Criminal Karma

by Steven M. Thomas

  Turning from the worktable, I saw a small clock on the desk that showed eight forty-five. The position of the clock’s hands shocked me like a bare wire. I had either lost track of the time during meditation or spent longer scanning the legal documents than I realized. Satsang would be over at nine o’clock. Only fifteen minutes remained to look for the diamonds and get back downstairs before the adepts opened their starry eyes and stretched and looked around to see if Krishna had materialized.

  I searched the room as fast as I could without making noise or a mess. If I had been sure the necklace was there, I wouldn’t have worried about the mess and could have worked more quickly. As it was, I didn’t want to put Baba on guard, in case I needed to come back for another visit. I looked under the mattress, under the rugs, behind the pictures on the walls, in every container and drawer I could open, and in the tank of the toilet in the attached bathroom. No one ever hides anything in the toilet tank, but you are supposed to look anyway.

  The clock kept ticking.

  There were size-two girl’s clothes in the closet along with an extensive selection of XXXL men’s street clothes, including half a dozen suits from mid-level designers, Hugo Boss and Calvin Klein, along with one navy-blue, three-button Armani. There was also a flashy selection of shirts, ties, and shoes.

  Baba had a dual existence going.

  The right-hand desk drawers held office supplies and ashram files. The left-hand drawers were locked. There was also a locked oak file cabinet stained the same golden color as the desk. I couldn’t find a key for the cabinet or desk and there wasn’t enough time to run out for a crowbar to crack them open, so I took a sturdy steel letter opener and tried to pry the top-left drawer open with that.

  The lock had a steel tab that extended up into a steel-lined niche on the top of the drawer frame. I pried down with the letter opener at the same time as I pulled out and down on the U-shaped drawer handle, trying to open up enough space between the drawer and frame so that the lock would slip. I had the tab almost out of the slot when the letter opener split the wood it was dug into. My hand shot forward, knocking a lamp onto the wooden floor with a loud crash.

  I froze, stiff as an aviator in a glacier. Baba’s room was in the back of the house. I didn’t think they would be able to hear the crash in the meditation room, but I wasn’t sure. After a few moments, I heard what sounded like feet pounding on a staircase. Quick as I could with shaky hands, I set the metal lamp back on the desk, then dodged into the bathroom, squeezing behind the door.

  A few seconds later, the bedroom door was flung open and I heard someone breathing hard as if they had just run up a flight of stairs; then the door closed and aggressive footsteps went down the hall to the other bedrooms, more doors opening and closing.

  When there was no more noise, I stepped out of the bathroom, holding the letter opener in my right hand, which hung down at my side, the tip of the dull blade pointing backward. It wasn’t a good weapon, but it was a weapon.

  I looked at the clock. Meditation would be over in another minute or two if it wasn’t already. I had to get back downstairs. My hand was on the knob of the bedroom door when I heard voices in the hall.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The voices were coming closer. One of them was Baba Raba’s. The other was female. I started to retreat once more to the bathroom and then stopped. After an hour of meditation, the guru or his companion might need to use the facilities. The voices were right outside the door. Looking around wildly, I dove for the far side of the bed and wriggled under, same as sneak thieves and illicit lovers have been doing down through the dusty centuries since people first elevated their sleeping pallets to get away from crawling vermin. I felt a little silly hiding under the bed but, really, where are you going to go? The space beneath was clean and uncluttered. The bedspread hung down like a curtain to within a couple of inches of the floor.

  I made it just in time. The orange fringe was still swinging when Baba came into the room. The floor shook as his big farm-boy feet plodded over and stood beside the bed, close enough to reach out and tickle. Facing him was a second pair of feet, much smaller and neater with red-painted toenails.

  “I am sorry to take you away from the others,” Baba said, “but I wanted to see how you are doing.” His bedroom voice was less bombastic than his professional-guru voice. He sounded genuinely concerned. I wondered if his words were a prelude to hanky-panky and looked up to see how much clearance there was between me and the bottom of the bed. Not much. There was a box spring, but I didn’t have confidence in it. If Baba started bouncing his washtub ass on the bed, the whole thing might collapse on me.

  “That’s all right,” I heard Evelyn Evermore’s cultivated voice say. “I want to talk to you, too.” Happily, she didn’t sound amorous. She sounded dismayed. Despite her fine meditative posture, she had not connected with her inner ananda.

  “You don’t seem well, my generous friend,” Baba said. “You are upset by what happened in the desert.”

  “I’m upset about a number of things, Baba,” Evermore said, the distress in her voice sharpening into anger. “I still want to know why you sent that disgusting man with me to Indian Wells. His manners were atrocious and he treated me like a prisoner.”

  “As I told you before you left, I sent him because I sensed you were in danger. Which turned out to be all too true. It is fortunate he was with you. Or the necklace would have been stolen.”

  “You are very interested in that necklace, aren’t you?”

  “Of course I am. It is essential for the work we are doing.”

  “So you say. But I am having doubts, Baba. That Jimmy character is a cretin. He put his hands on me. It was a horrible experience and it makes me question your judgment and intentions. Where in the world did you even meet someone like that?”

  “The Hebrew teacher Jesus told the Pharisees that he did not come to save respectable people, but sinners,” Baba said. “The Pharisees were rich and self-righteous and wanted to know why he spent time with barkeeps and prostitutes. He told them that people who are well do not need a doctor; only sick people need a doctor. Jimmy is a troubled young man and I am trying to help him. It is good for him to make himself useful in our work.”

  “So, you’re Jesus now?” Evelyn said sarcastically. “No, I am not Jesus. I am just one feeble and faltering man trying to do a little good in an unhappy world. And I can’t do it alone. I need help. We all need help. Including you. I am sorry if Jimmy offended you. I will warn him about his behavior and make sure that he does not bother you again. He will apologize to you when he returns.”

  Evelyn’s feet shifted restlessly and I heard her sigh. When she spoke, her voice wasn’t as harsh: “I don’t need an apology from him, and I don’t mean to be judgmental. Jimmy Z is a real jerk, but we have all been jerks in our lives, and worse, I suppose. At least I have. Just keep him away from me.” Her voice grew softer still. “Have you heard anything since the last time we talked?”

  “Yes.” Baba said, power and authority flowing back into his tone, crowding out the apologetic note. “She is still in Los Angeles and she wants to come home.”

  “How do you know? Have you found her?” Evermore’s voice trembled. Baba had struck straight to her heart.

  “The same way I knew about her father’s sins,” the guru said, getting sonorous. “The same way I knew about her love of riding and about all the things that happened to her when she was with you that I have told you about. I am in contact with those who have knowledge of her whereabouts, and I am seeking her in deep meditation. I am close to her now. We will find her soon.”

  “I want to believe you, Baba,” the rich lady said. “And I want to help you in your work. I told you last week that you could have the necklace after Diamonds in the Desert, and I will follow through on that. I just hope you are not stringing me along. It has been six months since you said you would find her. I will do anything you want, but you have to find her soon. I can’t stand this muc
h longer.”

  Baba’s big feet shuffled toward her and I could imagine his thick hairy arms stretching out to enfold her in a simian embrace. But she backed away, unwilling to be comforted against his beer keg of a belly.

  “No. Keep your distance.”

  “What?” Baba said, sounding surprised and offended.

  “We’ve been over this.”

  “I am only trying to comfort you, Evelyn,” Baba said. “This is the time for faith. We will find her soon. I promise you that. Where is the necklace now?”

  “The Indian Wells police have it, but my attorney is driving out on Monday afternoon to pick it up,” Evermore said.

  “Does he know that you are going to donate it to the center?”

  “No. He is suspicious of you and I didn’t want to argue with him, so I told him I need the necklace for a charity event I am attending later this week.”

  “Can we rely on him, Evelyn? It is essential that I have the diamonds in my possession by Tuesday afternoon.”

  “Of course I can rely on him. He has been my attorney for twenty years. He will take the necklace to the bank on Tuesday morning and put it in my safety deposit box. We can meet there in the afternoon.”

  “You are going to give it to me then?” For the first time in my brief acquaintance with him, I heard a quaver in Baba’s big voice. I had a pretty good idea why.

  “Yes. I will make out a receipt for you to sign and the necklace will be yours. I’ll be glad to be rid of it.”

  “Do you think it is safe for the lawyer to transport it when thieves are after it?” Baba asked.

  “He is taking an armed guard with him to the desert, and he has a safe at his office where he can keep it overnight. Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”

  “Yes. And to find out you how you are.”

  “Well, now you know. I am very unhappy.” Talking about banks and attorneys, Evermore had recovered her moneyed poise. “You have a great deal of spiritual talent, Baba. I am in awe of you sometimes. Maybe you are exactly what you claim to be, exactly what I took you for when we met last summer. You helped me then. You gave me hope. But my patience is wearing out. I am wearing out. You said if I gave you the necklace you would be able to find Christina and bring her back to me. I am holding you to that. Find her soon, Baba. Please.”

  Her bare feet turned quickly and flitted from the room. Baba stood silently until the sound of her steps faded. When she was gone, he took a deep breath, audibly sucking half the air in the room into his tremendous torso, then chanted the cosmic syllable om one time, drawing the resonant mantra out for a minute or more, filling the atmosphere with a vibration that raised goose bumps on my arms.

  Drawing another breath, he began to chant om again, but halfway through, the chant morphed into a growl and then a terrifying roar. The roar ended with a crash followed by a series of temblors as Baba stomped out of the room. Sharp particles hit my face at the moment of the crash. After Baba slammed the door and pounded down the hallway, I slithered out from under the bed and saw that he had smashed the Buddha on the floor. The jaggedly decapitated head was still intact, but there was a crack running from the bridge of the Aryan nose to the top of the skull. It looked like the merest tap would split it in two.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Shortly, I followed Baba downstairs. As I came to the bottom of the steps, the muscle I’d seen on the boardwalk came out of the hallway beside the staircase that led to the back of the house.

  He went on point when he saw me. “What you doing up there?”

  “Looking for the bathroom,” I said. “Do you know where it is?”

  “It’s down here,” he said, very unfriendly, jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction he had come from. “Don’t go up there no more. That’s for staff and clients, understand?”

  “Sure. No sweat. How much do you bench, anyway?”

  “Three-eighty.”

  “Wow,” I said, giving him a wide-eyed look. “That’s a lot. You’re really strong.”

  “I get by,” he said, slightly mollified.

  “You work out down on Muscle Beach?”

  “Yeah, I’m usually down there ‘round four in the afternoon.”

  “Neat. Be careful no one drops a barbell on your throat tomorrow.”

  “Yer the one better be careful,” he snarled.

  I walked around him into the narrow hallway.

  The bathroom was ten feet down on the left. I went in and locked the door behind me. There was a handwritten sign on the wall by the shower asking people to be considerate of others and not use an excessive amount of hot water, always a precious commodity in a crowded ashram. The sign by the toilet—there always is one—instructed residents and guests not to put paper towels, tampons, or anything but toilet paper in the commode because they would cause a clog.

  I splashed cold water on my face and dried off with a damp towel. I shouldn’t have antagonized Baba’s tough guy, but I was irritable. I wasn’t sure why. My upstairs adventure had been successful. I hadn’t found the diamonds, but I had found out where they were and, more importantly, where they were going to be on Tuesday morning. That was big. I had also discovered Baba’s alternate career and learned the nature of his hold on Evelyn. I should have been happy. But I wasn’t.

  The muscle was gone when I went back out into the hall and everybody else was in the library, so I decided to do some more exploring. The swinging door at the end of the hall opened into a big old-fashioned kitchen with white wooden cabinets and yellow linoleum.

  The blond girl Baba was trying to rename, whose lithe limbs and sexy energy would have drawn the eyes of every man in the stands at a World Series game if she walked by when the count was three and two in the bottom of the ninth, was arranging some snacks on a wooden tray at the table. She looked up when I came in and smiled when she recognized me, a pleased smile, bright with surprise. It lasted only a couple of seconds before she tucked it away behind the bored, supercilious look that comes naturally to beautiful girls, but we both knew it had been smiled. The fact was added to our unique store of shared knowledge, things only she and I were aware of.

  “What are you doing back here?” she asked in the same taunting tone she had used on the beach.

  “Just looking around. What are you doing?”

  “Making prasad.”

  “Can I help?”

  She shrugged her small sturdy shoulders. “I don’t see why not. Get those dates and the powdered sugar from the counter and bring them over here.”

  I took the wooden bowl of dates and cardboard box of sugar over to the table and sat down beside her. She smelled like castile soap. I resisted an impulse to bury my face in her shiny hair. I seemed to have a lot of impulses when she was around.

  “Here.” She handed me a paring knife. “Cut a slit in each date and put one of these almonds in, then arrange them in a circle on these little paper plates and sprinkle powdered sugar on them.”

  She was peeling oranges, tangerines, and grapefruits, arranging the segments in parallel rows on the wooden tray.

  “That looks nice,” I said.

  “Prasad has to be really tasty and attractive,” she said, primly. Then, giving me a sidelong look, “You probably don’t even know what prasad is.”

  “Actually, I do.”

  “Oh, yeah? What is it?” Though she was obviously all grown up in the ways of the world, she had a childish pride and possessiveness about her knowledge of the esoteric. It made me like her that much more.

  “It’s food offered to a divinity like Krishna that takes on divine energy in the process. It is then shared among the god’s devotees as a way of receiving his blessing.”

  “Wow,” she said, her attitude changing easily from superiority to admiration. “That’s pretty good. I never heard anyone say it so simple before. I mean, I kind of knew that’s what it was, but I couldn’t have put it so neatly.”

  I shrugged. “How long have you lived here?”

&
nbsp; “I’ve only been here a couple of months, but I’ve lived in other ashrams before. I really groove on Hinduism and yoga, you know?”

  “Yeah, Vedanta is a cool religion. What brought you to this ashram?”

  “My roommate graduated last semester—I go to City College—and I couldn’t afford the rent, so Baba let me move in here. I help out with karma yoga and he doesn’t make me pay anything. He’s pretty cool.”

  “What all does karma yoga include?”

  “Mostly working in the kitchen,” she said flatly. “But I kind of help manage the place, too. What about you? What do you do? How do you know about Vedanta?”

  “I studied it years ago when I lived in Florida.” I didn’t mention that my scholarship took place in a prison library in between card games and yard fights. “I spent some time with Muktananda when he was in Miami.” That was after prison, when I was a dewy-eyed spiritual seeker, through forever with lying and stealing and all forms of dishonesty.

  “Wow! You met Muktananda? He was one of the great teachers of this age.”

  “Yeah, he was. Maybe I can tell you about him sometime.”

  “What do you do now?” she said, slightly cooler, sensing a spiritual come-on.

  “I own a construction company.”

  That was the cover story I’d used for the past several years. I had business cards, stationery, sample cases, and a phone number that was answered by a professional-sounding woman who always said the same thing: “Coast Construction. No, Mr. Rivers is out on a bid. If you leave your number, I’ll have him call you.”