Isabella turned to Alex. He noticed the man held a stun baton.
“Thank goodness you’re okay, Alex.” Isabella said, immediately adapting to the new circumstance. “I’m the lead doctor at Coalition Properties, and I am appalled at what has happened to you here.”
Alex just stared at him.
“Let’s get you out of here. Get you some place safe.”
Isabella took a reactionary step back as he watched Alex eyes oscillate back and forth in a way he had never seen before. He had seen enough to know Alex wasn’t fooled by his story in the least.
He didn’t hesitate to adjust his tactics once again. With deceptive speed, he pulled his knife free from its holster and slashed it at Alex.
Alex barely reacted in time, side stepping the strike, and parrying it with the baton.
Alex twisted the handle of the stun baton, and the weapon crackled to life. He began to circle.
Isabella began moving the blade back and forth to either hand with well-rehearsed speed and technique as he counter-circled Alex.
He jumped forward at Alex with a left to right slash that had such unexpected velocity that Alex barely had the time to move clear. Alex felt a sharp pain on his chin, and felt it with his left hand. It felt slick with blood.
Alex decided he would switch tactics. He twisted the handle of the stun baton with both hands, turning it off. He began to spin the stick in his right hand, like his Kali training taught him.
He read his opponent. The man who stood across from him was unlike any other individual he had ever encountered. His actions were not fueled by the constant reinforcement of the emotional loops developed over time that created the patterns of human behavior. What set him apart was that he was completely incapable of compassion. That definitive part of the human condition was literally missing in his psyche. He was unable to bond with other human beings, and that, combined with an isolated childhood filled with countless hours of television, filled that emptiness with the cold darkness of entropy. His life became defined by the death of others at his hand, not because there was any grand purpose or joy, but because the simple logic of the patterns he chose dictated to him what nature had shown him, that all things must end. Alex was facing a true sociopath, and it made reading his each and every move in order to anticipate what he would do next much more difficult.
But training was training. Alex remembered to stay in the moment. Isabella slashed again with his knife, but this time Alex was ready. He met Isabella’s move with a strike from the end of the stick on the wrist, shattering the multitude of small bones that allowed for movement and causing Isabella’s hand to release the knife. Alex immediately bounced the stick off the wrist onto the jaw, breaking it just below the hinge.
Isabella stepped back but did not fall, did not cry out. He lunged at Alex without hesitation, shoulder into Alex’s chest and wrapping his arms around his midsection and knocking Alex backward. Isabella immediately released one arm from Alex’s midsection and grabbed one Alex legs, instantly putting Alex on his back. Sitting on top of Alex, Isabella reached for another blade holstered to his ankle.
Alex kicked up his hips, throwing his attacker off balance. He hit Isabella with a palm heel strike, hard and flat just below the breastbone as Isabella pitched forward, knocking the wind from the assassin’s lungs. Alex took the microsecond of time where Isabella’s body went slack in response to the blow and pushed the one hundred and forty-five pound man off him and to his left, crawling out from underneath, barely avoiding a slash from the ankle blade of an already recovered Isabella. The men rolled to their feet simultaneous, and Isabella kicked the stun baton out of reach. He let out a smile, barely perceptible, one that indicated recognition that the odds had just shifted significantly in his favor. The men began to circle one another once again.
“I don’t know why Brown focused all of this attention on you.” Isabella commented. “I honestly don’t see it. But he’s a psychopath. And in the end it just doesn’t matter.”
Alex studied Isabella intently as the man talked. He searched for something, anything in the man’s behavior that might indicate his next move.
His attacker had slashed at Alex twice. Both times Alex had parried. His attacker would more than likely adjust his attack. He had tossed the knife back and forth between hands exactly five times on each occasion before attacking. He wore suit jacket that was cheap, and therefore tailored incorrectly. It visibly constricted his movement.
Currently, he held the blade firmly in his right hand. Alex was weaponless, and the lines on his opponent’s face and the movement of his eyes indicated that he felt safe enough to plan a straight thrust of his blade for the kill. Alex let Isabella edge closer in to confirm in Isabella’s mind that this was the right decision. Isabella shrugged his shoulders in a small subconscious move, to adjust his jacket. That was the final tell that Alex needed.
Isabella lunged at Alex, lightning fast, but Alex anticipated. He sidestepped the strike and parried the blade with his left arm, using his own as a lever against Isabella’s elbow as he simultaneously trapped the hand of Isabella’s that held the blade with his right, and the combination of leverage and surprising force, reversed its direction. Isabella’s elbow hinged back towards his own chest, and the blade sunk deep into the flesh just beneath the collarbone, piercing his right lung.
Isabella’s face showed surprise but no emotion as he locked eyes with Alex, and blood that began to fill his lungs quickly began to make its way out of the corners of his mouth.
Alex stepped aside as he watched Isabella slump to the floor.
He turned to look at Brown, who just stared at him, eyes wide with fear and rage.
The sound of his cell door opening got his attention. He turned to see Doctors Lax and Lansky standing at the entrance. For several seconds, none of them moved.
Alex read them and immediately knew three things: They were his beta captors, they meant him no harm, and the shorter one had been involved with “Alice.”
“I’m sorry.” He said to Lax, reading the shock and sadness in his eyes.
“We’re the ones who are sorry.” Lansky responded. “For allowing this to happen. Now go. Get out of here, while you still can. Disappear, and don’t ever let them find you.”
• • •
Nikki listened to the radio of the pick up truck as she weaved her way through traffic and towards the Coalition Properties West Building. All the stations had switched to their “Emergency Broadcast System” band, and were giving live updates of a large-scale riot taking place in the Watts District of Los Angeles County. Local police were fighting with what had been reported as private sector mercenaries, who were all meeting considerable resistance from both gang members and the local community. It had just been reported that the private forces were in retreat, the police were stabilizing the area, and local paramedics were being called in to treat the wounded. She instinctively shook her head in response. She couldn’t escape the feeling that the world was being turned upside down.
She pulled the truck up to the curb, across the street from the Coalition Properties West Building. She looked at the 9mm that Stern had left her and realized now that she was here, she had no idea what she was going to do. She certainly couldn’t storm the building with a firearm. She had attempted to contact Stern several times on the drive over, but there was no answer. She feared the worst.
She put the gun in the glove box, and decided that she would step inside the lobby, take a look around to see what was going on, and decide what to do from there. She took a deep breath for courage, got out of the car, and turned towards the building entrance. She froze in her tracks as Alex Luthecker quietly exited the building.
She watched as he surveyed the street, the look on his face a bit unsure. He eventually caught her gaze, and she saw recognition in his eyes. She replied with a brief smile and a small wave.
Alex smiled in return and approached. Nikki’s heart raced as he got closer, and she was surprised a
t that response. It seemed to take forever before he finally crossed the street, and stood directly across from her. Neither said a word.
“How did you get out?” She finally asked.
“I was let out.” He replied. He tilted his head with curiosity. “You had something to do with that.” He continued, half statement, half question.
“There was an agent who went in for you. His name was Marcus Stern.”
“I’m sorry.”
Nikki lowered her head.
“We should probably go.” Alex said, as gently as possible.
They both climbed into the truck, and Nikki pulled from the curb.
“Where do you want to go?” She asked.
“108th Street. In Watts.”
She looked at him.
“There’s been rioting down there.” She told him. “Apparently a private security company went in there illegally, and were driven back by locals with a bunch of sticks.”
Alex smiled.
“Those are my friends. You’d like them.” Alex told her, and he realized how much he missed them.
They drove in awkward silence for several blocks.
“Thank you.” Alex said, breaking the silence.
“I saw what happened. Between you and Richard Brown.” She replied. “The terrible things he’s done…” She trailed off.
Alex remained quiet, choosing to look out the window at the passing buildings.
“I have…so many questions.”
He looked at her. She had created things, he could see in her eyes, created extensions of herself that could touch upon the countless worlds and endless patterns that had filled his mind on a daily basis, ever since he was a boy. It was an odd connection, one that Alex felt had a sense of destiny to it.
As if reading his thoughts, she smiled at him.
It was just beyond the grasp of his full understanding, but he was beginning to see that the totality of the Momentum of All Things perhaps wasn’t unreadable. That certain people were meant to meet, or not meet, live, or not live, and the micro-patterns of one person’s life, when amplified by those of another or others, would reveal the macro-patterns of the Universe in full.
“So do I.” He finally replied. “So do I…”
EPILOGUE
ONE WEEK LATER
“I think it’s perfect.” Ben Ellis said, as he looked over the two bedroom, two bathroom apartment Nikki had found on Westside Rentals. Located just off of Montana Avenue and 11th Street, it was walking distance from all the restaurants and shops along Montana, and less than twelve blocks from the beach. Built in the thirties, it had a classic old world design, with hardwood floors throughout and a vintage walk-through kitchen.
“I can hang my Kayaks along the far wall of the living room.” He added.
“Hold up. That’s not going to happen.” Nikki replied. “This place has to look nice, not like a couple of fraternity brothers live here.”
“Fine. But no girly-pink or nothing.”
“Girly-pink? Have I ever done girly-pink?”
“No. No, you have not.”
She gave her brother a big playful hug. Outside of a few small scars, and some missing hair, he hardly looked as if he’d been in a serious accident.
“I’ll tell them we’ll take it. Now I’m late, I have to go.” She said, before she picked up a small backpack next to the door.
Ben noticed a pair of bamboo sticks strapped diagonally across the bag.
“You’re going to train with those guys again?”
“There’s another girl. And yes. You should come.”
“No thanks. You’re kinda into that strange little guy, aren’t you? What’s his name again? Alex?”
“Pick out whatever couch you want, as long as it’s leather, and it’s Brown or Black.” She deflected. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before she headed out the door.
• • •
Alex removed his shoes and carefully made his way across the beach towards lifeguard tower number seven. It was late afternoon, and although the air was beginning to cool, the sand still held the day’s heat. The sun hung low on the horizon, and would be setting soon. It was a rare treat that Master Winn held training on the beach, and Alex was looking forward to getting back on a more regular routine.
He saw his instructor sitting alone beneath the tower, eyes closed in meditation. Winn’s eyes opened as Alex approached. The elder man got to his feet, and he and Alex embraced.
“Where is everyone?” Alex asked.
“They will be along shortly.”
Alex examined his instructor a moment. So much had changed, and the man’s fate, so clear to Alex in the past, was a mix of conflicting patterns now.
“You knew all along, didn’t you?”
Winn answered with a wry smile.
“But I don’t understand something. There are some people whose patterns and fate that were crystal clear to me in the past, that now I can no longer see clearly.”
“Those you can’t see, are the ones capable of change.”
“Doctor Alex!” Alex turned at the sound of Yaw’s voice.
He smiled at the sight of the big man as he watched him approach, arm around Camila, Chris Aldrich and Joey Nguyen not far behind them.
The group exchanged embraces, and Alex felt like he was truly home.
He saved his last embrace for Camila.
“My man. It is good to have you home.” She said to him.
He suddenly realized something and held her out in front of him. The look on her face said it all.
Alex gave a surprised look to Yaw. The big man smiled and nodded in response.
“So, I might as well announce it, since Alex is going to know it anyway. There’s going to be a new addition to the family. Camila and I are expecting.”
“Congratulations.” Alex said to Yaw, as he shook his hand and embraced him.
“Does that mean you’re going to stop training?” Chris asked Camila. “I’m pregnant, not cripple, fool.”
“We’re just going to go easy.” Yaw added.
“Today is a good day. We’re just waiting for one more before we get started.”
They all followed Alex’ stare as he watched Nikki Ellis walking across the beach in their direction.
“Someone’s gotta work with the rookie.” Yaw said, winking at Camila while elbowing Alex.
“I got this.” Alex replied.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Many thanks for the help and encouragement from the following people: Martin Lorin, for taking the time from his busy schedule to edit and proof the initial manuscript. My sister Deborah, who knows both how I write and why I write, and therefore always gives me the best notes. Friend and fellow novelist Elizabeth Cosin, for telling me what worked and what didn't early on. And Win Calcetas, friend, fellow martial artist, and sounding board for my crazy ideas.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Keith Domingue is a screenwriter living in Los Angeles, and has written scripts for MGM, Dimension Films, and Village Roadshow Pictures. His first original screenplay ONE THIRD, is being produced by Safady Entertainment, and is set to begin production in 2013. Also a fitness coach and avid martial artist, he splits his time between the computer screen and the gym. LUTHECKER is his first novel.
You can reach the author and see what's next at facebook.com/keith.domingue.
LUTHECKER: ORIGINS
PROLOGUE
EVAL
Richard Brown woke with a single gasp for air.
Disoriented, he sat up, and tried to get his bearings. He was far from the comfort of any of his homes, and it took him a moment to adjust himself to his surroundings. Once he realized where he was, he took a deep breath to calm himself, and tried to rub the hallucinogenic images of the night’s vivid dreams from his mind’s eye. It took several moments before he could think clearly.
Gripped by severe insomnia, Brown needed heavier and heavier doses of the nonbenzodiazepine hypnotic Ambien to help him achieve unconsciousn
ess every evening, and he wondered if his issue with nightmares were caused by the drug, a notorious side effect of its use, or by the events that had transpired at the Coalition Properties West building in Los Angeles, six months earlier. In the end, it didn’t really matter, he decided.
He finally pushed his covers aside, put his bare feet on the cold concrete floor, and slowly stood up. He winced at how stiff his feet and hips were. The pain in his joints and bones had grown progressively worse over the last two years, the doctors informing him it was the beginnings of arthritis. Always in top physical condition, he had shrugged off the suggestion, but at fifty-seven years of age, the former military commander’s body had been through a great deal, and now he was paying for it. It took several steps before the muscles in his feet and hips relaxed enough so he could walk completely upright.
He glanced at the wall clock. It read 6:15am. He had less than three hours until what he had been told would be his final psych evaluation. He carefully padded his way to the shower, and turned the water on.
It was all political cover, Brown knew, regarding the evals. Five people had been killed that day, in the Coalition Properties West building, and as CEO of The Coalition, as it was known to insiders, Brown was technically responsible for it all. He was a very wealthy man, however, and an important part of the military industrial complex, the combination of which supplied him with both a formidable legal team and plenty of cover via the cloak of national security.
Still, the Justice Department had wanted something to show for its investigation into the incident. The public exposure of that chaotic day that had ended in five deaths demanded it, they had said. There was simply no way that Brown could walk free without causing uproar and suspicion within the community. So Brown was found guilty of negligence, diagnosed with posttraumatic stress syndrome, and sentenced to six months of psychiatric evaluation in a minimum-security facility. Legally speaking, Richard Brown was a prisoner.
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