s bike.” 

Padma eyed the bike. “It is pristine,” he said. 

I choked. The damn thing took my parents from me and it didn’t have a scratch on it. They were thrown head-first into a culvert. The bike had landed in a pile of leaves. 

“After the funeral, Uncle Jim rolled it into this corner,” I said. “It hasn’t been moved since. Ch’ing brought me in here once. We silently stood in this very spot for a long while…just looking. After I cried myself out, he patted me on the shoulder and told me this magnificent machine would save me some day. I can’t imagine how. I hate this bike.” 

“Love and hate are opposite sides of the same coin,” said Padma. 

Maybe Ch’ing was right, after all. The thing I hated most in the world would carry me back to something that had been missing for many years in my life…love. After all these years, I realized I still loved the little girl who had now grown into a beautiful woman. 

Resigned, I swung my leg over the saddle and settled in.  Surprisingly, it felt comfortable.  It was a big bike and I expected it to be heavy and clumsy. It wasn’t.  Instead, it was beautifully balanced. 

“Let’s see if she’ll start after all these years,” I said. 

Taking a deep breath, I hit the starter. The engine churned without firing. I lifted my thumb from the start button. 

“Damn,” I muttered under my breath. 

Padma patted me on the shoulder and said, “Try again.” 

This was my chance to redeem myself…to heal old wounds left festering too long. I wasn’t about to let Ginny down…again. I wanted redemption. Failure was not an option. 

My determination calmed me and, for some reason, I knew the bike would start. The engine fired on the next try. The rumble of the old Harley’s pipes was like a victory shout. 

I grinned at Padma and said, “Climb on. We can still make it to the warehouse in time if we hurry. Let’s find out what this bitch wants with us and get Ginny home safely.” 

Padma didn’t hesitate. He hiked up his robe, swung his leg over the back and settled in behind me. It was kind of weird having him back there, but I tried not to think about it too much. Instead, I focused on backing the hog out of the garage and off we rode to rescue Ginny. 

It’s a twenty minute drive across town from the east end to the west end and we had eighteen minutes to get there. It was no time to worry about a speeding ticket, but a traffic stop would be disastrous. We had no time to spare and the risk was necessary. I trusted my instincts to slow down, if necessary. So, we flew down I-71 toward the west end, like a bat out of hell. 

The west end’s ghettos are the source of Louisville’s reputation as one of the most dangerous places in the country to live.  Like most ghettos, there isn’t much of a police presence. The natives are left to fend for themselves and extreme poverty brings out the worst in people. 

The area is near a port that services barges running up and down the Ohio River between the steel mills of the northeast and the Gulf of Mexico to the southwest. As a result of the fading steel industry and the general economic downturn in this area, many of the warehouses are empty. Finding a particular warehouse might not be easy. 

It was Padma who solved the problem. He pointed toward a huge building with decayed red brick. Faded paint announced it was once the home of the best damn bourbon in Kentucky. It had a few broken windows and rust was overtaking the paint. Someone had cut the chain lock and the entry gate was standing open. 

Weeds pushed through the cracked asphalt parking lot. I maneuvered the bike around the potholes and loose gravel. The lot was empty, so we circled around to the back. 

It’s hard to believe, but the rear of the building was in worse shape than the front.  Chunks of brick had crumbled from the façade and lay in pieces among the weeds. What was left of the wall was covered in gang graffiti. A rusted eight foot chain link fence with razor wire at the top ran the property line. Someone had pulled it open in several places to gain access to the property. 

The black SUV was parked next to the loading docks. Uncle Jim and the Dragons were nowhere in sight. I rolled to a stop about twenty yards from the SUV and killed the engine. Tinted windows hid the driver from view. There wasn’t any sound except a creaking door and the occasional rustle of leaves in the undergrowth along the fence line. Someone had written “ENDGAME” on the door using firehouse red spray paint. 

I dropped the kickstand and we dismounted. Three of the SUV’s doors opened, but no one got out.  There was nothing to do but wait. 

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, three men climbed out of the SUV and headed in our direction. Ginny was not with them. The driver was a big man with a thick neck, barrel chest, and huge muscular arms.  He was wearing camouflage pants, a wife beater, and combat boots. His head was shaved and every inch of visible skin was covered in strange tattoos. 

The man who’d been riding shotgun was much smaller with cold eyes and a hard face filled with contempt. He was hairy. His unruly black hair hung low on his forehead like a sheep dog. He wore faded jeans and a Hawaiian shirt opened at the neck exposing a big tuft of curly black hair. Bizarrely, his white sneakers looked like they were fresh out of the box. 

The third man had an ugly, jagged scar running from the corner of the mouth to his ear lobe. He was wearing black jeans, black polo shirt, and black combat boots. He was about six feet tall with a tight, compact frame. His hair was cut in a 1950’s flat-top style.  There was an airborne symbol tattooed onto his muscular forearm. 

They stopped about three paces in front of us and spread out. Scarface was in the center. Mr. Hawaiian Tropic was to his right and Shrek took up position on the other side. Mr. Hawaiian Tropic leered at Padma. Shrek’s jaw twitched. Scarface tried to stare me down. I resisted the temptation to break the silence and waited for him to speak first. 

It took a couple of minutes before Scarface finally asked, “You come alone?” 

I nodded in Padma’s direction and asked, “Where’s Ginny?” 

I was starting to think that Scarface wasn’t going to respond, but then, he raised his hand and motioned someone in the SUV to come forward. The fourth door opened and two women climbed out. 

Ginny was gagged with a red ball connected to a black leather strap that was secured at the back of her head. Her hands were tied in front with white plastic zip ties. There was a trickle of blood from a cut somewhere above the hairline. I noticed a tear in her dress. She was subdued…maybe in shock. 

I knew these guys played rough and I couldn’t believe I had left my gun under the seat of the truck. There’s nothing like bringing your fists to a gun fight. The odds were not good, but thankfully, Ch’ing had trained me well.  I set my jaw in anticipation of the fight to come. 

When I noticed the deference Scarface gave the woman standing next to Ginny, I took a closer look.  The hair was longer and the clothes were more feminine, but it was Slotter. No question about it. 

“Your Harley is an old man’s bike,” said Slotter.  “I prefer my Ducati.” 

I suddenly felt the need to defend dad’s bike, but resisted because I knew that Slotter was obviously baiting me. She wanted to know if I could be easily provoked into an emotional outburst. One of the keys to a successful negotiation is patience. I waited to see if she would need to fill the silence. She did. 

“That’s an antique,” she said. “A mint condition Heritage Classic Softail. Doesn’t look like it has been ridden much. Are you an owner instead of a rider?” 

I didn’t answer, so she said, “You are one of those pussies who always plays it safe…watching from a safe distance while other people live their lives. I bet you’d enjoy watching me do your girlfriend while you two-finger that little wanger of yours. What do you say to a little girl-on-girl action?” 

She cut her eyes to Padma and said, “You probably prefer the company of men. Is this teddy bear your biker bitch?” 

Ginny crinkled her nose like she had just stepped into a construction crew’s port-of-potty on a hot summer day. I wasn’t sure if it was the idea of being raped by Slotter or the thought of seeing me with another man. But, I was glad she was showing signs of life. 

We needed to get off this subject, so I finally spoke, “Did you go to all this trouble getting us here just to taunt us?” 

“Glad to hear you’re not a mute too,” said Slotter. 

From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of movement on the warehouse rooftop. Hopefully, it was Uncle Jim and not one of Slotter’s men. 

“You got what you wanted,” I said. “Let her go.” 

“Actually, I wanted all three of you here,” said Slotter. “So thanks for cooperating and bringing me the monk.” 

I had no idea why she wanted all three of us. Sooner or later I knew she would get to the point, so I waited. 

“Where is he, Padma,” she asked. 

Padma seemed to understand but, didn’t answer Slotter, so I asked, “Who are you talking about?”

Slotter nodded toward Ginny and said, “Why Barbie Doll’s father of course.” 

“…to assume among the powers of the earth…”

- Declaration of Independence

We are born into violence. Like a newborn forced from the womb and slapped on the ass, Ginny let loose a muffled wail that even the ball gag couldn’t entirely suppress. Since she couldn’t ask the question, I asked it for her. 

“Ginny’s father is alive?” 

That’s pretty much when all hell broke loose.  The Dragons stormed around the corner of the building, but it was nothing like a cavalry charge. Instead of a tight military formation, they were weaving in and out like amusement park bumper cars. I couldn’t make much sense of the keystone cop strategy until the bikers suddenly scattered and came at us from multiple directions. They were trying to surround Slotter. 

This was going to end badly and I wanted to get Ginny out of the line of fire. Slotter’s men froze and nervously tracked the bikers’ movements.  I looked for a chance to rescue her. It wasn’t going to be easy. Slotter’s grip tightened on Ginny’s upper arm and the barrel of her gun was pointed at my chest. 

“You’ll be the first one to die, pretty boy,” shouted Slotter. “Wave ‘em off.” 

“This isn’t my doing,” I said. “They’re acting on their own and you brought this on yourself when you killed Tiny.” 

She was only confused for a moment before saying, “You must mean the fat-ass security guard at the Kentucky Center.” 

I nodded.  “He was their president.” 

“That wasn’t me,” she said with a shrug and a smirk. 

“Right,” I said. 

“I guess that makes you the low hanging fruit,” she said. “You’re the easiest problem to deal with, so I might as well kill you now.” 

Suddenly, gunfire flashed from the rooftop and Slotter’s weapon clattered to the ground. She had been well-trained. Instead of confusion, she reacted immediately by turning toward the rooftop and pulling Ginny in front of her to serve as a human shield. She pulled another gun from her waistband and jammed the barrel into Ginny’s ear. 

“Show yourself or I blow her brains out,” shouted Slotter. 

A man rose near the roof’s edge. I expected to see Uncle Jim with his hands in the air, but instead of an eye patch I saw a long blond ponytail hanging midway down the back of a Bob Marley t-shirt. Geez it was Pony Tail. This guy seems to be everywhere. 

“Both of you,” demanded Slotter. 

Uncle Jim slowly stood up next to Pony Tail. His sniper rifle was held high above his head. He looked thoroughly disgusted with himself. 

“Toss the rifle,” said Slotter. 

Uncle Jim complied with Slotter’s demand and threw his gun over the side of the building. As the rifle fell toward the ground, Slotter swept her gun toward Uncle Jim and was taking aim when a flash of color streaked past. 

Bird gave no advance warning unless you want to count a squawk about death from above as he slashed the back of Slotter’s head. She let go of Ginny while she desperately tried to snatch Bird out of the air. 

That was the opening I was waiting for, but Scarface moved a split-second before me. I thought he was going to block my path to Slotter, but instead he grabbed Bird and began shaking him. 

“Aaawk, do I look like shake n’ bake to you,” screamed Bird. 

Scarface stopped shaking for a moment and looked at Bird like he was some kind of alien. Then, he grabbed Bird’s head with one hand and his body with the other as if he was going to wring his neck. I wouldn’t have believed Padma could move that swiftly, but, in the blink of an eye, he closed the gap between them and did some weird two finger typewriting thing over Scarface’s body. 

The thug appeared more annoyed than concerned by Padma’s martial display. He snorted and rolled his eyes just before his limbs began shaking. The shakes only lasted a moment when his eyes rolled back, displaying nothing but white. 

Scarface was a big man, but it seemed like the life had been sucked out him. He shrunk a size or two before collapsing in on himself and slowly crumbling to the ground. His death grip on Bird held and the foul mouth macaw disappeared somewhere under Scarface’s massive body. I knew Bird could not possibly have survived that. 

Slotter shrieked like a girl when Scarface collapsed. She swung her shooting hand in Padma’s direction and would have blown a hole in his chest, but Ms. Dom caught her forearm with the whip and gave it a yank as she rode past her. 

If it were anybody but Slotter, she would have been pulled to the ground and drug behind the bike like a bunch of wedding day tin cans. Her gun clattered to the ground, but Slotter managed to coil her arm around the whip a few rounds and give a yank. The Harley wobbled and changed course. Before Ms. Dom could pull it back together, she crashed into the side of the warehouse and the bike exploded into flames. 

Ms. Dom tumbled from the wayward Harley just before impact and lay in a crumbled heap of leather on the broken asphalt. Amazon Chick broke rank and rushed to the crash site. The flames from the burning bike reached the building and it lit up like a match. Uncle Jim would soon be engulfed in flames. 

Ginny took advantage of the distraction by inching back and creating space between her and Slotter. I had been so focused on Slotter that I didn’t notice the bikers had closed ranks and dismounted. 

I wanted to put more distance between the two of them and Ole’ George provided the means when he reached for his gun. Somehow he managed to dislodge the bottle of Angel’s Envy and it shattered at his feet. That’s when all the shooting really got started. 

Once again I was painfully aware that I had no firearm. I’d like to tell you it makes me a bigger man than the bad guys with guns, but the truth is it just made me feel stupid and vulnerable. 

While my attention was on the blazing building, Slotter must have scooped her gun up because, once again, it was pointing at my chest. I knew I was about to die. I watched helplessly as her trigger finger squeezed. Time slowed. I saw the bullet leave the gun barrel. It would have killed me, but Ginny dove into its path and took the bullet intended for me. 

Maybe it was rage, or maybe I had nothing left to lose. Either way, something shifted inside me. The space between seeing what needed to be done and taking action disappeared. While Slotter stood in shock, I closed the gap between us and disarmed her with the simplest of moves. In one continuous action the gun was out of her hand and in mine. I wasted no time in pointing it at her face and would have pulled the trigger, but I was knocked to the ground. 

I fell facing Ginny. She lay in a puddle of blood a few feet from me. Her eyes were closed, and I saw no signs of respiration. She was pale, very pale.  I stretched a bloody hand in her direction, but she was just out of my reach. I wanted to get up and go to her, but there was a disconnection between thought and action. 

I felt tired and was about to close my eyes when I heard sirens. I can’t be sure, but I may have heard a scream come from the burning building. The sounds seemed so far away. 

Faint red and blue shadows told me fire and police were already here. Rose was the first officer I saw. She was rushing in our direction. I was thinking how glad I was she would be the one to help Ginny, when I noticed her lips were moving. She was speaking but I couldn’t quite make out the words, so I focused as hard as I could to read her lips. 

I can’t be sure, but it looked like she was saying, “…you fucking bitch, you killed my daughter.” 

That’s when I saw the gun in her hand…the one she shoved into Slotter’s belly before pulling the trigger. As Slotter sunk to her knees, other uniformed policemen rushed in and disarmed Rose. They were gentle with her and held her as she quietly sobbed. 

The last thing I saw before everything went black was Mr. Medals. He intercepted Slotter’s gurney just before it reached an ambulance. Words were spoken. He flashed some sort of identification to the medics and then soldiers loaded Slotter onto a military helicopter. 

I came to in a hospital room. A flat panel television hanging on the wall was tuned to CNN. The sound was turned down, but I could see a graphic reporting a tragedy at the Kentucky Center. It said a gas leak killed 3,212 people. A toilet flushed and Eric walked out of the bathroom. All of the events of the last two days came flooding back to me. I was overwhelmed with anger and sadness. Ginny, Uncle Jim, Bird, all gone. 

“Hey buddy,” said Eric. “I knew it would take more than a bullet in the back to keep you down.” 

I nodded toward the television and said, “That’s not what happened.” 

The smile left Eric’s face and was replaced with a pinched brow. He opened his mouth to speak, but then changed his mind and bit his lip instead. It wasn’t like Eric to not speak his mind, but what was there to say. My whole world had been turned upside down in one fell-swoop and I had no idea why. 

“Grant, we’ve all been so worried about you,” said Eric. 

I resigned, in that moment, that someone would pay for my loss, but what I said to Eric was, “I’ll be fine. We need to find out why they took Slotter. I’m sure it’s connected to the mass murder at the Center, and that somehow everything that has happened is connected.” 

Eric sat in the side chair and began rubbing his hands up and down his pant legs.  He stood up and glanced around the room, without focusing on anything in particular, before looking at me and sitting down again. 

I knew I had been shot and only God knows what pain medicine was coursing through my body, but Eric sure was acting weird. Then it hit me. I hadn’t seen him at the warehouse when all the shooting was going on, so I asked, “I needed your help during this fight, where were you?” 

He sat there for the longest time without answering. Finally, he said, “She’s upstairs in ICU.” 

“Really…that’s a shock,” I said. “I thought I saw them whisk her away to some secret location. I need to see her Eric. Get me up there.” 

“There’s someone you need to see first,” said Eric. “I’ll be right back.” 

“Is it Uncle Jim?” I asked. “Is Bird with him?” 

“I’m sorry,” said Eric as he stepped out the door. 

I felt myself deflate again. They were gone. Slotter had taken everything from me. They were all dead…every one of them. There was nothing left for me. I was all alone again, just like I’d always feared.  Well, I was tired of coping with loss. I was going to do something about this. I needed to get upstairs and wasn’t about to wait on Eric.  Slotter was going to pay now. 

I pulled the IV from my arm and rolled sideways enough to get my feet on the floor. The last thing I remember thinking was that the A/C must be broken. 

I heard a familiar voice, but couldn’t quite place it. It was hard work, but I managed to open my eyes. The face finally connected to the voice. It was Professor Filmore, my attorney. 

“He’s finally awake,” said Filmore. 

I heard a second voice, less familiar. It took a moment, but I finally connected it to Mr. Medals. 

“You need to make him understand,” said Mr. Medals. “If not then…” 

Filmore made a small cutting motion with his hand that stopped Mr. Medals from finishing his sentence. I didn’t like the implicit threat in Mr. Medals’ voice. I figured he wanted to protect Slotter, and if I didn’t cooperate with Mr. Medals, then what? I wanted to keep things light, but my voice was little higher than normal when I spoke. 

“Got myself shot, Admiral,” I said. 

He managed a half-hearted smile that wasn’t consistent with the shake of his head. It was odd. I couldn’t imagine Filmore displaying such openly conflicted body language. 

“This is a tough situation you’re in,” said the Admiral. 

I don’t know about you, but that’s not what I wanted to hear from my attorney. He should have told me that he had worked his legal magic and that I could rest easy. Besides, why was he with the Mr. Medals? I did not like it one bit. 

“Have you cleared me of the charges?” I asked. 

“That depends on you,” said Filmore. 

“Either the charges are dropped, or not,” I said. “Which is it?” 

“The gas leak explanation for what occurred at the Center is necessary for national security,” said Filmore. “There are nuances to this cover story that protect you. Without it, you will be the prime suspect for Tiny’s murder and for the murders of everyone at the Center.” 

“What about Slotter,” I asked. 

“She plays a vital role in our plans for national security,” said Mr. Medals. “You do not.” 

I knew I was screwed if I openly opposed them, so I said, “I understand.” 

Filmore raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He motioned Mr. Medals toward the door and led him out of the room. I waited a few minutes for them to clear the area and, then, swung my feet to the floor. This time I would hold it together long-enough to repay Slotter for what she did to me. 

I blocked the pain. I blocked everything that stood in my way. My sole focus was on taking one step at a time. Little by little, step by step, I made my way down the hall to the elevator and to the intensive care unit. 

Once I reached ICU, I assumed she would be protected in a guarded room, but saw no guards. My next thought was they may be in the room with her, so I cautiously stuck my head in a few doors, but none of them was Slotter’s room. I was beginning to doubt I’d find her, but continued looking.