by Fritz Galt
Jade lay spread-eagle on the carpet. Her skin-tight aerobics suit twisted with her limbs as she performed a leg-over stretch.
Brad returned to the kitchen, still skeptical. “So, you’re telling me that you’re not in any trouble?”
“Well, I might be. We didn’t use any protection.”
“Cut it out, I’m serious.” Brad was surprised that the two were all alone. “Where’s May?”
“Sit down. Got some bad news.” Earl turned uncharacteristically serious and whipped the dishtowel over one of his rounded shoulders.
“Is it about May?”
Earl nodded. “She’s definitely out of the picture. Jade just talked to her on the telephone. From China.”
The news hit Brad harder than he had expected. He knew that May had shipped out of the base, but why had she turned her back on everything, including him, to return to China?
“However, there is a ray of hope.” Earl picked an extra large shipping envelope from off the counter and handed it to him. “She left you this.”
Brad tore it open. The briefcase-sized padded bag was bulging full of cash. All fifties and hundreds.
“What’s this for? Is this some kind of hush money?”
“No. Just consider it a small token of appreciation for the hell she’s put you through, losing your truck, your virginity and all. She waited as long as she could, but she had to skip back to China.”
“It figures.” After all, she was the subject of an NTSB investigation. “But look, she can safely come back ’cause I can prove her innocence and pin at least one attempted homicide on that crazy assassin. I found a detonator cap at the helicopter crash site.”
“Forget it,” Jade said sweetly as she walked into the kitchen. She sat at the table across from Brad and propped her chin up on her clasped hands. “The guy who committed that crime is untouchable, even in this country.”
“Hey, why does he get all the breaks? Liang is an animal and should be in a hole somewhere.”
“Not exactly prime accommodations for the grandson of the President of China, do ya think?” Earl said.
“No way.”
“Wa-ay.”
“This is only a game for him,” Jade went on without emotion. “He plays with people’s lives like a cat toys with a mouse when it isn’t hungry.”
“This guy has serious issues,” Brad said. “May should certainly stay away from such a jerk.”
“She can’t,” Jade continued in her monotone. “She needs him, and he likes to control her.”
“Wish he’d take up a new career path instead,” Brad said. “Like crash test dummy.”
“Hey, that’s your job,” Earl reminded him.
“But I don’t see why she needs him.”
Jade raised an eyebrow. “Hey, if you wanted to be the first female taikonaut, a marriage to the president’s grandson couldn’t hurt.”
“Marriage! May?” Suddenly it all fit. May needed to marry Liang to advance her career, to fulfill her dreams. He paused for a moment to reflect. “What’s a taikonaut?”
“An astronaut,” Earl said.
So May wanted to be an astronaut. That was some dream. Boy, there was so little he knew about her. “So, when is she going to tie the knot?”
Jade’s face fell. “Probably as soon as the opening ceremony for Liang’s project is over. They’re preparing for it now.” She hesitated. “But there’s more. There seems to be some problem with May’s father. I don’t know what.”
In a blast of insight, Brad thought of the letter May had given him at the crash site. It must have been the same letter that she was crying about that night on the sofa. He found it again, stuffed in his pants pocket during his futile search for Sullivan’s card.
He uncrumpled the letter, but before he shoved it across the table to Jade, he turned to Earl. “No offense, pal, but do you think we can trust the little vixen here with the contents of this letter?”
“Don’t worry. She’s clean,” Earl said cheerily. “I checked her out thoroughly last night.”
Jade swiftly grabbed a potholder from the stove and launched it across the kitchen straight at Earl’s face.
“See?” Earl said. “She could have killed us anytime she wanted to. A potholder in the hands of a fully-trained martial artist is considered a lethal weapon in some countries.”
Brad couldn’t help noticing that Jade nevertheless smiled sweetly at Earl. Someday, he had to have a long talk with that boy, because he was betting ol’ Skeeter could get lucky if he played his cards right.
“There’s still a small matter of a certain steak knife slash murder weapon.” Brad wasn’t entirely sure of her role in the colonel’s murder.
Jade made eye contact with him and seemed to summon up all her sincerity. “You’ll have to believe me, I only took the knife for your DNA sample, as that’s what Liang said he wanted. And he’s not someone you can refuse.”
“That’s right,” Earl chimed in. “For all we know, he wanted a genetic sample because he’s fascinated by your biological inheritance. You do have a connection with Professor Richter. He probably can’t figure out how Richter could have a son like you.”
“Oh, that makes me feel better.”
“Think about it, compadre. Why all the care to bust you out of the hospital after framing you for murder?”
Brad looked at Jade. “Then why?”
She pursed her lips. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to use the potholders on you.”
“Okay, just read the letter,” Brad said, and handed it across to her. She read it aloud while Earl translated.
It made reference to some important “discovery” in a rare type of limestone formation near a large tributary, all of which piqued Brad’s interest in saving May even more. But it also was full of innuendo about the “destiny of the dragon” and the impending destruction of the future.
Jade shook her head and handed it to Earl, who screwed up his mouth trying to figure it out.
“Well, that sure clears things up,” Brad said.
Outside, the blue sky had already lost its midday brilliance. Brad suddenly remembered Cheno’s invitation to join his anthropology colleagues at 1:00. He took the letter and stood to leave. “It’s getting late. I’ll leave you little homemakers to your dishes and workout routines. I gots to meet up with Cheno.”
“Hey, before you go, don’t forget this,” Earl said. He flung the cash-laden envelope to his friend. “You know where to find me. I’m going to lay low for a while until things cool off, or Jade throws me out.”
Brad noticed that Jade was still smiling. Yep, she was interested all right. He hoped Skeeter didn’t blow it. A guy shouldn’t remain inviolate his whole life.
By the time Brad neared his temporary quarters at Cheno’s house, his sweat had dried into powdery salt deposits. In addition, his knee ached worse than ever and his head was beginning to throb. Maybe that was a little too much activity for one day. Those old double-concussions could sure slow a guy down.
He could definitely use a soothing shower.
He hefted the huge bag of money that May had left him. He still wasn’t sure if it was a pay-off for past offenses or travel money to China. Whatever it was, it was a lot to carry around the back streets of Tucson.
Upon entering the living room, he saw Cheno and several other hippie-like people sitting cross-legged in a circle on the carpet.
Numerous candles were lit in the center of the circle. A teapot was also at hand, warmed in a holder by a candle.
“Hey Cheno, me mano,” Brad said. “Hope I’m not too late.”
“Hola Brado. Just in time to sample a little vine of the soul,” Cheno said mysteriously, and rose to his feet.
“Well, I am a tad thirsty. I guess I could use a spot of tea.”
At that, the group broke into laughter.
“Cripes, I missed something, didn’t I?” Brad said.
“It’s okay. We’ll bring you up to speed,” Cheno said. He nodded towa
rd a young fellow immediately on his right. “Charlie here is an ethno pharmacologist. Susanne, our intrepid goddess of the group, is a molecular biologist. And Stan by you is a budding botanist who specializes in tropical plants from the Amazon Basin. Oh, I forgot to ask, have you eaten yet today?”
“Ah, no. And I’m famished. You serve crumpets with this?”
“Reason I ask is that the first time using Ayahuasca usually purges the system,” Cheno said, and reached for a bucket. “Here, pull up a floor and take this.”
Brad settled on the threadbare carpet between Susanne and Stan, a rather heavy-set botanist with a good-natured appearance. Susanne wasn’t exactly a fox, but she had an earthy sensuality. And her presence served to remind him that the woman he was mad for was engaged to be married and gone, maybe for good. He glanced across the circle at Charlie, the ethno pharmacologist. Now he looked like a hardcore scientist, but with a ponytail and John Lennon glasses.
Finally, he looked down at the bucket between his knees. “I’m not supposed to kick this, am I?”
“Hey, only if it makes ya feel good,” Stan said, and chortled.
“What we’re doing here,” Cheno began, “is a simple re-enactment of a ritual far older than recorded history in this hemisphere: 2000 to 1500 bc, at least.”
“You’re talking about the Incas?” Brad asked. He realized that his knowledge of pre-Columbian Amazonian culture was sketchy at best.
“Actually,” Cheno said, and held out a glass filled with greenish liquid, “the mestizo ayahuasqueros in Peru will tell you that this knowledge comes from the plant teachers themselves and predates even the Incan culture.”
Brad took the glass and examined it. “So what exactly is this?”
“It’s prepared from segments of a species of the vine Banisteriopsis,” Stan, the botanist, offered. “A genus belonging to the Malpighiaceae.”
“Oh, in that case…” Brad tried in vain to think of something witty.
“Sections of vine are boiled with leaves from any of a large number of potential admixtures of plants,” Charlie, the ethno pharmacologist, explained, “resulting in a tea that contains powerful hallucinogenic alkaloids.”
“No fooling?” Brad stared at the warm, seemingly innocuous, drink.
“No fooling,” the earthy biologist said. “Harmine, harmaline, d-tetrahydroharmine, and dimethyltryptamine, or ‘DMT,’ which closely resembles serotonin, an endogenous hallucinogen. These compounds have chemical structures and effects similar but not identical to LSD, mescaline of the peyote cactus, and psilocybin of the psychotropic Mexican mushroom.”
“I find it only fair to warn you,” Brad stated for the record, “if this concoction is in any way illegal, I’ll be forced to drink it.”
“I’m sorry, Brad,” Stan broke in defensively. “But what I brought back from the Amazon are all legitimate botanical samples for the university’s genetic repository.” Then he added, “However, their combination might be construed as slightly suspect in certain law enforcement circles.”
Cheno took the glass back and held it reverently above his head. “This brew has been used in the Amazon for millennia in order to heal, divine and worship the great nature goddess, dude.”
“Oh well, then maybe I should just look in the fridge for some Gatorade,” Brad said.
“Nonsense,” Stan prodded. “Your arrival is fortuitous. The great plant gods would not have called you here at this hour for nothing. Please, partake of the mysteries of the jungle spirit.” He motioned for Cheno to hand the glass back to Brad.
Brad took the glass and sniffed the pungent vapors. It didn’t smell illegal. He paused for a moment, then downed the sacred brew in a single gulp.
Cheno smiled reassuringly. “We’ll hang back for a bit until you get started, just to make sure you’re having a good journey, my man. Unfortunately, we’ll be the closest thing to a spiritual shaman guide you’ll receive today.”
Brad felt a wave of warmth pass up his spine. Then he suppressed a sudden urge to have a bowel movement and instead hurled what little contents remained in his stomach into the bucket that luckily was still between his legs.
Then he heard, or rather felt, a rushing sound similar to a waterfall, but richer. He couldn’t help himself as he started humming along with to the strange rhythm.
“Looks like the tryptamines are kicking in,” Charlie noted to Susanne.
“What the heck is that? It’s beautiful,” Brad tried to say. But he couldn’t control his mouth as his face contorted into a paroxysm of ripples.
“It’s okay, dude,” Cheno said. “You’re beginning to catch the wave. Just trust it and let go.”
If he was getting good at anything these days, it was at letting go. He had let go of his career, let go of his body with all of his injuries, and now he was forced to let go of May, who seemed like the only reason left to go on. Why not let go? The brew couldn’t be any worse than the train wreck his life had become.
He leaned onto his left elbow, and Stan deftly lifted the bucket from between his legs. He lay on his side, face pointed toward the group, which had taken on a singular, luminescent quality.
Cheno crawled over to him and stared directly into his face. To Brad, he appeared strangely beautiful, even angelic.
“Things may start to appear different now,” Cheno explained. “Just relax and try to accept the vision. There’s a lesson in it, hidden within…” His voice trailed off.
Or maybe it was just him losing the ability to pay attention. He was alternately terrified and exhilarated.
Be not afraid, I would not bite, a gentle male voice whispered intimately in his left ear.
Who was that? Wait a sec. He thought he was lying on his left side.
“Who said that?” he managed to say aloud.
“Heard someone that isn’t here, have we?” Stan asked.
“Relax, dude. You’re really lucky. That’s Xenhet the Tree Spirit, the teacher, man.”
“Xenhet!” Charlie exclaimed. “Shoot, I’ve been doing this for five years and never heard a peep from ol’ Xen.”
Susanne laughed. “He doesn’t like us scientific types, I’m afraid.”
Hey, I’m an anthropologist, Brad wanted to protest. But before he could get the words out…
So much promise for a talking monkey. We like you, the ancient-sounding voice said. You are willing to sacrifice so very much for the sake of another.
He quickly sat up, then just as quickly lurched for the bucket. False alarm, but still the room was spinning, and fireworks seemed to pour out of everyone there like roman candles shooting out of every elbow, every knee, every vertebrae in the spine.
No wonder the cultures of the New World never developed technology. The best video games were nothing compared to this.
Thank you. We think so as well.
Was he going nuts? The voice reminded him of Skeeter and his lame Yoda impersonation. He pawed at his left ear and half-expected, half-hoped to see his friend come popping out from behind a chair. What was that voice? Who was it?
More importantly, monkey, who are you? You do not even know whence you came.
With that, Brad got swept up in a vortex of images and sounds. Someone from the group grabbed him by the upper torso and lowered his body back to the floor, placing a pillow under his head.
He was suddenly launched into a world of childhood memories. Only the images seemed to be his pre-memories, in that he seemed to be seeing his life before he could have possibly remembered any of it. He was an infant and then a newborn.
He saw his mother and his natural father standing in the shadows. A wave of love intermingled with terrible sadness and longing nearly overwhelmed him. He felt as if he would start crying and never be able to stop.
Rock-a-by Bradley, on the hard floor, the voice sang. Would you like a moment to be alone with your parents? The voice almost seemed to be mocking him.
Jeez, thanks for all the compassion, oh tree spirit.
Ha! Les
s than a tree, but more than a nut am I.
How much longer would he get the benefit of such wisdom? When did it wear off?
Oh, it never wears off. Just call on me, and I’ll be there.
He was about to be sarcastic with his new teacher and say, “Sounds like a Michael Jackson tune,” when he felt sucked into the mirage of his parents fussing over a chubby baby in what he realized was the kitchen of his first home. He sat in a highchair happily watching the two adults fall over themselves trying to get him to eat something. But, didn’t they know? He wasn’t hungry. He just wanted to play with the green stuff.
There was something about his father that seemed familiar, as if he knew him. But he was having trouble focusing on his face. Anyway, that was impossible, as his father had split before he was three and he had no actual memories or photographs left of the man.
Then the hallucination flashed-forward to his mother’s death. He was only eighteen, about to graduate from high school. His mother was finally surrendering in a long battle with a brain tumor. Richter, his stepfather, was rarely around. But there always seemed to be a friend of his mother’s staying over, or one of numerous home-care nurses and, later, hospice workers.
He hadn’t been able to stand seeing her deteriorate, so he had avoided the situation as much as possible, instead choosing to delve into his studies and college applications.
In the end, he chose to go to the university where his step-dad was teaching, knowing full-well that even though the professor was a grade-A jerk, he was soon to be alone, and that waste of skin was the only family he would have left.
He lay that way wallowing in past events for what seemed like days. He really didn’t know how much time was passing. Maybe he fell asleep, but when he finally came to, there was a mustachioed face looking down at him with a kind of professional concern.
It was the investigator from the NTSB.
Chapter 13
Brad sat up slowly. He had a monster migraine, and it felt like his eyes were bleeding. The tightly sprung form of Igor Sullivan was kneeling beside him.
