But before all that, she’s committed to locating the Golden Kali Statue. Nothing will stop her from finding it. And as she reveals the diamond-encrusted statue key from where it hangs around her neck by a thick leather strap, she insists she’s close to locating it. Closer than she used to be anyway.
“I can feel it in my bones,” she adds for emphasis.
Her enthusiasm is contagious even for an old sandhog like myself.
“When you’re done, you can write a book about your experiences, do the talk-show circuit and be famous. You won’t even remember who I am.”
“Very funny. Science isn’t about fame, Chase Baker. It’s about discovering the past and learning a little more about why we exist and how much longer we have to exist.”
“That’s deep,” I say, to which she responds with a gentle punch to my left bicep. The love tap sends chills up and down my backbone.
Sometime later, she reveals that her only claim to fame is her big advertising executive brother who created a global campaign for a Mexican beer featuring a handsome white-bearded gentleman who claims himself as The World’s Most Interesting Man.
“Come to think of it,” she says, as we share ice cream cones while watching the little French kids ride the carousel, “you’re that man…the most interesting man in the world.”
“You should live with me for a while,” I say, taking a lick of the sweet vanilla ice cream. “You’d be bored out of your skull.”
Her green eyes take on a sheen that reflects the sunlight shining down on Paris. I just want to jump into the pools, swim around inside them for a while, then float on down to her heart, take a long nap. Without asking, she takes hold of my hand, presses her lips together. She says, “Maybe I’ll take you up on that.”
We spend the remainder of the day looking at paintings in the Louvre, then walk the Seine while fishermen angle for black, eel-like fish with their extra-long poles. We share a picnic lunch of red wine, cheese, sausage, and baguette and lie on our backs facing the sun. I’ve only been acquainted with Elizabeth for a few collective hours and already I feel like I’ve known her for years and years. After a time, I roll onto my side, place my hand on hers, lean in to her, and kiss her gently on the mouth. Much to my delight, she doesn’t pull away, much less slap me.
“That was nice,” she says when finally we come up for air. “You fancy yourself a tough guy, Chase Baker. But deep down, you really are a romantic.”
“I live in my own little world,” I say, kissing her once more. “I like it that way. But then, maybe you can be a part of it.” Pressing my hand against my heart. “There’s room enough for both of us in here.”
“Does that mean I don’t have to pay for the tour?” she says, giggling.
Night arrives gently after a brilliant orange-red sunset that reflects off the still river. We share a dinner of steak-frit and a bottle of expensive red while on a riverboat cruise that sails up and down the Seine. We retire to my room at the Saint James Hotel on Avenue de Rivoli and make love like we invented it. In truth, I expect her to be gone the next morning, already on a plane bound for New Delhi. But when I wake up, I’m ecstatic to find her standing by the open French doors wearing a thick white robe. She’s holding a cup of coffee in both her cupped hands while peering out at the view of old Paris, the Eifel Tower so clear and prominent in the background, it seems like she can simply reach out and touch it.
“Come back to bed, Elizabeth.”
She turns to me, issues me a pout that makes me want to melt into the mattress.
“Chase,” she says, tears pooling in her eyes. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”
“I do,” I say. “We’re proof.”
“I love you,” she says. “I…love…you.”
The Kali statue was Elizabeth’s passion and obsession. As hard as I fell for her, I knew that inevitably I would be in for a world of hurt if I fell too far. You see, she was too much like me. If opposites did indeed attract, we were naturally doomed. She was simply too involved with her work. But then, work wasn’t the right word for it. She was more like a shaman or a saint who had given herself over entirely to another power far greater than the mortal sum of all her parts.
Still, the trap door had been opened and not only did I fall for her, I kept on falling. And when she left me for good, I forced myself to not think about her. To forget her entirely. Because remembering her face, her voice, her smooth skin, her hair…was all too painful. Maybe that’s why I never went after her. Because I was afraid of being hurt again. Afraid of her leaving me again. But then, I guess you could say, even after all this time…even after convincing myself that she was dead…I still love her with all my heart.
***
When we come to number 69 Via Guelfa, I unlock the front door, flip the light switch in the dark corridor. Climbing the short, but steep and narrow, flight of damp stone stairs to my apartment, I let us both in through the thick wood door. Almost immediately we’re greeted by my five-year-old pit bull, Lulu. Lu takes one look at the tall, turban wearing man and growls.
Some people are deathly afraid of pit bulls. But Dr. Singh displays not an ounce of fear. He slowly lowers himself down to one knee like he did in the Piazza Santa Maria Novella, and gently holds out the back of his hand. Lu takes a quick whiff of it and starts to lick the hand as if he’s fallen under the Indian’s spell.
Singh stands. “When you are gifted with such a beautiful animal, life is never lonely.”
“Man’s bestest buddy. Do anything for you. He’s also one hell of a guard.”
I’m reminded of Lu saving my life in this very apartment not too long ago, back when I was in search of the mortal remains of Christ and some crooked cops from the Florence police wanted the prize for themselves.
I instruct Dr. Singh to make himself at home in the living room while I cross over the dining room into the kitchen where I put on a pot of water for tea. In the meantime, I crack myself a Moretti beer in hope that the buzz I had going an hour or so ago might quickly return bringing along with it the calming of my still beating, but no less broken, heart. When the tea is done, I pour a mug and bring it and the beer out with me into the living room.
“You’ve read all those books?” he says, nodding at the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that cover the exposed brick wall in the near century-old apartment building.
“If I’m not writing, I like to be reading. But nothing replaces seeing things for yourself. Traveling, getting the feel of a place. Smelling the smells, tasting the flavors, touching the textures. I’m sure you know the drill, Doctor.”
“You speak the truth,” he says, taking the tea in hand, nodding his head in thanks, then, exhaling. “I suppose you want to know how I’m convinced your Elizabeth lives and how I’ve become aware of her whereabouts.”
…You’re Elizabeth…
I steal a drink of beer, feel my heart beating inside my ribcage. “First of all, Dr. Singh, you must have done your homework to know that I experienced a love affair once upon a time with a woman named Dr. Elizabeth Flynn. And second, if you’ve spent that much time doing your homework, you must be jonesin’ to employ me.”
“Jonesing?”
“Figure of speech.”
“Ahh, yes.” He beams. “Now I remember…Back when I was in college, students would jones for a cigarette. Or some marijuana. Or some Old Milwaukee beer. Very bad for the digestive track.”
“Exactly.”
“I can’t reveal precisely who my sources inside India and Nepal are. But word has come to me that Elizabeth Flynn is indeed alive and located somewhere near the Chitwan National Forest along with my son.”
“She and Rajesh are together?”
“Yes.” He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple running up and down the interior of his neck. “The search for Rajesh is all-consuming, Mr. Baker. And I can’t think of a better man to get him back for me…for his parents. Therefore, I have indeed done my research and what I found along the way might startle you.”
&nb
sp; “And, of course, you’re not going to give me any details about Elizabeth’s so-called resurrection until I locate Rajesh and bring him back to you.”
“You use the word resurrection, Mr. Baker. But are you certain she perished in the first place?”
In my head, I travel back five years.
I’m pacing the wood floor of my apartment, worried out of my skull because I haven’t heard from Elizabeth in close to a month. Of course, it’s possible this is her way of ending it, but my gut tells me different. A call comes on my cell phone. One of those calls that have a certain ring to it. A ring that signals anything but the garden variety phone call. A ring that instead stops your heart, sends a shot of ice water through your veins. I answer the phone, put it to my ear.
“Yes,” the word peels itself from the back of my dry-as-sand throat.
“Are you Chase?” speaks the voice of a woman on the other end. “Chase Baker?”
“I am.”
“My name is Samantha. I’m calling from India. I’m a colleague of Elizabeth Flynn’s. I’m…I’m afraid I have some bad news for you…”
Dr. Singh is right.
Elizabeth was never reported as perished. Officially, that is. But what her colleague revealed was that she’d gone missing in Nepal, somewhere near the Chitwan National Forest. That the Nepalese Army was looking for her, but coming up with nothing. I can’t begin to tell you how many times I nearly dropped everything to go look for her. But something stopped me. A voice inside me that kept telling me Elizabeth didn’t want to be found. And that if I did succeed in finding her without getting myself killed, she’d just leave me again…or worse, send me away.
That was half a decade ago, just weeks after my father died of a heart attack. Since that time, I haven’t heard a word. Until last month that is, when I received a strange envelope in the mail that contained no return address. Inside the envelope was the bronze key she’d discovered in the Rome antiquities shop…the key to the Golden Kali Statue…along with a letter.
The letter, which contained only a few words and a couple of hand-drawn but detailed illustrations of the statue, was signed by Elizabeth. Up until I pulled that letter out, I didn’t know whether or not to take the key seriously, as if it were an elaborate joke cooked up by some sick-minded individual.
But then, this was no ruse. It looked very much like the real thing. A totally legitimate letter signed by the woman I loved but tried so hard to forget. Maybe at the time I should have been happy to receive some proof of life, but that proof only made me more confused and even more despondent.
“No, Dr. Singh,” I say, choosing not to reveal any news of the bronze key or Elizabeth’s letter to him. “I never saw her in death. Only in life.”
“Then, perhaps resurrection isn’t the correct term. But all this is simply semantics. The important thing is that if you agree to help me, I can lead you to her, Mr. Baker. In fact, your locating her will be a crucial component of the project.”
“If locating her is the same as locating Rajesh, why not go after them both yourself? Why bring me into it?”
“Too many eyes are already upon me. I’m afraid if word were to get out about my personally searching for Rajesh, his life could be immediately terminated. It’s a risk I cannot take. Which is why I am asking you to go after him in my stead.”
I drink some more beer to dislodge the distaste in my throat. Pulling the beer away from my lips, I toss it across the room, lunge at Singh, grab him by his jacket collar.
“Why are you doing this? Why not just ask me if I’d like to help? What the hell kind of head game are you playing, Doc?”
Lu barks, stands four square on the floor like she’s about to bite Dr. Singh’s kneecaps off should I issue the order.
“Back off, Lu. This one’s mine.”
“Mr. Baker, enough,” he pleads, his voice raised a decibel or two. “Please understand, I have nothing directly to do with Elizabeth Flynn’s life or death. I have made no direct contact with her. I only know what my information sources relay to me. That you were once lovers and that she lives and that I am someone who can provide you with at least some information that could potentially lead you to her whereabouts.”
I let him go and he brings both hands to his throat as he seats himself down onto the couch.
“That makes my day complete. If she’s alive, like you say, then you’re using her whereabouts as leverage? What kind of man are you?”
“I want Rajesh back, Mr. Baker. Simply asking you for your services is not enough. Money won’t be enough. Not even a lot of it. I need the utmost assurance that you will indeed find the boy and bring him back to me, no matter the cost.”
“You’re not taking any chances on me saying no, are you, Doc?”
“You might not have known Elizabeth for very long, but I am assuming you loved her with all your heart. Her capture is, in a way, my good fortune. Rajesh’s good fortune. His karma at work.”
…His karma…what about my karma, pal?
“Love…Love is why I’m saying yes to going after your six-armed God Boy.”
“Love…Is there no better reason on earth for saving a soul touched by God?”
5
Dr. Iqbal Lamba Singh stands, reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out a considerable wad of Euros. “Take this. Consider it a down payment. You will be hearing from my associate within the hour regarding the information you’ll need to know prior to proceeding with the assignment.”
“Not at this address. You’ve already revealed that the eyes of someone or something are upon you. For all I know, you’re being followed right now.”
“Then, I will make certain to have the associate available to you at your home away from home. The Fiddler’s Elbow.”
“That will do just fine.”
“One hour. I should warn you that you are to leave tonight.”
“You don’t waste time, Singh. What about weapons?”
“Something to defend yourself with should the situation get dangerous?”
“I’m strictly offense.”
“It will be taken care of.” Handing me the cash. “Remember, one hour.”
“How will I get a hold of you if I should suddenly require your assistance? You know, if I should happen to step into some quicksand or something?”
“I will be in touch. But don’t worry. There’s little chance of you stepping into quicksand where you’re going. Everything has been arranged, or will be arranged. Do we have an understanding?”
“You knew I would agree to the job. Once you mentioned Elizabeth. You never even asked about my fee.”
“Your fee is of no concern. It will be paid if you succeed and, by all means, the down payment is all yours no matter what.”
“What if I don’t succeed?”
“But you will. Soon you will find Elizabeth.”
“But this isn’t really about her is it? It’s about the six-armed boy.”
“It is about the boy. You see, Mr. Baker, locate Elizabeth Flynn, and she will lead you directly to Rajesh. Now do you understand my logic?”
“I do. And conversely, if I find the boy first, it’s possible he might lead me to Elizabeth.”
“Perhaps that is equally true. But in all likelihood, Elizabeth will be out in the open, working on uncovering the mine, while the boy will be hidden away in a chamber or a cell, separated from all who seek a glance at him and, shall we call it, his condition.”
“One more thing, Doc. Who the hell took Elizabeth and Rajesh in the first place?”
He shakes his head and gestures with hands as if to say, not now. “That will all be explained to you. Suffice to say…a man of extreme evil.”
The devil…he’s talking about the fucking devil.
I see the doctor out, lock the door behind me. Reaching inside my T-shirt, I pull out the leather strap wrapped around my neck and twirl the small bronze key it supports in my hand, the tiny diamond fragments embedded inside it sparkling even in the dimly lit apa
rtment.
Slipping the key back inside my shirt, I then pull out my wallet, open it, slip my fingers into one of the slots, pull out a photo. Stare at the image. Elizabeth’s face. She’s smiling, a smile that crinkles her green eyes as her long hair blows in the breeze by the cobbled riverbank in Paris. I feel my throat tighten, my eyes well up. I knew the moment I met her in the Ritz Bar that I would marry her someday. But that day never came because Elizabeth disappeared and … died.
Or did she?
Lulu trots out of the bedroom, stares up at me.
“What the hell am I doing? I’ve finally gone and lost my marbles, Lu.”
“For starters,” the pit bull says, “you’re talking to a dog.”
“I’m not really talking to a dog. I’m only imagining myself talking to a dog.”
“Okay, whatever. But something’s got you upset.”
“You think it’s possible for somebody to come back from the dead, Lu?”
“Only in story books, Chase. Isn’t that one of your many jobs? To write stories? Fantasies? Adventures?”
“I guess. They seem real when I’m writing them.”
“Well, there you go. There’s nothing wrong with suspending your disbelief now and again, especially when it comes to someone you miss so much.”
The dog turns tail, hops up onto the couch, rests her chin on her front paws, falls to sleep.
“Have a good nap, Lu. Looks like I’m not going to get a lot of sleep tonight, so, I think I’ll do the same.”
Heading into the bedroom, I lie on my back, close my eyes. Within minutes, I find myself drifting until the drifting becomes a deep sleep.
I see fire. I am down in a pit or a cavern. A portion of the floor flows with a river of lava. It’s so hot I can hardly catch my breath. Sweat leaks from my pores as if my skin were a sieve. Then, something begins rising from out of the lava. First, a head. Then, a set of arms, and another, and another. Soon the entire body has risen out of the hot flow and hovers above as though levitating.
It’s the God Boy.
He locks eyes with me as I step towards him, only to feel myself sinking into the lava. But then, I’m not really sinking so much as melting into it. The pain is beyond anything I’ve ever felt.
Chase Baker and the God Boy: (A Chase Baker Thriller Series Book No. 3) Page 3