“Friends, just friends—”
He jammed his knee hard into my crotch and grabbed my hair with his free hand and pulled my head back. “They work for the old man, don’t they?”
“I swear, I don’t know what—”
He pulled harder on my hair. I squealed in pain.
“Make another sound and I’ll drown you in your own blood. Where is he?”
“Who?”
He pulled the knife away, but only to smash his elbow into my face. My eyes went off like fire sprinklers, and I could feel the warmth of my blood as it trickled out my nose. He put the knife at my throat again.
“The old man, cowboy. We know you got the books, so we know you know where he is.”
“The journals just appear. I never know when or where. They just…pop up.” Oh God, I thought, he’s never gonna believe me. He’s gonna hit me again and then he’s gonna slit my throat. I clenched my eyes and waited for the pain.
“So where are they?”
“The journals?”
“Yeah, the fucking journals.”
“In the blue bag. By your foot.”
He released my hair but kept the knife at my throat. He reached down, keeping his bloodshot eyes on me.
“Your sister put up a better fight than you,” he said with disgust.
His hand groped for the bag and then I saw the expression on his face change from surly malevolence to surprise.
Someone had stepped behind him, though all I could see was his legs and that he was wearing blue jeans. My tormentor turned his head to look, and in the same moment the curtain was wrapped around his neck like a cord and jerked tight. I pushed away his arm and scrambled into the corner of my bunk and rolled up into a ball.
My assailant tried to stand but he was kneed in the ass and his legs were kicked out from under him. He took a wild stab behind him with the knife as his other hand tried to loosen the rope-like curtain from his neck. He swung a second time. A hand grabbed his wrist and twisted it. A knee dropped onto his turned up elbow. I heard a horrible snap. The man cried out in pain, but the thick noose around his neck muffled the sound. The knife dropped to the floor with a thud. He tried desperately to stand.
The guy behind him let go of the curtain and wrapped his arms around my assailant in a bear hug. He then yanked him off my bed and bounced the man’s head against the railing of the upper bunk. After the third bounce, my assailant stopped struggling and went limp. The curtain was unwound from his head and the man dropped lifeless onto my bed, his face on my lap. I pushed him off and sprang from my bunk onto the floor. I looked up and saw Max offering me a hand.
“You okay?” he asked.
I touched my nose and flinched in pain. My legs felt like jelly and I thought I was going to throw up. Max pulled out a bandanna from his back pocket and handed it to me. I dabbed at my nose and mouth.
“Let me see,” he said. “…Doesn’t look broken.”
He bent down and tossed the rest of the man’s body onto my bunk. He nodded at the contents in my open backpack.
I shrugged my permission.
“Get dressed,” he said.
He pulled out a pair of stinky sweat socks, and with one of the socks he tied the man’s wrists together behind his back.
“He’s not dead, is he?”
“Nah.” Max sniffed at the other sock and scrunched his face in revulsion. “Not yet, anyway.” He crammed it into the man’s mouth, and then tied another sock around his face to keep the gag in place. To my further embarrassment, he yanked out a pair of my skid-marked briefs and pulled them down over the man’s head. Then he undid one of the utility straps from my pack and bound the lunatic’s feet together, threw my bed sheet over him, and whipped the curtain shut.
I looked around the car and saw that all the other passengers had poked their heads outside their curtains and were staring at us with their mouths hanging open.
“Coffee?” Max said.
I nodded dumbly, grabbed my bags, and followed him out of the car, through a second, a third, and then to the buffet car.
Living Legend
The waitress set down our coffee and a basket of rolls.
“So what are you doing here?” I asked.
“I told you I was going north.”
“Yeah, but I thought you’d be on another train.”
“There’s only one sleeper a day.”
“Okay, then, tell me who Anonymous Man is.”
“Who?”
“Mr. A.”
“Who?”
“Aurora Borealis.”
“What?”
“The man who gave you the journal to give to me, who is he?”
Max grinned and reached for a roll and took a bite. “Sorry, can’t help you there.”
“Come on, Max, you’ve got to tell me what’s going on. My sister’s been kidnapped and men are trying to kill me. I have a right to know.”
“I agree.”
“Good.”
“But it’s not my call. Sorry.”
“Jeezus, Max, come on!”
“No can do, Guy. Give it a rest.”
I banged my fist on the table and half of my coffee washed over the side of the rim of my cup and flooded my saucer. Max had picked his cup up before my hand hit the table. Impressive, I thought, and regained my composure. “Okay, then, what about you? Why are you mixed up in all of this?”
“A favor,” he said, and sipped his coffee. “About five years ago some people saved my life. I owe them.”
“I’ve seen your face before,” I said, wringing my memory.
He smiled. “I doubt it.”
“No, I have.” I leaned back into my chair for a better look. He was wearing a plain black, loose-fitting T-shirt. I could see that he had a good physique; the body of an athlete, broad shoulders, strong sinewy arms, and a powerful-looking chest. But it was his black shirt that caused my memory to flicker, and then it hit me. Of course, black and white!
“It was in a photograph,” I said excitedly. “A black and white snapshot of you in a football jersey, number 7. Back in Tucson, Arizona, two bruisers broke into my apartment and ransacked the place. One goon showed me pictures of people and asked me if I knew any of them. One picture was you! I’m sure of it, though you looked younger. What are you doing on their shit list?”
Max reached for another roll and took a bite. “Could be any number of reasons,” he said. “It depends who they were. Do you know?”
“I don’t know. But they were big and they were mean and they had guns and they meant business. What could you have possibly done to have pissed off such bad ass people?”
Max chuckled. “It’s really not that hard to do these days.”
“One picture was of a friend of mine, an Australian girl named Melody. They said she was a terrorist. Do you know her?”
“Melody is the kind of person you never think you know.”
“Ah hah! I knew it. So you mean you don’t trust her?”
“Trust her? She’s as unswerving and dependable as Polaris—and just as distant and aloof. Separated from you by an ocean of icy space.”
“Yeah, I thought she was a bitch too.”
Max laughed. “How’d you meet her?”
“Christmas shopping. She was dressed as Santa Claus. I chucked her bell into a dumpster. How about you?”
“Men’s room at a Greyhound Bus Station. She crawled into my stall while I was wiping my ass.”
“What?” I laughed.
“We met once before that, but I was unconscious most of the time and don’t remember much, other than she spin-kicked me in the head. It’s a long story.”
“Are you a terrorist too?”
“No, and neither is she.”
“Have you ever worked with Melody?”
“A couple of times.”
“So if what you do is so secretive, why are you talking to me now?”
“You’re right, I shouldn’t be.”
“That man back there
, the dude who just tried to kill me, did you know him?”
“No.”
“How did you know to come in when you did?”
“Call it a hunch. I saw him follow you and the girls onto the train. I didn’t like the way he looked. He reeked of stupidity. It’s hard to explain, but I have a sixth sense for such things.”
“Do you know the two women I was with?”
He hesitated. “Yes.”
“Ah hah! How?”
“I told you I’ve been working up north. Teaching English, volunteer work, this and that. I’m pretty good with my hands. I’ve helped build a few of the schoolhouses that Noriko and Johanna raised money for.”
“What do you know about them?”
“I know Johanna is a photographer and Noriko’s a model.”
“You know, I met all three of them on the same night,” I said.
“You don’t say?”
“Yeah. I told you about Melody. We ended up going to a bar for drinks. I pissed her off or something and she left. I went to the bathroom and when I came out, Johanna was sitting in her seat. We got talking and she said that she was waiting for a friend. But the friend never showed. And after I pissed Johanna off too, she left. But then the friend showed—”
“Noriko.”
“Weird, huh?”
“It gets better,” Max said. “That goof in the Benz. That was me.”
“You!”
“Pretty good, huh?”
“But why?”
“Part of the favor,” he said.
“I don’t get it. Who am I to you guys?”
“It has something to do with the journals.”
“I know that. Tell me something I don’t know.”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Look,” Max said, “I agreed to keep an eye on you as a favor to a friend, like I told you, and that’s all I can tell you. When we get to Chaing Mai, I intend to go back to minding my own business.”
“So you’ve been watching me ever since I arrived in Thailand?”
He nodded.
“And that was you in the alley back in Bangkok, wasn’t it?”
He smiled.
“Damn! Why did you hit me? A simple handshake, a few reasonable words—”
“You can’t reason with an irrational man.”
“Whattaya mean? I’m reasonable.”
“Guy, I was in that club. I saw. You looked like an orangutan in heat.”
“That bad, huh?”
“I was embarrassed for the entire male species, man or ape.”
I dropped my head into my hands. “Oh jeez.” When I looked up he was still shaking his head.
“Okay, okay, I believe you. But did you have to hit me, and so hard?”
“It was for your own good. Believe me, you would have regretted it.”
“So I guess that makes twice that you’ve saved my life, huh?”
“You’re welcome.”
I sipped my coffee and then asked, “Have you ever killed anyone?”
“I’m a peaceful warrior. Most of the time…”
“Those weren’t love taps I saw back there. Is that what you call tough love?”
He grinned. “I call that karma.”
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
“No, I haven’t killed anyone. And I hope I never need to.”
“You limp.”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“And don’t get nearly as many answers. What’s wrong with your leg?”
“About five years ago I got shot up pretty bad.”
“By who?”
“The principal at my high school. A man named Kohl in a small town called Pinecrest.”
“Jeez, I’ve heard of corporal punishment, but didn’t he go a little too far?”
“I thought so.”
“Wait a second. You said Pinecrest? I know that name from somewhere. Pinecrest… Hey, that’s where the first pinebomb went off! I remember. I saw it on CNN. It was in all the papers.”
Pinebombs were mountains of discarded consumer products—the favorite being televisions—erected by people who thought that consumerism had gotten out of control, and become almost a kind of religion. They voluntarily rid themselves of their superfluities by coming together and piling them up in strategic locations pledging to henceforth live simpler, more responsible lives.
The curious ritual began about five years ago in a small mountain town called Pinecrest, where a group of high school students grabbed the nation’s attention in a weeklong protest that included the discarding of tons of consumer goods. The protest got out of hand and national guardsmen were called in to break it up. The guardsmen mounted a full-scale manhunt for the leader of the rebellion, the school’s star athlete, Max Stormer. The thing climaxed with a shoot-out and the fifteen-foot heap of materialism going up in flames. It became known as the Pinebomb. Ever since, smaller versions had been springing up sporadically around the world. I had never been to one myself, but I heard that they were a lot of fun, even though they were outlawed. That was how Doreen had disposed of some of her stuff.
“…You’re that Max? Max Stormer? Holy shi—. And there was a girl too. She had this funny name…”
“Aidos.”
“Yeah, yeah… Wait. No, no. Bullshit!” I shook my head, angry that Max was screwing with me. “Stormer and the girl are dead,” I said. “It was reported that they died in a double suicide pact after they had escaped. Everyone knows that.”
“How romantic,” he said.
“You mean—?”
“Do I look dead to you?”
“Then tell me why would—”
“Because certain people advised us that things would be a lot better if certain other people thought we were dead.”
I didn’t know why I believed him, but I did. “But that was five years ago,” I said. “Why don’t you come out with the truth?”
“Because then I would be dead. Ironically, I’m a lot safer dead than I am alive.”
“Your life is pretty complicated, Max.”
“Tell me about it.”
“So those people you said you owe a favor, they’re tied to this?”
“They’re the ones who hid us and helped nurse me back to health.”
“And these same people have me traipsing across the world dodging knives and bullets and following a trail of worthless, musty journals, putting my life and my sister’s life in jeopardy—for what?”
“For reasons you couldn’t possibly understand.”
“Enlighten me.”
“No.”
“Come on!”
“No.”
“I just don’t see what the big deal is,” I said. “I’ve read five of the damn things and there is nothing in them to justify the danger that they are putting me in—nothing. I just don’t get it. That man you clobbered, he mentioned something about ‘the old man.’ Do you know who he was talking about?”
“I do.”
“Then tell me something about him. Tell me what he’s like, at least.”
“No, Guy,” he said firmly. “That’s between you and him. The less you know the better off you are.”
“Dammit, Max.”
“I’m sorry, but this is the way it’s gotta be.”
“Yeah, right,” I muttered.
“Come on, the train arrives in a few minutes.”
Max got up and headed for the door. Again I noticed his slight limp.
“Does it hurt, your leg?”
“Not too bad. It likes warm weather.”
“You were a ball player in high school, weren’t you?”
“Quarterback.”
“You were pretty good too, if I recall the story.”
I saw the nostalgia in his sapphire eyes. His smile was handsome and proud. “Very, very good.”
“One more thing,” I said.
Max rolled his eyes wearily. “What is it?”
“You said
you’ve been in Thailand for awhile. What brought you in the first place?”
“Love.” He turned and walked through the door.
When we returned to my bunk I checked on mustard teeth. I could see that his chest was rising and falling, so he wasn’t dead. I peeked under my briefs and saw him glare up at me. He started squirming and fighting against his bindings. He slung his legs over the side of the bunk to get to his feet, and without thinking I punched him in the nose. Hard.
The jerk keeled back onto the bunk unconscious. Blood began to soak into my smelly underwear that was still over his head. I shook the smart from my hand. It hurt good, like a Thai pepper. I threw his legs back onto the bed and whipped the curtain shut. When I turned around, Max had vanished.
Kismet
The train slowed and stopped. This is it, I thought. My entire life has led to a train station in Chaing Mai, Thailand. My heart banged like an unbalanced load of wash. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out through pursed lips. Passengers filed by to get off, smacking into me and startling me. I stood aside and let them pass. I was in no hurry.
I followed the last person out, shouldering Doreen’s and my packs, the bag of phony journals in my hand. I squinted into the bright day and stepped off the train.
The bustling station was much smaller than that of Bangkok. People scurried to and fro, in and out—locals, backpackers, and monks in saffron-colored robes. I looked for Doreen but I didn’t see her. I took a few more steps, halted, and scanned the station again, but still no sight of her.
A wave of people passed in front of me and in their wake I spotted a lone man staring intently at me. He wore long, baggy, khaki pants, a gray T-shirt, and an army-green trench coat. He was tall with long, wispy black and gray hair. I knew by the way our eyes met that he was my contact. I took him for another ex-marine type. His hands were in the pockets of his trench coat and he signaled me over without withdrawing them. I approached cautiously.
The man stood midway between where the train rested and the opposite track. The platform was covered, the roof held up by white and yellow painted pillars. The entrance and exit to the station was to my right fifty yards away. I noted the booking office in a white pillared and airy stone building with a large clock on top. It was just after eight.
Say Uncle Page 18