Kaleidoscope

by Chariss K. Walker

  “Sounds like Joe,” Sarah said and then laughed too. I could hear the noise of a busy family in the background and she rejoined the others.

  I waited for Maria to come to work Monday morning, but by eight-fifteen, she hadn’t arrived. She was never late, so I grew concerned. So much had happened since the previous Monday and now, Hosea, Maria’s husband, was at the door.

  “Come in, Hosea. Where’s Maria? Is she ok?” I worriedly asked.

  “Good morning, Señor Mike,” Hosea replied. “Si, Señor Mike, Maria is fine, but she doesn’t want to come back to work for you.” He shrugged his shoulders and expanded his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

  “Oh,” I said, and it was all I could say.

  “She is sorry, Señor Mike, but she doesn’t feel safe working here. I think you can understand that.”

  “Yes, I understand,” I truthfully replied. Hosea remained silent and I wasn’t sure what to do next; I hadn’t expected this. “Can you give me a minute to write out her paycheck?”

  “Si,” Hosea responded. I went upstairs to write a check to Maria Gonzales for two years severance pay. It wasn’t her fault that she’d been put in harm’s way. I wanted to compensate her for any suffering. I folded the check in half and then returned to the kitchen. Hosea was still standing in the same spot.

  “Please, tell Maria that I’ll miss her and I’m very sorry. I wish her well and if she needs a reference, I’ll give her a great one.” Hosea nodded, tucked the folded check in his shirt pocket and left.

  That evening, Sensei Wakahisa and I began the practice session with the five steps to disarm an assailant and continued practicing the series of Kali movements to increase reflexes and allow me to get past an attacker’s defenses.

  The next morning, Sarah called again. She wasn’t the same relaxed version I’d spoken to on Sunday. She was tearful even though she reiterated that she was over the shock of Nelson’s death and glad to be home with her children and family. Because I’d protected her, I was her life jacket. Sarah felt the need to reach out more often to make sure I was still there. I was her rock in a fast-moving stream and she clung to it for fear of being washed away.

  “Mike, I’m sorry that Nelson betrayed you. I’m sorry that he betrayed all of us,” Sarah said tearfully.

  “It’s not your fault and you’ve nothing to be sorry about, Sarah.”

  “But I should’ve known. I should've questioned him,” she replied choking back sobs.

  “Look, Sarah, if you’d done that and actually knew anything, those men would’ve never let you live. They had your home bugged, so they heard every conversation. If he’d told you what he was doing or about our sessions, your life would still be in danger. It’s a blessing that you didn’t know.” I was adamant.

  “Ok, Mike. I know you’re right and I’ll try to stop beating myself up about it,” she said, but the response wasn’t convincing.

  “Do more than try, please. You deserve a good life. After you’ve completed the grieving process, you deserve to find happiness. Do you have access to Nelson’s bank accounts?”

  “Yes, of course, we were joint owners on everything. If either of us died, the other one had full control,” Sarah replied.

  “And the big payment they made when Nelson and I started the sessions is still there?” I asked.

  “Yes, Nelson had quite a bit of money in the account,” Sarah said thoughtfully.

  “Good, then pull the money out and open a new account in your name; put some money aside for the children’s education. That’s what he intended, and then, buy a home of your own where you and the children can make some new memories, good memories. Continue your work, Sarah. You’re an excellent journalist and writer. Do what you love and make every minute count,” I encouraged. Just those few positive words gave Sarah hope and purpose. She was anxious to get started on the suggestions.

  “Thanks Mike. I’ll do that right away,” Sarah said with a new lightness in her voice. “You take care of yourself. I love you, and I know that I can’t ever repay you for protecting my family that night. Just know that I’ll send love your way every day. Know that wherever you are in the world, someone loves and cares about you,” she said and hung up.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  I trained relentlessly both at the dojo and in the sanctity of my mind as I visualized the dance steps and practices. As I reclined in bed and closed my eyes, I expected to see the previous images of a frigid cold snap descending somewhere in the Midwest or southwest, but instead I was shown Magin’s lifeless, bloody, and scarred face.

  What the hell!

  Shocked by the vision, I sat upright in bed and opened my eyes. I turned on the bedside table lamp and took a few deep breaths. Then, still sitting up on the side of the bed, I closed my eyes again. The image of Magin’s lifeless face, bloody and scarred, reappeared.

  The kaleidoscope had previously shown personal images such as switching the wine glass with Casey, Maria and Sarah in trouble, but now it showed that Magin was either seriously injured or dead. I didn’t know what to make of it. Magin was traveling Route 66 through the southwest and on into California, but I had no idea where he was at this minute or how to protect him.

  How the hell did this happen to him?

  I didn’t have any answers, but I could sure as hell try to find some. I furiously dialed Magin’s cell phone number. No answer. I redialed every five minutes; still no answer, but I refused to give up. I kept dialing and redialing until finally at one-thirty Magin answered.

  “Hello, couz,” he slurred into the receiver.

  “Magin, where are you?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm and steady.

  “I’m on Route 66 in Tucumcari, New Mexico,” he replied and then laughed.

  “I’ve been trying to reach you.”

  “Well, you got me now. Besides, you know how it is, couz. I was in a saloon having a drink with the cutest little Texan waitress after her shift was done. She’s from Amarillo but moved here a few weeks ago to get away from a crazy ex,” Magin replied and then said, “I guess I didn’t hear my phone over the music and noise. You know how it is. What’s wrong?”

  “Yes, I know how it is. Magin, did you get in a fight?” I asked trying to understand the reason behind the bloody and scared face I’d seen in the images.

  “No couz, no fighting. I was just trying to get a little loving and she might be coming to the motel in a few minutes. Why? What’s going on?” Magin asked again.

  “Where are you right this minute?” I asked with some amount of relief. Maybe this could be stopped. Maybe I’d gotten to Magin in time to prevent what I was shown in the kaleidoscope.

  “I’m on the street outside the bar just about to cross over to where I left my car parked. Then, I’m headed to the motel a few blocks down. You sound crazy, Mike. What the hell’s the matter with you? Can’t a guy have a good time?” he asked.

  Then, I heard it—the accident. Screeching tires, crushing bones, and the breath knocked out of Magin as he was struck full force by an automobile. It was as if I was standing directly beside him. It was a vivid image. Next, I heard the car squeal away and nothing else until the phone went dead.

  I grabbed my hair in anguish. I’d wanted to tell him to get to his motel and stay there, to be safe, to take care. I never expected to be on the phone with him when it happened. I hoped that knowing would be enough to protect him, but it didn’t work that way—it never had. I’d seen me switching the glasses and I’d done it. I’d seen both Maria and Sarah in danger and had rushed to protect them. The images of Magin were already done. I was shown his lifeless, bloody face and there wasn’t anything I could do to protect him.

  There wasn’t anything else I could do now either. I’d wait to get an official notification. It finally came at three-fifteen that morning. I was pacing back and forth in the living room with the phone lying on the coffee table waiting for it to ring. This was it. This was a call about Magin. I picked up the receiver.

&n
bsp; “Hello,” I said into the phone, but there was an unasked question at the end of that single word.

  “Hello, is this the Lewis residence?” a male voice asked.

  “It is,” I replied feeling dread in the pit of my stomach. I sat down on the sofa and waited for the news.

  “I hate to awaken you with such disturbing news, Mr. Lewis, but this is the New Mexico State Police,” the voice quietly continued, “and there’s been an accident.”

  “I see.”

  “We have the body of Magin James Lewis here. From our investigation, he left a bar on Route 66 in Tucumcari sometime after one o’clock this morning. He was struck by a hit and run driver as he walked across the street to his car. The coroner said he died on impact. I hope that might be of some comfort to you, Mr. Lewis, because he didn’t suffer. Again, Sir, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but we found your name and address in his effects,” he paused briefly. “You are the next of kin, is that correct?” he asked in a slow drawl.

  “Yes, I’m his next of kin.”

  “Well sir, you’re required to make arrangements to claim the body. Can you make those arrangements?” the Police Officer asked.

  “Yes, I can. Please give me the contact information and I’ll take care of that,” I said as I moved towards the kitchen to find paper and pen. After I’d taken down the information, there was really nothing more to say, so the officer hung up. I stood in the kitchen a few minutes thinking about the accident.

  Did this have anything to do with me?

  Surely, it was an accident; Magin was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The last time I’d seen Joe, he’d insisted I keep him informed about anything that happened no matter how minor. I felt Joe would want to know what had happened to Magin. It was close to four in the morning, but I called him anyway.

  “Damn, what is it?” Joe muttered when he answered the phone.

  “It’s Mike.”

  “What is it?” he repeated grumpily, “Hell, I just got to bed an hour ago.”

  “Magin’s been killed in a hit and run in Tucumcari, New Mexico. They want me to retrieve the body.”

  “Was it an accident?” Joe asked, more alert.

  “The New Mexico State Police said it was and that he was killed instantly; that he didn’t suffer. He’d been in a bar and was walking across the street to his car. I was on the phone with him when it happened; I heard it,” I explained. Joe ignored that part and skipped straight to business just like he always did.

  “Give me the contact information they gave you and don’t mention a word of this to anyone,” he said excitedly. I did as he asked. “Wait to hear from me, Mike. And really, don’t notify or talk about it to anyone. Got it?” Joe repeated.

  “Got it,” I replied. “There isn’t anyone left to notify except me and his mother.”

  “Were they close?” Joe asked.

  “No. When I went to Albany to help bury his dad, she didn’t even see Magin. She said she wasn’t ready.”

  “Yeah, well she isn’t ready to hear this either so leave her out of it. Just hold off until you hear from me,” Joe repeated, and then hung up.

  The morning passed sluggishly. I drank coffee and visualized the practices. There was nothing else I could do. Joe called back around eleven o’clock and got straight to the point without even a greeting.

  “Mike, they caught the guy who hit Magin. It was an accident, but he’ll still be facing vehicular manslaughter charges. He was only nineteen years old… he’d had too much to drink. He didn’t see Magin in the street. He was on the phone with his girlfriend trying to arrange a booty call. He panicked and fled the scene, but someone saw him speeding away and called it in. They got him. Don’t worry about Magin for now. I’m sending someone to retrieve the body. I’ll be in touch again real soon,” Joe said and hung up.

  I didn’t hear anything else from Joe so I went to the dojo to meet with Sensei Wakahisa. When the class was over, the Italian men who’d accosted me a few weeks earlier were waiting. “You know the drill,” the spokesman said and then continued, “Mr. D’Angelo wants a face to face with you. Seems you two have some notes to compare. Get in the car, please.” I obediently got in the car and they didn’t bother blindfolding me this time. That might not be a good sign, but when I asked about it, the ringleader replied, “Oh, we’re not going to his home, Mr. Lewis. And, you’ll get a bag over your head soon enough. Hey, Eddie,” he yelled at the driver, “Lose the tail. One’s FBI and I don’t know who the other one is but lose them.”

  He leaned back in the seat and got comfortable, so I did too. After a few abrupt and sharp turns, right and then left, the limo slowed down to a normal pace. In another few minutes, it turned into a secured parking garage. Everyone relaxed as the metal gate closed making it impossible for anyone to follow. They drove round and round continually climbing the structured ramp until they reached the top deck. A HELO waited and I was nudged out of the car. Once inside the helicopter, the black bag went over my head as it took off. It didn’t take a genius to know we were flying to the Hamptons. I got a strong whiff of salty sea mist and could only imagine that we’d landed in either Bridgehampton or perhaps Sagaponack. The bag wasn’t removed until we were actually inside. Sal D’Angelo waited for my arrival beside a walled window overlooking an Olympic sized swimming pool at the back of the lovely and expansive home. His wife, an older version of Casey, was swimming laps in the oversized, well-lit pool. Her hair was in a rubber cap, but even in the dim light, I was certain it was her.

  “Hello, Mr. Lewis; I hope the unexpected travel wasn’t unpleasant” D’Angelo said when he turned to face me.

  “Not at all,” I replied as I looked around the room. Another man, Italian and deeply handsome, comfortably sat on the sofa in the sitting room. Sal D’Angelo noticed that my attention focused on the newcomer immediately.

  “Mr. Lewis I’d like you to meet Antonio Benetti, Cassandra’s ex-husband,” D’Angelo made the introduction. “I’m sure you can understand that he’s also very interested in what happened to her.”

  I nodded politely and wondered where this was going. I didn’t have long to wait. Benetti began to describe his relationship with Casey and how she’d changed during their marriage. As he did, I studied the tall, dark Italian man who appeared to be in his early forties. He was handsome, polished, and exhibited true feelings for Casey.

  “Cassandra and I were married for eight years, but during the last three years of our relationship, she changed. I wanted to know what happened. Papa D’Angelo has brought me up to date on what he’s found out, but I requested to be at this meeting to hear the rest of it,” Benetti explained.

  “I understand you’re being followed and watched 24-hours a day. Who do you think is following you?” D’Angelo calmly asked.

  “The FBI has had me followed since I returned from Roussillon. As to the others, I don’t know who they are, but they have to be associated with the others who’ve tried several times to abduct me.”

  “You don’t know who they are and yet they follow you,” D’Angelo commented thoughtfully. I nodded, not knowing where this was going, but feeling uneasy. “I suspect, Mr. Lewis, that the men following you work for the bastards who had control over Cassandra these last few years. Please, sit down. We have a lot to discuss. Would you like a drink?”

  “No thank you,” I politely declined.

  “Some coffee, an espresso, or water,” D’Angelo continued.

  “Yes, since you’re offering, an espresso would be nice,” I replied. After the coffee was brought in and he’d fixed himself and Benetti a drink at the bar, Sal D’Angelo joined us in the sitting area.

  “Now,” he said, “I’m going to be honest with you and I want you to be honest with me.” He looked at me thoughtfully before he continued, “Cassandra was what some people would call a wild child or free spirit. Her mother and I knew that. We’d hoped that once she was married, she’d settle down, but she didn’t. If anything, she became more unrul
y, more willful.”

  “That’s true,” Benetti interrupted, “but these traits were manageable and didn’t affect our marriage. I loved her in spite of and because of the wildness in her spirit.”

  “We didn’t want to admit that she was an addict, even when the authorities gave the cause of death in Marseille as an overdose. Now, we understand it wasn’t substance abuse that killed her...Sill, we had a difficult time accepting she had a problem even after we put her through rehab several times. We lied to ourselves,” D’Angelo continued without missing a beat. “The health spas or rehabilitations never worked; nothing worked. She’d get clean and within a month was right back to her old ways. We honestly didn’t know what to do. We knew that something happened to change all of this for Cassandra, but we didn’t know what that was until after the first meeting with you. We weren’t aware of her arrest in Rome. She didn’t confide in us about these things,” D’Angelo paused and took a drink of the scotch he held in his hand as he looked thoughtfully at Benetti.

  “I wasn’t aware of it either,” Benetti added.

  “I have friends in many parts of the world, but certainly in Rome,” D’Angelo continued. “I could’ve helped her, but she didn’t ask for my help or her husband’s. We needed to know who found her and rescued her. I’ve had the entire matter investigated now for several weeks. The summation of that investigation shows that The Rodante Group out of San Francisco was then and remained Cassandra’s benefactor over the last five years. Have you heard of them?” D’Angelo asked. I nodded. “Even more disturbing is that there isn’t a head to be chopped off. It seems that there’s committee after committee of board members, but we’ve been unable to find a person in charge of making decisions for the company. We’ll eventually find out and bring the fight directly to his or her door, but for now, the path leads to dead ends. The Rodante Group is a subsidiary of Geomatics, your employer,” D’Angelo paused to gauge my reaction and then continued, “Did you know that, Mr. Lewis?”