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The Devil's Vial

Page 5

by Brumbaugh,Byron


  . . .

  Automatic doors slid open almost silently. Richard watched them, then stepped into the mall. The doors closed behind him. Yet once again, he was in a different universe. The air was cool and sterile, the off-white, hard tile floor glistened despite the thousands of feet treading over it. The windowed walls displayed a vast collection of objects, mostly unneeded for human survival, arrayed in a way someone felt was enticing. All was illuminated by the buzzing glow of multitudes of fluorescent tubes overhead. Hundreds of people in small groups walked about, some on a clear mission, others wandering randomly, a few viewing the wares as they passed.

  Sikkim, still fresh in his mind, was so different. So much simpler, direct, solid. This place was ethereal, surreal, unintuitive; so far removed from the immediate experience of life. He felt so much more grounded walking on gravely, dusty earth, barefoot except for open-toed sandals. So much more alive, inhaling Mother Earth’s breath after it fluttered through and stroked living green tissue, bearing the sweet fragrance of tropical plants. So much more involved, enveloped by solar radiation with its intensity and broad spectrum beating down on exposed skin and illuminating objects so bright, he could only look though narrow slits of eyes.

  Alex and he walked into the atrium of the mall. Off to his left, Richard noticed a Victoria’s Secret store. “Just what are they selling?” he asked Alex

  Alex glanced at the store. “Oh, you know. Panties that barely exist, nighties that cover next to nothing, swimsuits that must have been designed by hungry oncologists trying to increase the size of their practice. That kind of stuff.”

  “You don’t understand. What I mean is…” Richard thought for a moment, “what is it they’re pandering to? What need do the store owners see in others they’re trying to address by selling this stuff?”

  Alex paused. “I’ve heard that women do most of the shopping here. Now, I don’t really think I can claim to understand what motivates women, but I have asked a few why they buy what they do. They’ve told me they want to feel attractive.”

  “It works for me. At least when worn by the models pictured on those posters, they definitely get my juices flowing, stimulate the urge to merge. But it makes you wonder what it is they’re trying to attract – I’m quite sure it often isn’t me.”

  “I’ve asked them that. They’ve unanimously answered they want to feel attractive. They don’t want to necessarily attract any particular thing, or person.”

  “So, Victoria’s Secret is trying to sell them a self-image? To make them feel better about themselves? By selling panties?”

  “Pretty much.”

  They passed a sporting goods store. “And here, we’re selling…” said Richard.

  “Self- image again, I think,” said Alex. “But maybe a little more. Empowerment too. You know, you build up endurance and strength and it makes you feel like you have more control over life. You’re strong, you’re in shape, you can handle more, grab what you want.”

  “Okay. So we’re buying sexy panties so we’re happier with what we are, running shoes so we can become emperor of the universe. Two sound strategies. They ought to work well.” Richard looked up at the next store they passed. It was a Barnes and Noble bookstore. “Ah, now this, I understand. I love to read. Here, we can buy alternative existences, at least for a time. Lives more interesting than our own, more fulfilled. That works well too.”

  “Hey, what’s going on?” asked Alex. “It sounds like you’re rejecting my whole way of life. The American way of life. Is this what Buddhists do? Think about this kind of thing, all the time?”

  “No, not really. And I’m not criticizing you or the American way.” Richard took a deep breath. “I just spent three years doing very little more than the essentials of life. It gave me quite a different perspective on things, you know? A perspective I don’t want to lose. I’m now back in Babylon and I don’t want to fall back into old habits. I feel the nearly irresistible draw of the materialistic life. The promise that all I need to do is feed my craving and I will have a happy life. A promise that I know, in the depths of my heart, is false. I’m just trying to be aware of what motivates me, what I’m trying to achieve by the choices I make. It puts my desires in a more meaningful context.” Richard took a few steps, then continued. “Just because I’m a Buddhist doesn’t mean I’ve stopped being human. Everybody has desires, emotions, ideas, and thoughts. Most of us feel that we have to take action on them. If you’re angry, you should react, hungry, eat, convinced of an idea, take it to fruition. But you don’t have to. You can ignore all that and act based on something else.”

  “Like what? That pretty much covers most of my motivation. And you know what? I like the way I live.”

  “I’m not really sure. But, compassion, I think, and maybe a deeper intuition that is more sound than what we think. I’m not enlightened. I’m still working it out.” Richard turned and looked at Alex. “Hey, I just had a great idea. Let’s forget about the medicine thing. We fix people and they just get sick all over again. And they have this nasty habit of dying sometimes too.”

  “Instead…”

  “Instead, we set up a store here in the mall. We could call it the Buddha Barn.” Richard waved his hands in front of him as if drawing his vision. “Our motto would be ‘Simplify, Simplify, Simplify.’ Instead of selling stuff people don’t need, we get people to bring all their meaningless junk to us. We sell it to people that need it –”

  “- we’re going to make a lot of money with that –”

  “- or sell what we get for raw materials, and give the money to the people that brought the stuff in. That way, they not only need to work less, and have more time to smell the roses, they will get some of their ill spent cash back in order to support a more meaningful life. They’ll have more time to pursue what is really important.”

  “Yeah, right. Well, here’s the clothing stores. Maybe you can find a compassionate pair of pants, and an enlightened shirt or two.”

  “Something that will keep me warm and legally covered will work just fine.”

  They walked into Macy’s. Just inside and to the left was the men’s department. Richard’s step faltered as he looked around. There were rows and rows of slacks of every kind and color. Shirts, folded and packaged, were stuffed in shelves that ran for yards down several aisles. Hundreds of ties hung close by. Suits, belts, socks, underwear and jackets, of an overwhelming variety were displayed. The image of an orphanage flashed across Richard’s mind, with children full of desperate hope of being noticed and taken home. Like the kids, each piece of clothing seemed to be calling Me! No, me! Take me! All Richard wanted was a straightforward pair of pants and a couple of shirts. He wondered if, in all this fancy diversity, he would be able to find something simple enough. Stepping forward, he started sorting through clothes. This could take a while, he thought.

  . . .

  “Nice night for a stroll,” said Richard as he and Alex, just back from the mall, walked with Buddy in the summer half-light. Alex's house sat in the middle of a traditional American residential neighborhood; single family houses, each on half an acre or so of well-trimmed lawn. To Richard, the area felt familiar and at the same time strange. He never thought about it before, but the way people lived in these communities was... synthetic. Most of their time was spent in boxes of various sizes, their environments manipulated for comfort. The problems they worried about had no reality independent of man - balancing checkbooks, following traffic laws, difficulties with interpersonal relationships, to name just a few. If man were to someday disappear from the universe, these ideas would disappear with him. But the place was quiet and peaceful.

  The evening was warm and the air was still. Buddy's nails clicked on the cement sidewalk as he trotted next to Alex on a loose leash. Richard reached down and cautiously stroked the dog on the head. Buddy ignored his advances, his attention drawn to something in the bushes in a front yard. He ran off to give the greenery a good snuffle; Alex let his leash run l
oose. “He doesn't seem so bad,” said Richard.

  “I don't recommend you try that in the house,” said Alex. “He used to be a police dog, you know. He's trained to do some significant damage.”

  Buddy's size alone was scary. The thought of him being trained to what? attack? was downright unnerving. “How'd you get a police dog?”

  “Buddy's partner was an elderly police officer who decided to retire. The city, who owned Buddy, agreed to let him take the dog with him when he left. Buddy was still young, yet well-trained, and the old man turned Buddy into a pet, but one he had to keep a close leash on.”

  Richard looked at Buddy, who was still sniffing leaves. He seemed tame enough, just doing doggy stuff.

  “The policeman came to the ER with a stroke and that's when I met him. The guy was grateful for my help and decided, since he would no longer be able to care for Buddy, he'd give the dog to me. Somehow, Buddy and I hit it off from the start, despite his training as an attack dog. I do have to avoid certain commands, but that's not hard - they're all in German.”

  Alex stopped walking and gave a gentle tug on the leash. “Buddy, heel,” he commanded. Buddy did as he was told without hesitation. “Let's go home. I still need to catch up on some sleep.”

  “Do you think I'll be okay with him in the house?” asked Richard.

  “I wouldn't push it just yet. You'd better give him plenty of room for now. He can be something of a loose cannon,” Alex gave the dog a pat on the shoulder. “You've surprised me before, haven't you, big guy.”

  Buddy looked placid enough. But then, Richard supposed, he was a dog and nothing said he had to follow a human script.

  Chapter Five

  Alex was jolted awake. It took him a couple of seconds to realize, without looking, what roused him was a heavy hairy paw plopped next to his cheek. This was followed by something soft, cold and wet rubbing briefly against his nose. Opening his eyes, he found himself staring into a smiling, brown-eyed, furry face whose long-toothed grin, held slightly open and supporting a loose, dangling, pink, wet tongue, panted in eager anticipation. “Morning, Buddy,” he said. “No way you could let me sleep in a little, huh?”

  A soft whimper was the answer

  “No, I suppose not. Okay, okay. Just give me a minute to collect my wits.” He reached out and patted the dog on the head as he crawled from beneath the covers and stretched.

  Buddy moved over to the door and shoved his nose against the crack between it and the jamb, sniffing loudly.

  “Gimme a minute…” Alex put on his slippers and stumbled to the door. He kneed Buddy out of the way and, opening the door a crack, stuck his head out and looked into the hall. Richard was nowhere to be seen.

  Alex grabbed Buddy by the collar and led him to the back door. The yard was good sized and beyond the back fence was a large unimproved lot with a small forest. What the hell, thought Alex after he put the dog out. I’m up now. Might as well take a shower and cook some breakfast. The clock on the oven read 7:46.

  Alex started coffee, then went upstairs for a shower. When he finished and was dressed, he knocked on Richard’s door. “Coffee’s ready,” he said. The fresh-brewed coffee grabbed at his nose, leading him back downstairs.

  “Good morning!” Richard said when he came into the kitchen. “What’s for breakfast?”

  “How’s bacon and eggs?”

  “Well, pork is not a good idea, but the eggs sound good. Got any cereal and milk?”

  “You Jewish too?”

  “It’s just a tradition for monastics not to eat pork.”

  “Cereal’s in the cupboard and milk in the fridge. Help yourself. I’m going to feed Buddy and then I’ll cook some eggs.” Alex put some food and water in Buddy’s dishes in the laundry room, then opened the back door. Grabbing a hold of his collar, Alex led Buddy into the laundry room, opposite the kitchen island, keeping him well away from Richard. The dog looked at Richard, but obediently followed Alex’s lead.

  Richard backed up a few steps, giving Buddy plenty of room.

  Alex made sure the door was securely closed. Buddy went to work with a lot rattling of his aluminum dishes. “That should keep him busy for a few minutes.”

  “Am I ever going to be safe around him?”

  “It takes a while. We’d better take it slow.” Alex cracked eggs into a frying pan. “How many you want?”

  “Three sounds good.”

  “I need to take Buddy for a walk after breakfast. You want to come with?” Alex looked up from the stove. “The more time you spend with him outside the house, the more he'll grow used to having you in the house.”

  “Sure. How far you going to go?”

  “Oh, I don't know. Just a mile or so. How do your clothes fit?”

  “Fine. It was a good idea to go shopping last night. And I’m telling you, I haven’t slept so comfortably in a long time.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” The eggs sizzled in the pan. “So what else do you want to do today?”

  “Well, I guess I should call the police and see if I can find where they took the cab so I can get the rest of my things. Besides what I bought yesterday, all I have is in my shoulder bag there on the counter.”

  “What’re you going to do for transportation?”

  “I was thinking I’d buy a used car. I can’t afford much until I start working again. Then I guess I need to go looking for an apartment to rent.”

  “Boy, you’re really starting from scratch.”

  “Yeah. It feels kind of liberating, you know? I’m setting up a life and I’m not carrying along a lot of detritus from the past.”

  There was a knock on the front door.

  “Watch the eggs,” said Alex. “I’ll go see who’s there.”

  Alex walked to the front door and looked through the glass. On the porch waited two uniformed policemen. A black and white cruiser was parked out front. “The police are here, maybe they have some news,” he called back to the kitchen as he opened the door. “Hello, officers. Please come in.”

  “Are you Doctor Stewart?” said one of the officers as he came in through the door.

  The officer who spoke was big. Well over six feet tall and beefy. His voice was friendly and calm, but his eyes scanned the house intently as if looking for a threat. Alex supposed policemen developed a habit of keeping an eye out for danger and thought no more about it. He was pretty sure he'd seen the other officer, on occasion, in the ER. “Yes, I’m Dr. Stewart.”

  “I’m Officer Martin, and this is Officer Nichols.”

  Alex nodded at Nichols, who nodded back.

  Officer Martin looked toward the kitchen. “And is that Richard Gregg?”

  “Yes, I’m Richard Gregg. Do you have news about my things?”

  “Yes, but we need to get some additional information too. We have the accident report, but we need some answers to a few questions.”

  “Would you like to have a cup of coffee and breakfast?” offered Alex.

  “Coffee would be nice.” Martin followed Alex back into the kitchen, the other policeman close behind.

  Alex went back to his eggs.

  “What the…” said Richard.

  Alex turned to see Martin standing behind Nichols; he apparently let him pass. In Martin’s hand was a pistol with a long barrel pointed at Nichols. Nichols turned toward Martin with a surprised look on his face. Martin moved the barrel of the pistol so it pointed into Nichols’ arm pit, under his Kevlar. There was a thud, Nichols stiffened, then fell to the floor. Alex could smell burnt gun powder.

  “Ah, now, you shouldn’t have done that,” said Martin as he pointed the pistol first at Alex and then Richard. “Cops get really pissed when you kill one of their brothers. They aren’t going to like this. They’re likely to shoot first, shoot second, shoot some more and not bother to ask questions.” He reached for the barrel and screwed off the end.

  Alex recognized it was a silencer.

  Martin put the gun in his belt and, before Richard or Alex co
uld react, pulled his service revolver from his holster and pointed it at Alex.

  “Get over there next to him,” he said, nodding at Richard. “Move!”

  “What…” Alex was confused, but moved next to Richard when he saw the policeman was deadly serious. “What’s this all about?”

  “Never mind. Just do as you’re told.” The pistol never wavered. Keeping his eyes focused on the two of them, he spoke into the microphone on his shoulder, keying it with his free hand. “Control, this is Martin. You can call off the other teams. We’ve found Gregg and Stewart.”

  “You need help?” said the microphone.

  “No. We have everything under control here.” He turned his attention back to Alex and Richard. Keeping his pistol trained on the two of them, he went over to Richard's bag and emptied it onto the counter. He sorted through Richard’s things with furtive glances, then turned to Richard. “Where’s the rest?” he asked threateningly.

  Richard had a confused look on his face. “Where’s the rest of what? What are you looking for?”

  “Where's the rest of the stuff from your bag?”

  “That’s all there is.” Richard paused. “Except for these,” He held up the meditation beads he was wearing around his neck.

  “I need the rest of the stuff that was in this bag, and I need it now!”

  “But that’s all there is! The only other stuff I have was left in the cab.”

  Martin turned his head toward his left shoulder, while keeping his eyes on Richard and Alex. “Officer down. Officer down,” he said into the microphone. “Shots fired, officer down. Suspects two Caucasian men, average height and build, armed and dangerous. Approach with extreme prejudice.” The policeman moved toward Alex and put the pistol barrel up against his temple. Speaking to Richard, he said, “You, I need. Him, I don’t.”

 

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