Changes (31 page)

I turned away and started back to the ceremony.

"You’re…not calling the police?" he said.

I stopped, turned, and looked at him.  "No need," I said.

101

After the ceremony, Tony came over and shook my hand. He thanked me again. Together, he and Daniel left. There was so much left for him to do – the reuniting of the Eight Tigers, if he still chose to do it, the beginning of a promising career as a painter, and, perhaps the most difficult, the act of living his own life for once. I wished them the best of luck, but I did not tell them goodbye.

Fate would cross our two paths again, I was sure of it.

Tracy and I went out to dinner, caught an early movie, and boarded our plane by 9 p.m. We could have stayed for a bit, but both of us were sick of hotels and, frankly, the unnatural California weather was freaking us both out.  We’d been conditioned to the hell that was the Midwest.

We landed in St. Louis just after 5 a.m. after circling the airport for over an hour…

Thunderstorms and a chance of sleet.

Now that’s more like it.

As late as it was, we decided to stay together at my place.

I drove.

In my repaired Viper.

Happiness.

I took her up to the roof.  There, with a pyrotechnic display in the sky and a battery powered stereo, I asked her to dance with me.  Me, the king of the boring old slow dance.

I put The Flamingos’ I Only Have Eyes for You on the stereo, and we danced.

Slowly.

A little stiffly.

A little painfully, still.

It was one of the best times I’ve ever had.

In the morning, we got up and got to work. There was much for us to do as well – rebuilding my business, redecorating my apartment (Tracy says it "screams for a woman’s touch"), and, perhaps the most difficult, the act of living
our
own lives for once.

Sonic Youth blared on the stereo as Tracy bebopped into the living room carrying a cardboard box. She wore cut-off sweats, a Dresden Dolls T shirt, and a red bandana to keep her hair from her eyes.

Her bangs were now back to purple again.

What can I say? I love the girl.

"You know you have, like, a whole closet of these?" she said, gesturing with the box.

"Yeah," I said. My chest felt tight. I could practically hear the words of my teacher, "
Fang Song, fang song."

Relax. Release. 

So I did.

I let go.

I finally let go.

"C’mon, we’ll do it together," Tracy said, putting down the box and sitting in front of it.

I crouched beside her and peeled away the packing tape.  Unwrapping the first newspaper-covered frame, I said, "Trace, this is my daughter, Grace. This was taken just before her third birthday, when her mother and I took her to the carnival for the first time."

Together, we unwrapped each photo and I told her the stories that accompanied each one.

She listened.

Sometimes we laughed.

Sometimes we cried.

I couldn’t have done it without her.

102

A week later, on Sunday, John Knox showed up at my apartment. He wore ratty jeans and a sweatshirt.  Clearly, he was not on duty.

"Got a minute?" he said.

I let him in and offered him a drink.

He had a scotch; I had a bottled water.  We sat in the living room.  He was on the couch and I was in one of the new plush chairs Tracy picked out.  He looked around the room at some of the photos and remained silent.

"Business or pleasure, Detective?" I said.

"Janik faxed me this earlier this morning," Knox said, leaning forward and pulling a folded sheet of newsprint from his back pocket.  "He thought I’d find it interesting."

He passed it to me.

I read it.

"Huh." I said.

"Huh?" He said.

I nodded and repeated, "Huh."

"You read the story, right?"

"Yeah."

"I don’t think you did. Because, for me, a story about a 250 pound man starving to death… even though by all accounts he ate like a pig… and even though he was hospitalized and treated and given upwards of 4,000 calories a day by IV… for me, that story would elicit more than a ‘Huh.’  Top it off with the fact that said man was our money man in the murders of a whole fucking lot of people and I’d say it’s downright suspicious, wouldn’t you?"

I shrugged.

"I showed this around town a bit… Would you care to know the word that kept popping up?"

"Hm?"

"Just like the Madame…
deem-mok, deem-mok
."

I grinned and said, "Dim Mak, detective?  The ‘Death Touch’? I thought I told you… it’s a fairy tale. Doesn’t exist."

"Good thing. Because if it did, I’d have to investigate and probably arrest somebody. There are those around town who don’t see the difference between this and what Ang Su Chan did…"

I ran a thumb down the ribbed edge of my water bottle and exhaled slowly. 

"Hopefully there are those around town who do," I said.

Knox seemed to study me for a while.

Finally, he said, "Yeah. Yeah, I guess there are."

He stood and said, "Well, I guess this is it, eh?  No more Triad shenanigans.  I’ll be sure to give you a call if anything else goes down with the ‘Orientals’…"

He grinned.

I said, "You do that. And if I ever need a Polack cop, I’ll give you a ring."

He chuckled and nodded and offered me his hand.

I shook it.

"You take care of yourself, Lee."

"You too, John."

I closed the door behind him.  The article still sat on the coffee table. I wadded it up and threw it away.

I went into the bedroom, to the small Taoist altar Tracy and I had set up along the east wall. The low table held photos of my first teacher, my mother and father, Tracy’s grandmother, and, of course, my little girl.  In the back right corner, behind an incense burner, I’d tucked a photo of Mei Ling Zhao -- age 7 -- practicing martial arts.  Behind it was the photo of her parents on the beach in 1968, the photo Mei Ling had had retouched and framed.

I took it, crumpled it, and added it to the article in the trash.

As for the other picture, the one of Mei Ling, I kept it right where it was.

103

"What are you do? So Clumsy! Ay! Ay! Stop! Stop, stop, stop. You break old man’s heart."

I grinned. It was nice to have somebody else taking the heat instead of me.  Tracy, on the other hand, looked miserable.  And Cheng, well, Tracy had him so flustered he could barely speak English.  I knew the feeling.

"I’m doing exactly what you told me to, you old bastard," she shouted.

"I never say to flap your arms like a chicken!" Master Cheng shouted back.

Tracy got in his face and growled, "I’m right in the exact same position you put me in, asshole."

Master’s eyes widened and he stepped back to look at her again.

"Ah," he said.  I tried to suppress a laugh and didn’t quite succeed. Cheng heard it and shouted, "What you looking at, dickhead? Maybe you worry about own sorry ass, eh? Oh, you damned Americans, you suck my will to live, you know this?"

Spring had arrived at last, and it was a perfect day – blue skies, cool breeze, and no worries.

Tracy stood in the posture ‘Ward off left,’ one of the first movements in the form. I rolled leisurely through each movement, watching her struggle and shake, knowing just how badly her legs must hurt… it was just a part of the process. She’d work through it.

And, until then, I got to rub her sore muscles after class.

I was halfway through the third and final section of the form when Master Cheng turned his attention to me. He crossed his arms, frowned, and watched silently.

"Snake creeps down" into "Step forward seven stars."

"Step back and ride the tiger" into--

"Ay, hold!" He barked.  I froze in position and waited. He scuttled over, made a correction in my posture – moving my arm to a position I knew it didn’t belong in – and yelled, "Stupid asshole- head! Ay!"

He quickly moved my arm back into the position I’d had it in originally and said loudly, "
This
is correct!"

I stared at him dumbly before moving again into "Turn body and swing over lotus."

Leaning in close, Cheng said, "Dear boy, in all ways, you are my perfect student, and you make your master proud. But this you cannot tell the others… it is bad for morale."

He winked and went back to torment Tracy some more.

I continued on with the form, through "Apparent Close," and into "Cross Hands," feeling the warmth of the sun on my face and enjoying it.  For now -- just for now -- all was right with the world.

In the background, I heard Tracy call Master a "shriveled old tyrant."

I smiled and kept on moving.  While they continued to squabble in the background, I came to the end of the form, slowly lifting my hands and letting them glide back down to my sides.

Shou
Shi
– Close.

The End

So, What's Next for Randall and Tracy?

Pressure Point -- A Randall Lee Mystery (Available Summer 2012)

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About the author

Charles Colyott lives on a farm in the middle of nowhere (Illinois) with his wife, 2 daughters, cats, and a herd of llamas and alpacas. He is surrounded by so much cuteness it's very difficult for him to develop any street cred as a dark and gritty writer. Nevertheless, he has appeared in Read by Dawn II, Dark Recesses Press, Withersin magazine, Horror Library Volumes III & IV, Terrible Beauty, Fearful Symmetry, and Zippered Flesh, among other places. He also teaches a beginner level Tai Chi Ch'uan class in which no one has died (yet) of the death touch.

You can get in touch with him on Facebook, or email him at [email protected].

Unlike his llamas, he does not spit.