Naked Tao (9 page)

“Asked for me…really…and who would that be?” I asked. 

“You know better than to ask that question, Grant. I would tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” 

“Geez, you can be so damn corny sometimes,” I said. “How about cutting the crap and telling me why the winner of the Nobel Peace prize needs a body guard?” 

“Who knows, buddy,” said Eric. “It’ll pay a few bills and might even buy you a plane ticket to Katmandu. He is speaking today at the Kentucky Center for the Performing Arts.” 

“I thought Padma Ganesha never did speaking engagements,” I said. 

“Yeah, I know,” said Eric. “He surprised everyone when he accepted. The sponsor is Emerald Allure, Inc. It’s part of their lecture series, Ideas to Change the World.” 

“Emerald Allure…isn’t that Ginny’s company and don’t they make slut wear?” I asked. 

“Slut wear seems like a good place to start world change,” snickered Eric. “I find it uplifting.” 

I ignored Eric’s crude joke and searched my memory for details about Padma Ganesha.  A few years ago he wrote a best-selling book about the happiest place on Earth. The inhabitants are totally at ease with themselves and the world around them. There is no hatred in their hearts. Their minds are free from worry. They live simple and honest lives, giving much and expecting little. It is a place of peace and prosperity. 

It is also a place where people live long lives. The natives credit their longevity to a magical pool of water they call the “Bubbling Well”. 

Padma’s book stayed on top of the best seller list for one hundred and thirty-six weeks. Although he never gave the place a name, the media took to calling it “Shangri La”. His fans hounded him for the location of the Bubbling Well, but he steadfastly refused to reveal it. 

I thought about the pile of unpaid bills and asked, “What do I have to do?” 

“You should dress in black,” replied Eric. “Keep it casual.” 

“What…no uniform boss man?” I quipped. 

Eric sighed. “Amateur. I’ll send over a shirt that identifies you as security staff. Be at the Center by 6:00 p.m. smartass. Use the back stage entrance off 7th Street.  Ask for Tiny at the security desk.” 

“Let me guess,” I said. “Tiny is 6’8”, weighs 350 pounds, wears a pony tail, and is covered with tattoos.” 

“With a face only a mother could love,” said Eric. “He’s a real character. This is his night job. His day job is leader of the outlaw motorcycle gang, Dragon Gate. You’ll like him, Grant.” 

“Does Tiny have a last name?” I asked. 

“If he does, I’ve never heard it.” 

“This should be interesting.” 

“Live free or die.” - State Motto of New Hampshire

The Kentucky Center is located in downtown Louisville on the Ohio River at water’s edge. While not far from the apartment, it was too far to walk on a hot day, so I headed out in dad’s old truck. Traffic was bumper to bumper on Main Street. Horns were honking. People were partying in the streets. Their hands were stuffed with super sized beers and foot long hot dogs. 

Street vendors were selling t-shirts that read, “Immortality Is Only Kinky the First Time.” It was a festive carnival atmosphere. I wondered if these people really believed they were going to learn the secret of immortality, or if it was just another reason to get rowdy. 

Even though the event didn’t begin until 7:00 p.m., the Center parking garage was already jammed packed when I arrived a few minutes before six.  I made my way to the roof top where I spotted one last empty space at the end of a row. 

Before I could park, a green Porsche whipped around the corner heading in the wrong direction and straight at me. A brunette with wavy hair blowing in the wind was behind the wheel. A phone was stuck in her ear. She was focused on her conversation and did not see me. 

I hit the brakes hard enough that I was jerked forward and smashed into the steering wheel. A sharp pain shot through my sternum as the Porsche slipped into the last spot. 

The chick was completely oblivious. I leaned out of the window intending to give her a hard time about what she’d just done, but stopped short when I heard her conversation. 

“This is for the best,” she said. “Please, get on with your life.” 

She listened for a moment and shouted, “I’m sorry you feel that way.” 

I realized it was Ginny. My fury dissipated. I was relieved to finally find her and see that she was okay. 

She dropped the phone into her purse before gracefully swinging her legs out of the Porsche. The hem of her forest green dress was short enough I got a peek up her skirt. She wasn’t wearing panties.  I forgot the pain in my sternum.  I forgot she stole my parking space. I forgot she nearly crashed into me. Damn, if I didn’t forget to breathe. Somehow, getting that accidental peek was even more exciting than seeing her completely nude the night before. 

Then to my utter amazement her grace evaporated into a spell of clumsiness as she awkwardly dropped her car keys onto the pavement. When she bent over to pick them up I heard the unmistakable sound of tearing fabric followed by, “You’ve got to be shitting me!” 

Still oblivious to my presence she tried looking over her shoulder for the torn fabric.  When that didn’t work she twisted at the waist. Finally, she bent over and tried to peer up her dress. 

When she looked up for the first time, she saw me watching her from the truck.  Her jaw dropped as we made eye contact and I smiled. 

“Your dress is torn,” I said. 

Her beautiful eyes narrowed slightly. I tried again. “You need some help with it?” 

She mumbled something I couldn’t make out. Turning on a heel she stomped off in the direction of the stairwell. For the first time, I could see the rip down the small of her back revealing a glimpse of an ornate hamsa hand tattoo. 

“A Porsche,” I muttered. “I’m sure she was real impressed with my truck.” 

Since Ginny had taken the last available parking space, I reluctantly parked the pickup in front of a no parking sign at the end of the row. There was a good chance it would be impounded. At that point, I just did not care. 

It was the first time I had ever been back stage. I expected security to be tight at all of the entrances, but there was literally no one attending the door. I quietly surveyed my surroundings. To my right was a small vending area with several empty tables. To my left was a security office. Straight ahead was a corridor with a sign posted at the entrance that read “Authorized Personnel Only”.  I didn’t see Tiny anywhere. 

I returned my attention to the security office.  The overhead light was on, but the view into the room was obscured by a smoked glass window.  I could barely make out the outline of a desk surrounded by security monitors. No one was sitting in the desk chair. The office looked empty to me. I figured Tiny was making his rounds, but since the door to the office stood open I decided to just have a peek inside. 

As I moved closer to the office door I smelled it for the second time in the last 24 hours…a strange combination of coffee, rust, and shit.  I froze in place, listening for any sound that would explain the now familiar odors. The last few drops of a fresh pot gurgled from a coffee maker.  I heard nothing else so I peeked cautiously inside the door. 

A mountain of a man, obviously Tiny, was lying in a pool of blood, his meaty hands around a combat knife buried in his chest. I rushed to his side and dropped to my knees. Tiny’s head rolled in my direction. His pupils were large and unfocused. Blood trickled from the side of his mouth. He tried to speak, stopped, and then gurgled something that sounded like “Mung”. 

I wiped his mouth with my shirt tail and I put my hands around his to stop him from pulling out the knife. “Don’t,” I said. “Just hang on. I’ll get help.” 

I dug into my pocket and pulled out my iPhone. It squirted from my blood soaked hand and landed on the floor a few feet away. A thin stream of blood squirted from the edge of the wound. “Damn,” I cursed. 

I needed both hands to stop the loss of blood. Tiny needed medical attention fast. How was I going to get help? I had to make that call. Tiny’s life depended on it. Trying to keep pressure on the wound with one hand, I stretched the other hand toward the phone. Just as my fingertips reached it, a foot came out of nowhere and kicked it across the room. The phone bounced off a metal file cabinet and spun out of reach on the other side of Tiny. 

In the corner my eye, I saw a sandaled heel pivot and point in my direction. I instinctively rolled under a hard back kick that would have crushed my chest, and slammed hard into the attacker’s supporting leg.  The maneuver worked. His knee gave way and he crumbled to the ground. 

I thought I had him, but quick as a cat, he popped to his feet. I lurched at him with blood soaked hands, but missed. The miss cost me dearly. I never saw the foot that slammed into my ribs or the hand that grabbed my throat a second later. Before I could retaliate, his knee pinned my arm to the floor. This guy was fast. 

Instinct is to pull away, but Ch’ing had trained me well. Instead of trying to yank my arm away from him, I rolled in the direction of the pinned arm and slammed a palm into the back of his elbow. It worked. He grunted in pain and released my throat as he tried to tumble away from me. 

I followed close behind, but he caught his balance and I caught his fist in my sore ribs. Grimacing in pain, my hand clutched at a cracked rib. It was instinctive, but the wrong move because it gave him a chance to roll to his feet and flee the room. 

I wanted to follow him, but scrambled back to Tiny instead. His pupils were fully dilated. The bleeding had stopped. I checked his pulse. It confirmed what I already knew. Tiny was dead. My second death in two days. What was happening? People around me were dropping like flies. 

There was nothing I could do for Tiny, but I could do something about his killer. Determined to catch him, I pulled the knife from Tiny’s chest and scrambled after the killer. I didn’t make it far before I slipped on the blood soaked floor and crashed head first into the door jam. The blow brought me to my knees, stars dancing before my eyes and then I blacked out. 

I’m not sure how long I was out. When I came to I remember gingerly touching my brow and feeling something wet.  I looked at my finger tips and saw blood.  I vaguely remember thinking I needed a doctor.  I stuck a hand into my pocket to call one, but couldn’t find the phone. 

I was disoriented. It was the sight of Tiny’s body that brought it all back. I pulled myself together as best I could, grabbed my phone and the knife before staggering out of the office. I headed for the door marked “Authorized Personnel Only” which opened into a long corridor. I was pretty sure it was the direction the killer took thanks to the blood stains on the floor, but the trail he left didn’t last for long. 

The passageway was lined with doors. As I rushed down the hallway, I looked for something that would tell me which way the killer might have headed. There were more doors on the left, the N.E. Stairs, and an elevator.  The elevator did not appear to be moving. 

I peeked into the stairwell, but didn’t hear any footsteps.  I was about to turn back when a small bit of blood dripped at my feet. Another drop followed, but this one splattered on my wrist. I looked upward and caught a glimpse of crimson fabric. The monk was on the landing above me, waiting for my next move. 

Rather than rush in and try to chase him down, I decided on stealth.  Ch’ing taught me that the secret to moving with stealth is balance.  The key to balanced movement is to never move a weighted foot. You must take all the weight off a foot before you move it. 

As quietly as I could, I stepped into the stairwell and let the door close behind me. Still as a tree, I waited to see what the monk did next. He didn’t budge, so I inched toward the first step as quietly as I could. I stopped and waited again. Everything looked good, so I started up the stairs. One by one, I slowly climbed the steps. All the while, my neck stretched to catch a peek of the monk before he saw me. 

Laying in a crumpled mess on the landing was the monk’s discarded robe. It was damp with fresh blood. Disappointment washed over me. I nudged the robe with a toe and saw a slice in it. Tiny must have gotten in some blows and gone down fighting. 

I didn’t get a good look at the killer’s face. Without the robe to distinguish him from everyone else, I had little hope of finding him. He could be anyone. There were over three thousand people at the Center to hear Padma reveal his big secret. Finding the killer in that crowd was definitely beyond my skill level. 

Besides, I didn’t know whether he used the stairwell to dump his disguise, or if he took the stairs to a different floor. The Kentucky Center is a big place and Tiny’s murder could be anywhere. Capturing Tiny’s killer would have to be left to the police. It was time to call them, but first I wanted to wash the blood from my hands. 

I didn’t have any trouble finding a bathroom, but I was preoccupied and didn’t pay much attention to the sign on the door. I wish I had. Instead, I rushed in, set the knife next to the sink and began cleaning up. 

As the blood swirled down the drain, I thought about the statement I would give to the police. That is when it hit me. I had made another huge mistake. I was in the ladies room. It is also the exact moment the door opened and Ginny walked in. 

She took one look at me and froze before the door closed behind her. At first there was an odd confused look on her face, but then it changed to concern. “Oh my god, Grant, is that blood!?” she exclaimed. 

I don’t know what I expected from her, but after last night I knew she was a player. More to the point, despite what Kinsey said about her, I figured she didn’t care one way or the other about me. I wasn’t sure what to think about her concerned behavior. 

“I was just cleaning up,” I answered. “I guess I missed some.” 

She fumbled in the purse hanging on her shoulder and said, “Let’s get you a doctor.” 

“I’m okay,” I said. “It’s not my blood.” 

Her concern shifted to confusion and then to shock.  “What do you mean it’s not your blood?” she asked. 

I didn’t like the direction this was headed and said, “It belongs to someone else.” 

I was about to explain what happened when she noticed the knife. She started to say something and then snapped her mouth shut. It was her eyes that instantly concerned me the most. They were filled with terror. I had seen the same look many times before in the eyes of witnesses I badgered during cross-examination.  I hated it. 

Ginny took a cautious step back. When I extended a hand in her direction, her eyes widened in alarm and then she fled the room. 

“Shit,” I muttered. 

I’m ashamed to say, I considered fleeing. I wish I could say I decided to do the right thing instead of running, but the truth is I wanted to protect myself. I knew if she called the police and told them about the bloody knife, they would lock me in the deepest hole they had.  So I went after her. It wasn’t until much later that I realized I had forgotten the murder weapon. 

Once out of the bathroom, I scanned the hall for her. She was nowhere in sight. I couldn’t understand how she managed to disappear so quickly. She could be anywhere. I took a moment to weigh my options, but what I did instead was feel sorry for myself. I had done nothing wrong, but everything that could possibly go wrong, had gone wrong. First John and now this! What else could go wrong, I thought. The answer is plenty and it did. 

When I regained my composure, I noticed an unmarked door standing open. I was pretty sure it was closed earlier and decided to take a look inside. There were several rows of alternating stage lights hanging from the ceiling separated by sliding curtains and open moveable wall partitions. A simple podium was the only stage prop. I could hear the buzz of the audience’s conversation.  Somehow I had managed to find the stage.