by Johan Twiss
“Let them go!” he snapped, charging like a raging bull.
Reaching the men in a few long steps, he grabbed them both by their throats, one in each hand, and squeezed with a vice-like grip until they let go of the teenage girl.
With a strength he had not felt since being an offensive lineman in college over forty years ago, he pulled them toward his towering figure and shoved them away with a guttural yell.
The two men fell over one another, holding their throats as they coughed and sputtered. The bald bouncer found his legs and stood up, yelling at James in Khmer and pointing his finger at him and at the girls.
“Everything okay, Mr. Moore?” Munny called from the balcony below. “I hear shouting.”
“Hurry up!” James yelled over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on the two men. “Things are about to get ugly.”
A plump man with a greasy black ponytail and a red Hawaiian looking shirt approached the scene and the two thugs parted ways for him.
The man was large, more fat than muscle, but he was not as big as James and stood about a head shorter. He stuck his chin out proudly as he came face-to-face with James, and gave a head nod while pointing to the girls behind him.
James stared him down and shook his head.
The fat man’s face burned red and he broke into a tirade of yelling, waving his arms like a wild man while pointing back and forth at James and the girls coming up the ladder.
The fat man took a step closer, spittle spewing from his mouth. James felt it spray on his face and he clenched his fists, about to punch the guy square in chin, when Munny hopped on the roof and dashed to his side.
The man continued to shout and Munny quickly translated. “He says the girls have to come with him. He is their owner and the girls are his.”
James shook his head, his chest heaving back and forth as he fought to control his anger. “I’ll never let those girls go back with him. Tell tubby he has two options. Option A, leave the girls alone, I report them to the police, and they get arrested. Option B is similar to option A, but involves me beating the snot out of him before I toss his worthless hide off the building and into the flood.”
Munny raised an eyebrow. “You sure that wise thing to say?”
James nodded, still glaring at the men. He knew it was three against two, but he was a big guy and had been in his fair share of scuffles growing up. And even though he was old, at this moment he felt like he could take on the world. Part of him hoped they chose Option B.
“Just repeat my words exactly,” James assured Munny. “Those are their options.”
Munny shook his head in mild disbelief and spoke to the men. But to James’ surprise, the three thugs started laughing. The fat man held his belly, nearly doubling over as he chuckled.
“What is it?” James asked, their laughter fueling his anger. “What, they don’t think I’m serious?”
Munny shrugged.
A girl stepped up behind Munny and whispered into his ear.
“Um, James. We small problem have with your options. The bald man you save downstairs, he local police. He work as bouncer on weekend and is customer too. Lots of police are customers. Police not help us here.”
The fat owner’s laughter came to an end and he let out a whistle, raising his hand to call over an additional two thugs to his side. The owner stepped forward and spoke, frothing from the mouth like a rabid dog.
“He wants to know your name,” Munny said. “But I would not tell—”
“James Moore,” James replied, cutting Munny off. “My name is James Moore.”
The owner snorted. “James Moore. You dead man.” he said in a heavy accent. As he did this, James noticed a tattoo of a snake inked across the knuckles of the owner’s right hand.
A childhood memory flashed through his mind. He was ten years-old, visiting his grandfather's ranch in west Texas. A poisonous copperhead had slithered into the stables and caught him off guard as he fed grains to a young colt. But before the snake could strike, his grandfather came out of nowhere, swinging a shovel, and whacked the head clean off the snake. “You want to kill a snake,” his grandfather had said, sounding just like John Wayne, “you gotta to take off its head.”
I just got to take down the leader, James thought. But now it’s five on two. I really hope Munny knows how to fight.
As if reading James mind, Munny spoke. “I hope you know how to fight. I take three on left. You take fat owner and bald policeman on right. I help as soon as I finish three men.”
“Wait, what?” James asked, cocking his head as he looked at Munny’s diminutive frame.
Munny was still holding James’ phone and held up one hand toward the brothel thugs, as if asking for a timeout, and then passed the phone back to Chemsi. “Okay, now I ready. Did not want to break your phone. It nice iPhone,” Munny said with a wide grin. “We punch on three. Okay. One, two,” but before Munny reached three he unleashed a lightning speed roundhouse kick to the neck of one of the thugs on the left.
“Three!” Munny shouted.
CHAPTER 7:
Veata welcomed the warm rays of sunshine as they punched holes through the thinning gray clouds above. The stabbing pains in her stomach were finally gone, but she still felt weak and cold.
Chemsi held her close, but part of her wished the old giant was still holding her. He was much warmer than Chemsi and his big arms had wrapped around her like a blanket.
“They’re going to get themselves killed,” Veata heard Chemsi mutter. “They can’t fight Rithisak. He has too many men.”
Veata watched as her giant traded vicious blows with Rithisak. Surges of the giant’s silver light clashed against the black storm that surrounded the brothel owner. After punching Rithisak in the stomach, the giant grabbed him by the ponytail and pulled his head downward into a hard uppercut to the face.
CRACK!
Veata flinched at the sound of bone crunching against bone. A second attacker, a bald man in a tank top, ran at the giant from behind.
“Behind you!” Veata tried to yell, but her throat was sore and her voice came out weak and raspy. In that moment, she also forgot that he spoke a different language.
Unable to hear, or understand her, the giant was unprepared when the second attacker snuck up behind and kicked him square in the back.
The giant fell like a towering tree in the jungle. He tried to push himself onto his hands and knees, but the bald attacker kicked him in the ribs once, twice, and a third time, sending the giant rolling onto his back. Veata saw one eye starting to swell and streams of crimson blood ran down his face from his nose and a cut on his cheekbone.
A few feet to the side, the old giant’s friend, Munny she thought she’d heard Chemsi call him, was fighting like a mongoose surrounded by cobras. Veata had once seen a mongoose take on a Thai Spitting Cobra in her village. Moving fast as lightning, the mongoose struck the back of the cobra’s hood and wrestled it to the ground before killing it.
Munny seemed to move even faster than a mongoose as he avoided the attacks of three men. He twisted, jumped, and rolled while delivering fast strikes that sent all three men to the ground over and over again.
“Munny is doing amazing,” Chemsi said, a hint of admiration in her voice, “but the big guy, James, is in trouble.”
“We’ll be in bigger trouble when Rithisak is done with them,” one of the girls standing next to them said. “He might kill us too...or worse.”
“What should we do, Chemsi?” another girl asked.
Chemsi did not respond, her eyes transfixed on the fight.
“I can’t go back,” a fourth girl whimpered. “I’ve tried to escape before. I know what Rithisak will do when he gets us. I’ll jump in the water and drown before he takes me again.”
“No,” Chemsi scolded the girl. “You will stay with us, Somaly. We stick together.”
“Where would we even go if we did escape?” an older girl spat. “You’re all idiots. I’m sneaking over with the rest of
the girls. I had nothing to do with any of this!”
Chemsi grabbed the girl by the shoulder and shoved her away from them. “Go ahead, Shukira. You can be Rithisak’s play toy and rat. I know you were the one who turned in Somaly when she tried to get away. You’re worse than Rithisak, you chn kabat.”
Chn kabat, Veata thought. Traitor. Her uncle had once called her a traitor, after he’d forced her to help him cheat at a card game. Even with her help, he’d still lost. She’d received a beating for it.
Shukira shot Chemsi a dark scowl, slinking away to where the other girls and customers were gathered.
Veata looked at the other group of girls. There were at least twenty of them, all young teenagers wearing red dresses and lots of makeup. To their side were a few dozen customers watching the fight with equal interest, but they did not join the fight. They only watched.
The giant named James fought his way back to his feet. Wrapping his thick arms around the second attacker, he lifted him upside down and drove the man head first into the hard roof.
CRACK!
The bald man’s ash brown colors stopped spinning. They faded until a low glow settled around his motionless body.
Veata had seen the colors depart from others before, like her mother and father when they died. But this man’s colors remained. They were weak, but he was not dead.
Rithisak’s face a mess of swelling bruises, and blood ran from his nose like a faucet as he shuffled toward James.
James’ chest heaved in and out with heavy breaths, like a man who had just sprinted in a race.
Rithisak bent down, lifted his pant leg, and pulled a long knife from inside his boot. “I kill you,” he spat, blood spraying from his lips. Veata shivered when his stormy colors turned into a pitch-black abyss, seeming to snuff out any nearby light.
He pointed the knife at Veata and the girls around her. “Then,” he snarled, “I kill girls.”
James’ eyes widened at the sight of the knife, but when Rithisak threatened the girls, Veata had to shield her eyes from the sudden flare in James’ brightness. Rays of silver light wrapped around the giant like gleaming armor, pushing back the overwhelming darkness around Rithisak.
As the light grew brighter, a smile stretched across James’ face and he casually reached back behind him to pull a gun from his waistband. Pointing the weapon into the air, he fired three times.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Everyone froze.
Rithisak’s black storm faded into a pale shade of yellow and he dropped his knife to the ground.
James pointed the gun at Rithisak and for a brief moment Veata saw a flash of darkness replace the silver light around James. It went back to silver, then to black, then silver again.
Veata’s body suddenly stopped shaking and she felt renewed strength course through her veins. She wiggled free from Chemsi’s arms, but Chemsi quickly pulled her back.
“Stop! What are you doing? Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Chemsi asked.
“I have to help him,” Veata pleaded, fighting to shake free from Chemsi’s grasp.
“No, you don’t,” Chemsi replied, struggling to hold Veata in place. “It’s too dangerous.”
Chemsi’s grip tightened and Veata did the first thing that came to mind, she sank her teeth into Chemsi’s arm.
Chemsi yelped, loosening her grip just enough for Veata to wiggle free and dash toward James.
She watched James stare at her in disbelief as she ran toward him, his head bouncing back and forth between her and Rithisak while the gun stayed trained on the brothel owner.
Veata slowed to a stop in front of James and rested her small hand on the forearm of his outstretched hand with the gun.
His eyes narrowed and looked down on her from high above, shaking his head in confusion.
“Kom Banh,” Veata pleaded in Khmer. “Don’t shoot.”
CHAPTER 8:
This gun is so heavy. Why is it so heavy? James thought.
He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten about the large pistol stashed in his back waistband. But when the fight had broken out, his mind was filled with such utter rage that he’d completely forgotten about the gun, especially since a firearm was not something he carried in normal life.
Footsteps charged at him from the left and he twisted, pointing the weapon at the source. He blinked rapidly, hesitating as a surprised Munny skidded to a halt upon having a gun aimed at his face.
“No shoot! No shoot!” Munny yelped.
“Idiot!” James hissed. “I could have killed you!”
“I sorry,” Munny replied, shaking his hands out in front of his chest as if they were shields. “You move gun now, please. No kill Munny.”
James realized he still had the gun aimed at Munny’s head and took a dazed step back, looking at the foreign object in his hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the brothel owner move toward him and he whipped the gun back around, training it on the man.
The brothel owner froze, glaring at James through his bloodied face.
Adrenaline pumped through James’ veins and his eyes darted back and forth between the brothel owner, his men—most of which Munny had left writhing in pain on the ground—and Munny himself.
Then he saw the girls huddled together, shivering and cold in their skimpy red dresses. Heat ran up his spine like a raging fire and he felt the anger explode anew in his mind. He slipped his finger onto the trigger and aimed straight at the brothel owner’s chest.
You’re dead. I’m going to end you, you evil son of a—
But his thoughts were interrupted by a movement to his side. A little girl in a red dress—the same girl he had carried out of the flood—walked directly toward him. Small as she was, wearing nothing more than a tattered dress, she looked almost regal as she calmly walked across the rooftop amidst the stunned stares of onlookers.
With her head high and her hands at her side, her brown eyes locked with James’ as she approached.
He saw a light there. A peaceful, bright light in her eyes. It seemed to expand across her whole body in a yellow glow that shone like the sun at noonday.
The child reached him and rested her tiny hand on his outstretched forearm. He felt the gun tremble in his hand.
So heavy. So blasted heavy.
“Kom banh,” the girl said softly.
James shook his head, confused. “What?” he whispered.
The little girl spoke again, repeating the same phrase, “kom banh.”
“What did she say?” James asked Munny.
“She say, ‘don’t shoot,’” Munny translated.
James looked down at the child in disbelief. He shook his head. He wanted to shoot the brothel owner. It was no longer about self defense or saving the girls. He wanted to kill the man.
The girl gently squeezed his forearm. He watched in amazement as the golden light from her hand swirled around his arm and flowed up his shoulder.
“What are you doing? What is this light? What are you doing to me?”
Munny gave James a concerned look. “What light, James? I see nothing.”
James turned to Munny. “What do you mean, what light? Don’t you see it? It’s coming from her. It’s going up my arm. It’s so bright. Almost blinding.”
Munny shook his head.
Am I the only one seeing this? Am I going crazy? James thought.
The child’s large brown eyes pierced him to the core as the golden swirls wrapped up his neck and around his head. It seemed to cool his rage, but he resisted, his emotions going back and forth between hatred and hope.
“But if I shoot him,” he sputtered to the girl. “I can end this now. You can all be free! Tell her Munny. Tell her what I said.”
Munny looked uneasy as he translated James’ words. When he finished, the girl only shook her head.
“But why?” James screamed. “Why shouldn’t I kill him? He deserves to die!”
This time when Munny translated, the girl spoke slow and soft.
> “Your colors. Don’t let the darkness kill your bright colors.”
When Munny translated her words, James felt like he’d been punched in the gut. For years he’d felt a misty darkness hovering over him like a black rain cloud that he could never escape. He recognized the darkness—the anger and the hatred—and he knew it was trying to overpower him.
His quick temper and blistering anger had cost him his first marriage. His newfound wealth and long periods on the road had cost him his second. His selfish neglect had cost him time with his children and grandchildren, making him a stranger to them. And in this moment, he knew his next actions would come at a cost.
Your colors, he repeated in his mind. Don’t let the darkness kill your bright colors.
Unable to fight back the tears, he felt his emotions break like a ship against a rock. “Do I have any colors left?” he whimpered, tasting the mix of salt water and blood on his lips.
The little girl nodded and then gave him the most unexpected and perfect gift he could imagine. She hugged him.
James’ heart swelled. It felt like it would burst. For years he’d felt lost, like a ship without a rudder, driving away everyone he loved and cared for in the process. Life had lost its purpose—its luster—its color. But now, of all times, after everything that he’d just been through, he felt a growing measure of hope.
Maybe...maybe I can start over. Maybe I can have a second chance.
With his free hand, James returned her embrace, welcoming the unconditional love of this little child. She’d been through more than he could imagine, yet here she was comforting him.
“What’s your name?” he asked the girl.
With tears in his own eyes, Munny translated and the girl responded.
“Veata. My name is Veata.”
James smiled, letting the gun slowly falling to his side as he gave the girl another hug.
“Thank you, Veata.”
He wiped his bloodied, tear-streamed face against his sleeve, soaking in the light of this little girl as he tried to regain his composure. But the moment was cut short when Munny shouted, “Watch out!”