Guardians of the Secret
copyright © 1998 by Cary Shulman
All Rights Reserved
17.
A thought had almost killed him. Kit could appreciate it afterward. "Tess has come back" wasn't even a thought, a lazy hypothesis, a hasty ill drawn sketch of reality. In the next instant he realized he was thinking when he should be using his senses. There was no sound of her keys. He had his gun out and was firing as the two men kicked open the front door. It gave him enough cover to get out a window.
He had escaped them, but he knew they would keep after him and soon the Yakuza would do the same. He wondered if Tess were still alive. Their contact number was useless. It was too dangerous until he had time to sort out what was compromised and what was not.
He had no illusions that he could avoid being caught. His only chance was to stay alive long enough to find out something he could bargain for his life, and if he were lucky some money. He decided to pass along the information about the papers to the Yakuza. He didn't like being connected with them again. But to find out anything he needed his contacts, and the Yakuza knew who they were. This meant he was free to work with them
Kit gave the Yakuza their first break since the papers were stolen out from under them, and they sent three men to meet the person who was giving it to them. One of the men Kit was to meet hated leaving Japan and hated meeting the man that killed his son. But he was ordered by his superiors to do both. He was told the killing was now regarded as self defense and officially over. It was a gesture of reconciliation. Kit was waiting for them at the Hotel Otani in Los Angeles.
There were official apologies and then they got down to business. He told them about the robbery. He lied about Tess' identity. He lied about what he knew of the papers. He said he hadn't seen them. A woman had set up the robbery and had told him they were about drugs. He thought she was killed and the papers taken.
They made a generous offer for his help in retrieving them. He accepted on condition that he actually delivered them. He was broke and could have used the money, but it was the proper way to handle it. Anyway, information was infinitely more valuable. It's what would keep him alive. He wanted to press them for everything they knew, it was vital in his efforts. They naturally knew little themselves, but they would ask their superiors. Kit hoped they weren't all stalling for time.
* * *
It was four in the morning as Michael's car cruised down a nearly empty highway 95. The car's interior was littered with evidence of life on the road, empty coffee cups and fast food wrappers. Despite the hour he and Tess were both wide awake. Michael attention was more on Tess than the deserted highway as she was going through the box of cassette tapes looking for something to play. She came across a couple of Nimé's tapes.
"Gauguin. You know I've always been jealous of him."
"You wanted to be a painter?"
"No, he gets bored of France and goes to Tahiti. I'd just like some time to get bored with France. Questions, secrets, what are these about?"
"Finding some meaning in sexual fantasy. Rather than just a problem, the guy thinks it's an opportunity."
"And if your problem is fifty feet tall."
"More opportunity."
"He's definitely an optimist. You keep staring at me as if you were looking for something. Maybe we could pull over and find it."
Michael gave it some thought.
"It's just you look a lot like Sara."
"It must be strange. Two people that look so much alike and are so different. I liked her from what I heard on the radio. But she was straight as they come and I'm all twists and turns. Put us together and we'd make a very interesting person. Maybe too interesting for this world. But with your imagination you're probably already doing that."
"I don't have to. You're less different than you think."
"I don't see me at college or her on the streets at thirteen."
"I get that. But I still think you're similar."
"You're disappointing me. I thought from your radio program you're good on people."
"I am, but I also enjoy a little mystery."
"Maybe you only get off on me if I am a mystery."
"You come from money, not the wrong side of the tracks. You're brighter than what makes you comfortable, you care more than what makes you comfortable, you take more drugs than what makes you comfortable. You like to think of yourself as independent, but you're connected to the mob, probably in debt to them. But not for drugs. You're too much of a professional for that. Maybe gambling. Or maybe leftover from a partner or boyfriend who stiffed them. I could go on, but I still think you're more than all that."
"That's a good line."
"You're afraid there's more than all that."
"I'm just a thief. I'm not knocking it, and I'm not talking about sticking a gun in someone's face. It's an art not a mugging. It's all about watching, getting to know someone, anticipating their moves and making your play at the right time. Kit picked up on it when we worked together. He said it was like I was doing, what do you call it, that martial art, I always thought he said Hi Kiddo."
"Aikido. Someone suggested it for rehabbing my leg."
"Kit said it's about following your opponents moves so you can enter when there's a break in their concentration. He really thought I was a natural."
"How did you get into it?"
"I was young, what can I say. I figured it was an easy way to get even and money at the same time. Later I realized I steal money, jewelry, that sort of thing. What's been stolen from me I can't steal back."
"Tough way to make a living."
"It's honest at least."
Michael made a face.
"It calls a spade a spade. Look, as far as I can see everything's theft. Everything we've got is ours because we took it from somebody. Starting with this country. We stole it from the Indians, am I right. They write up a paper or pass a law that makes it legal. I'm just honest enough or stupid enough not to hide it. I say what it is. So they've got the law to cover them and I've just got my wits. You decide."
"So we're all thieves?"
"Or prostitutes."
"I should have guessed," Michael said sarcastically.
"Yeah, if you're not a thief you're a prostitute."
" I don't see myself as either."
"So what does that prove except you're blind. You have no idea of what's been taken from you, what you've sold out. It's a great gig. They cut you down to size, and as an added bonus they get to sell you back everything they took from you in the first place. You know the score."
Tess took Michael's smile to be a yes.
"You want to be smart you got to go to the right college. You want to be sexy you've got to have the right dress or tit job or car or attitude. It's their ballgame and you play it good or bad, it makes no difference, it's theirs and you've sold yourself off. Or you can be a thief."
"Or a Saint."
"Okay. But that's not exactly in the cards for most of us."
Michael was reminded of his advisor's commentary on the "sweat of the brow". "It's not just that work is a punishment, it's that God had something else in mind for us." But how do you read God's mind?, Michael wondered. Michael didn't have the patience to wait for a calling. Or concentrate well enough to get it in the revealed word. His advisor suggested, "If creation is a reflection of God's mind, then you could try to read that." "How?" Michael asked. "An open mind and an open heart," his advisor said.
While Michael pondered this, he was looking at Tess' body. Nothing changes he thought to himself. He laughed.
"What's so funny?" Tess asked.
"I was thinking about an old advisor I had. He once told me to find God I should have an open heart and an open mind. Meanwhile I'm looking at your body and it's obvious all I can manage is an open fly."
"One out of three isn't a bad percentage. Look. This guy on the tapes is an optimist. I don't know about you, but I'm not. The only thing I'm hoping to find is Everett. We've got a fantasy going both of us like. We're both willing to play it out. Let's leave it at that."
copyright © by Cary Shulman
All Rights Reserved