The Revenge of Kali-Ra

by K. K. Beck

  “Oh,” said Nick. “Um, what did you just call her?” he asked Melanie. “Was it Beanie?”

  Now Melanie blushed. “Oh that’s what Nadia used to be called when she was a kid. Her real name is Brandi but she couldn’t pronounce it until she was about three. For God’s sake, don’t tell anyone. She’d be so embarrassed.”

  Nick was struck by Melanie’s loyalty. Nadia didn’t seem to deserve it. “She doesn’t seem to be the easiest boss in the world,” he said. “She was pretty rude to you just now.”

  Melanie shrugged. “She’s maddening, but she needs someone to look after her and no one else would put up with her. Anyway, I didn’t know what else I could do with a B.A. in classics.”

  “Well, I guess Lila owns the rights again,” Nick said, trying not to look disappointed.

  “God,” said Melanie, “First the script problems and now this. We’re supposed to start shooting!” I hope we can sort this out. Sometimes I wish I’d never heard of Valerian Ricardo. There’s been nothing but trouble since I found that damn book! Lunatics running around stabbing people, death threats! And now we don’t even know who owns the rights to those rotten books.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Nick.

  “It’s not your fault,” she said, looking ashamed at her outburst. “I’m sorry I trashed your uncle’s work.”

  “But his work is trash,” said Nick. “The guy was obviously a sicko, and his so-called philosophy, a lot of crap about evil really being part of the greater scheme of things, was a lot of cheap claptrap and an excuse for him to pander to prurient interest. I mean an honest pornographer wouldn’t have thrown in all that theosophy or whatever it is.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that,” said Melanie, glancing nervously over at Nadia. “I’m exhausted from pretending the stuff has any literary merit at all.”

  “The creepy thing is, there’s something kind of potent about his prose. Lately, some of my thoughts have been phrasing themselves in Uncle Sid’s overripe style. It’s unnerving,” said Nick.

  “The same thing’s been happening to me,” said Melanie, with a relieved air. “God, it’s good to be able to tell someone.”

  “It’s horrible to think we’re so easily seduced by sleazy prose, isn’t it?” said Nick.

  “The other day,” confided Melanie, “I almost felt as if I were slipping into some other reality where cheap sensationalism was standard operating procedure. I’ve been trying to clean out my head by reading Latin poets. It helps.”

  “Maybe I’ll try it. I’ll start with Lucretius,” mused Nick. “Reason. Lucid thought. Intellect instead of cheap emotion. I’m afraid my Latin isn’t that great, though. I’ve only read him in translation, but for the full antidote effect I could see that the original would be better.”

  “I’ve got the dual-language edition in my office,” said Melanie. “Want to borrow it?”

  “Yes,” said Nick, and he followed her down the hall. “The sooner the better. I’d hate to crack up like the fake Kevin.”

  “When we hear the gong of Kali-Ra summoning us, we’ll know we’re doomed,” said Melanie with a laugh. Just then, Nick heard a faint, metallic-like sound from outside. He grabbed Melanie’s arm. “Did you hear that?” he said, alarmed.

  She giggled. “Stop it,” she said.

  God, maybe he was going around the bend.

  But a second later, he heard it again. Melanie did too. “Oh my God!” she said, clutching him back.

  CHAPTER XXXI

  IN THE TEMPLE OF THE CHOSEN

  Although it was midday, the dense canopy of branches and the heavy vines and tangled vegetation above the milk-white temple shut out the light, giving the scene a dusky, emerald glow. The structure was simple but striking in its austere beauty, a perfect frame for the exquisite Kali-Ra.

  It was made of marble and consisted of a circle surrounded by steps, a ring of fluted columns, and a roof that cast in shadow she who stood there tall, proud and beautiful. Her green eyes glowed in a queer, trancelike gaze that seemed to penetrate all of time. She wore a plain garment of some white, finely-woven stuff draped to reveal a beautiful shoulder. In her hands was a brass gong and she struck it once more, producing a thrilling but alarming tone, a tone that lingered and beckoned like the evil summons it was.

  Soon, the summons was answered.

  A wretched, bulky figure clambered noisily down from a large eucalyptus tree nearby, panting with exertion and trembling with excitement at his nearness to his mistress.

  “Oh, Queen of Doom,” he murmured, casting his eyes on the woman before him. “You rang?”

  “Slave!” she said cruelly, her tone tinged with just a hint of the rare benevolence that when mingled with her mighty power incited his passionate loyalty.

  “Is it really you?” he whispered. “I had dared to hope for so long, yet—”

  “Have you no faith?” she shrieked, tearing at her garment and exposing her left breast. “You see, I bear the sacred scarab.”

  “Oh, beloved mistress,” he replied, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, which bore the embroidered name KEVIN in a small oval above the left pocket. “I too bear this mark.” Clumsily but eagerly he removed half his shirt and pulled up the white cotton T-shirt beneath it to reveal a similar tattoo on his chest.

  “Prostrate yourself,” snapped Kali-Ra, readjusting her garment as the slave fell on his face near the bottom step. “What have you done in my service since we last met?” she demanded.

  “I have entered the house where she who would profane your name slept, and plunged the dagger of Kali-Ra into her breast,” said the slave proudly. “I used the dagger I fashioned years ago in shop class, crafted to the exact specifications of your own sacred dagger.”

  “Describe to me the deed and how it was done,” said Kali-Ra with an impatient snap of her long, slim fingers.

  “Um, well, I climbed up on the balcony, using a ladder I found in the garage, and I just went into Nadia’s bedroom and did it. The door wasn’t locked or anything.” He paused and added, “It was the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me, except of course for coming into your presence, oh great queen.”

  “You fool! You stabbed another. Nadia is alive,” said Kali-Ra. “Could you not see?”

  “I did? Gosh. Well, it was pretty dark,” he stammered. “And I lost my glasses last night in the tree. I just assumed. I mean I know it was Nadia Wentworth’s bed and everything.”

  “Ah yes, the tree,” she said. “I am pleased you followed my orders about the tree, so I will spare your life, but I am displeased with your clumsy mistake, which has brought the attention of the authorities to us. You must be punished.”

  “Oh, Kali-Ra, be merciful,” the pitiful creature whined. “Let it be you personally who metes out the punishment. And could that punishment possibly be the sacred lash of Kali-Ra?” he added with a shudder of despair and delight.

  “Silence! How dare you tell me what to do! Are you my slave or are you not!”

  “Oh yes!”

  “Shut up!”

  The slave began weeping, and facedown, began crawling toward her.

  “How can you be so cruel?” he sobbed. “I have devoted my entire life to your service, and you have ignored me. When at last I fall down before you, you mock me.”

  He had made his way to her feet now, and she stared down in horror as he stroked her bare feet, then grabbed her ankles.

  “Hey! Let go!”

  “But I love you,” he said. “And you should appreciate that.”

  She tried to pull free of him, but he held her more tightly, then gave her ankles a smart yank, sending her sprawling on her back on the floor of the temple.

  “You little jerk!” she shouted. “Let go!”

  The slave, less humble now, scrambled into a sitting position, pinned Kali-Ra down by her lovely shoulders and said, his voice now filled with anger, “You bitch! You’re just like all the girls back in high school. I knock myself out for you and you treat
me like this. I’ve had it with women!”

  “Seize him,” shouted Kali-Ra in a frightened voice.

  “Raymond Vernon was right about you,” the slave went on. “You’re no damned good! Why, I ought to—” He raised his hand as if to strike and she screamed.

  Just then, with much thrashing of foliage, a figure leapt from the bushes, wrapped one beefy arm around the slave’s throat, and pulled him off the Queen of Doom. She scuttled out of his reach, her hair falling over her face, her white robes falling from her body, her face beautiful in its terror.

  “Great job,” said Tom Thorndyke, as he pulled the slave’s arms behind his back and whipped out a pair of plastic handcuffs with which he bound the dazed man’s wrists in a practiced movement. “Most inspiring undercover work I’ve ever seen.”

  “Thanks,” said Callie with a happy grin. “It was kind of fun, to tell the truth.” She rewrapped her garments, stood up, and picked up her gong and mallet, which closer examination revealed to be a large frying pan lid and a hammer.

  “Just cooperate and it’ll be easier on you,” said Tom to his prisoner. “Listen, pal, you’ve caused everyone a lot of problems. Grab the camera, will you, honey, and let’s turn this wacko over to the cops.”

  Callie scooped up a camcorder, which sat in the grass nearby. “Did you get it all?”

  “Every second. Great stunt with your breast. I bet that little move will get us an extra twenty thou from Inside Edition.”

  “We should have got some stills for the National Enquirer,” said Callie with a little frown.

  “No problem, we can restage the whole thing,” said Tom. “Maybe get a better-looking gong.”

  “This sheet kind of sucks too,” said Callie, fingering the fabric swathed around her body.

  “Well, this guy bought it,” said Tom with a smile. “Now maybe I can get Nadia Wentworth off my back.”

  Tom Thorndyke hustled the prisoner into the house, and after a frantic phone call, the two detectives rushed back from the hospital to arrest him. They had planned to take him to headquarters for questioning, but he seemed anxious to tell them all about himself immediately.

  His name turned out to be Winston Goodlet, a native of Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan. He listened carefully as his rights were read, said he didn’t want a lawyer, made a full confession, and was delighted to hear that there were TV cameras outside the gates of Villa Vera. His only regret, he said, was that he had been taken in by a cheap impersonation of Kali-Ra.

  “I just wanted to believe,” he said sadly, “but I know the real Kali-Ra is out there, and someday, I will hear her gong.”

  He had been lurking in the shrubbery the night before, when he thought he saw Nadia running naked across the lawn. Seizing the chance to punish her, he grabbed her and carried her off to the temple he had found in the overgrown part of the garden. He had selected the site earlier as a suitable spot for some unspeakable tortures that he hadn’t thought up yet, hoping to get guidance from Kali-Ra herself.

  When he discovered he had captured someone else entirely, and saw the scarab on her breast, he begged forgiveness, and asked if his captive was a fellow slave of Kali-Ra. “I was pretty excited because I’d never met a fellow slave of Kali-Ra,” he explained. “I even fixed the security system last night in case any of them were out there and wanted to join me. It’s been pretty lonely.”

  “No, you fool, I am no slave,” the young woman had said, wrapping her sarong around her hips, striding to the center of the temple and raising her hands above her head. “I am Kali-Ra.”

  “I told her how I had devoted my life to her service, ever since I was thirteen and found a couple of Valerian Ricardo books in my gran’s attic. I knew immediately that they were real, even though everyone told me they were just made up. I asked her what I could do for her and said I was trying to kill Nadia for her, and I missed with that jar.

  “She said that was fine, but as penance for carrying her off, I must first climb to the very top of a huge eucalyptus tree that happened to be right near the temple there, so I did. When I came down again, she was gone, but I thought I better get on with the job. Afterwards, I went back up there, figuring it was a pretty safe place. And it was. I guess the strong smell of the eucalyptus leaves is what fooled those dogs I heard barking around here last night. Anyways, when I heard the gong I came down.”

  At the end of his story, the detectives stared at him for a second, slightly slack-jawed, and he said, “I know my sacrifice will not be in vain and that my mistress will reward my loyalty. Can I talk to the press on the way out? You never know. She might be watching CNN.”

  After he had been carted away, along with a duplicate tape of his surrender to Kali-Ra Cunningham, Tom Thorndyke having kept the original, Melanie decided that there were a few more loose ends to be tied up.

  Approaching Vince Fontana, she addressed him in the Italian she had picked up on her junior year abroad studying Roman inscriptions. “Sí, sí,” he responded, and she smiled and gave him another dose. When he pinched her cheek gaily and said, “Sí, sí. Bella ragazza! Say, you don’t look Italian, honey,” she relaxed, and said, “Bruno says it’s time for you to go home now. Ciao, Vincenzo.”

  “What did you say to him?” asked Nick as they left.

  “I asked him if he was really Italian and didn’t he agree that fire was cold and ice was hot. When he said ‘sí, sí,’ I followed up with a suggestion that his mother and sister were prostitutes and he agreed to that too. I guess Bruno’s story checks out and we don’t need to expect horse heads in our beds. Don’t go away, I have to check on one more detail.” She excused herself and went over to Duncan Blaine.

  “So when’s the old girl coming back from hospital?” he asked morosely.

  “Very soon, apparently,” said Melanie. “Listen, Duncan, the police told me that Kali nerd they captured is from Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan.”

  “I guess I’d go mad up there too,” said Duncan.

  “The point is,” said Melanie, “that it’s a lucky break for you, because in Canada, they spell labor with a u.”

  Melanie glanced over at Nadia, who was holding hands on the sofa with Glen Pendergast. “Her disposition may improve,” she said with a little smile. “But no more scary stuff. We’ve been through enough.”

  “I promise,” said Duncan.

  Tom Thorndyke and Callie, who had been conferring with the police, now came into the room with a triumphal air. Callie was still wearing her bedsheet, which seemed to be slipping a little so that she had difficulty avoiding stepping on her hem. Melanie said acidly, “Who taught her to tie a toga?”

  “Tell us all about it,” said Nick. “What happened?”

  “With the help of Callie here,” said Tom, “I caught the son of a bitch and he’s in custody. We got the whole thing on tape. It’s sensational.” He went over to the VCR hidden in a cupboard near the liquor cabinet and set up the tape while Callie explained.

  “Last night that creep grabbed me because he thought I was Nadia, and I realized the only way to get away was to pretend I was Kali-Ra. Which was pretty easy because I’ve been doing that anyway as an empowering visualization thing that I’ll explain to you all later. Anyway, I didn’t know how to get rid of him, so I saw this big old tree and told him to climb to the top. Then I ran away and staggered back through the bushes.”

  “Wow,” said Nick. “But why didn’t you tell anyone?”

  “Well this sounds nuts, I know,” said Callie, blushing. “But the whole experience was so weird that I thought I might have imagined it. I mean this guy said he was my slave and stuff. It was bizarre. It was like posttraumatic stress denial or whatever.” She neglected to mention the killer joint and the gin, thought Nick. “I was so freaked out I thought maybe I’d done more stuff I couldn’t remember, like stabbed Lila or something. I mean this Valerian Ricardo stuff can make you crazy.”

  “I know,” said Melanie, Nick, and Duncan Blaine in unison.

  “It’s all cued
up,” said Tom, flapping the remote. “Great publicity for the movie, Nadia.” he gave her a winning smile and Nick figured he hoped she’d forget her threat to ruin his career.

  They all watched in silence, and when the tape ended, Tom said, “We’ll have to release this in conjunction with your own promotional needs, Nadia. We can liaise with your publicist.”

  “Hold on,” said Glen Pendergast with a frown. “I’m not so sure this should be made public.”

  “What do you mean? It’s sensational,” said Tom.

  “It’ll probably be good publicity for you, Tom,” said Glen. “But I’m not sure that anything that detracts from Nadia’s interpretation of the character is a good thing.” He looked over at Callie. “There can be only one Kali-Ra in the public’s mind. A basic rule in promoting a legend. She must be unique.”

  “Glen’s right,” said Nadia. “We can’t let this out.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Tom. “It’s nice to hear your opinion, professor, but this is a professional decision that Nadia’s going to have to make.”

  “Glen is my new manager,” said Nadia. “And my fiancé.”

  Duncan Blaine appeared to perk up at this news. He rushed over to Pendergast and shook his hand. “Wonderful news,” he said. “Nadia needs a firm hand on her career. I hope you’ll address the script problems that Lila has been causing. With your knowledge of the works of Valerian Ricardo—”

  “Wait a minute,” said Callie suddenly. “There’s another issue here. Whoever owns the rights to the Kali-Ra books owns the rights to the character I portrayed just now. And I have a good reason to believe the owner of those rights is my mom, Gail Cunningham.” She turned to Nadia. “But frankly, I’d rather be rich than famous. Go ahead, buy the tape from me, and if you can match an offer I might get from Inside Edition, you’ve got a deal.”

  “Hey!” said Tom Thorndyke, “we had a deal too, remember? We were a team, a great team, babe!”

  Duncan Blaine had drifted back to the VCR, rewound, and was fast-forwarding to the place where Callie had flashed her breast. In viewing it again, Nick could understand why Nadia might not want a rival Kali-Ra.