Redemption

Part Five:

Michael took the public elevator down to the mezzanine level which looked down on the broad lobby entrance. The layout of the courthouse was very familiar to him since he'd spent considerable time here in the past sitting in various courtrooms. He knew he could get a good view of the people in the lobby at this level.

The men who had followed them would have the entrance under surveillance, Janet knew that as well. Michael hoped she would contact Master Chen and have Leonard standing by before she drove Danny back to the house. By himself, Leonard was more than a match for Rankin's thugs if they forced him into action.

Michael stood by the wall and slowly edged down towards a point where he could look over the railing. It was late afternoon and the usual crowd of people waiting for court was gone. Below he could see a dozen stragglers and his gaze took in each of them.

Several lawyers gathered in conversation, two women waiting for rides, and ... yes, the body language of one man said he was observing people as they made an exit. Michael had only seen Barrett, but this man had similar military attributes. He wouldn't be carrying a weapon that was for sure. The checkpoint in the outer lobby was thorough and only a fool would try to circumvent courthouse security.

That left Barrett either waiting in the car or covering the rear entrance. Michael smiled and walked to the staircase door. He walked down three flights to the basement level and pushed through the door into the service hallway. Two custodians gave him a glance as he passed them by and made his way towards the security station at the loading dock.

The guard looked up at him and frowned. "This isn't a public exit," The man said.

"Max said this is where they'll load up the display from Courtroom A," Michael replied. "I was just supposed to meet the truck and show the labor where to go."

The guard shook his head. "Max knows you're supposed to have an escort ... don't I know you?"

"Michael Keene ... you probably know my father."

"Neil, oh yeah, I remember you now from the bowling alley. How is old Lucky?"

"Enjoying life and trying hard not to show it," Michael said with a smile.

"Your father's a good man ... so who are you waiting for?" The guard asked.

The story sounded more convincing the second time around and Michael quickly found himself standing on the loading dock by the trash dumpsters. The night shift custodians were coming on duty and eventually one of them toggled open the huge metal roll up door. Michael walked across the dock and down to the sidewalk.

The courthouse's rear exit was up the street and Michael cautiously looked around the corner. Not sixty feet away was the dark green sedan with Barrett sitting behind the wheel. The man's attention was focused on the pedestrian exit and not the loading docks.

Michael smiled and turned left, walking down the sidewalk away from the courthouse. When he got to the corner he crossed the street and then walked up two more blocks to the bus stop. He didn't have long to wait before the 70 bus pulled up and he was soon headed out Garvey towards Monterey Park.

He would need his car to reach the condos where Robert lived since expensive neighborhoods like that had little city transportation available. But he wanted to pack a few things, tell his Pops what was afoot and call Leonard to make sure Janet had arranged her security needs.

Leonard was a good man. After Tommy had been killed the students in the school shunned Michael and that hurt. He hated to think it was because he was the only white face. It had never been like that before. He did the only thing he could do, he went to Master Chen.

"It is complicated," The Master had said. "Tommy was your friend and many of these silly boys think you abandoned him in a time of need ... but I do not. You made the right choice, it was Tommy who left the path to assert his power and join the greedy drug gangs. You must focus on the Tao and not allow this to divert your study. In time they will understand."

Leonard was the Master's youngest son. As a monk, Master Chen had not given a thought to getting married and raising a family, and then the Communists had tossed him out of China. Chen and Chong were close families in a China long past but their bond would be renewed once again in bright and sunny California.

Chen married a cousin of Janet Chong's and they had two boys and three girls. All the children ventured into the business world except Leonard. The boy was focused on following in his father's footsteps. Leonard would not become a monk, but his study of the Tao was deeply intense and the Master groomed his son carefully.

Leonard had displayed skills in the school that took everyone by surprise, everyone except Michael. Tommy had been biding his time with the lessons, but before Michael was old enough to influence a change the chance was gone. Leonard stepped forward and became his friend.

Neil was sitting at the kitchen table when Michael got home. "Janet called," Neil said. "She said to tell you that Leonard would escort Danny back here ... she also told me what you have planned."

"And you disapprove?" Michael asked.

Neil shook his head. "The man is an asshole, but you aren't doing this for him I gather."

Michael smiled. "No, it's for Danny."

Neil had a small wooden box on the table which he now slid towards Michael. "Then take this, you might need the protection."

"I don't like guns, you know that," Michael said. "I'll do much better without one."

"Let's just hope it doesn't come to that," Neil said. "So when are you going?"

"Now, I just need a few things."

Michael packed a shoulder bag and then stopped to look at the three framed photographs on the wall above his dresser. The first was his mother, taken on Michael's twelfth birthday. She looked so happy holding that birthday cake, and then his eyes travelled to the second photo.

His mother was in a bright summer dress standing beside his father in a policeman's uniform. The photo was taken the day his Pops was given that gold shield and became a detective. The smile on his face was forced and unnatural looking. By that point in his career Neil had already seen too much.

The third photo had been taken at the martial arts school. Master Chen and twenty boys, all lined up in a team photo. Michael had been fourteen, such a novice, and the only white face in the crowd. Beside him stood Tommy with the long lanky body of a seventeen year old.

They had both been trying very hard to look fierce in front of the camera, but the attempt had failed and it was obvious they weren't far from laughter. Tommy had told some joke only moments before, something Michael couldn't remember now. They had been happy that day and that was how Michael wanted to remember the boy.

Michael hugged his Pops. "Keep an eye on Danny, and don't burn the house down with your cooking."

Neil laughed, although the last time a pan had caught fire on the stove it had been his fault. "We'll be fine," He said. "You watch your back and call me if you need anything."

"Will do," Michael said, and they hugged again.

Danny came back to the house with Leonard a short time later. Neil was still sitting at the kitchen table, only now he had the parts to his Glock automatic laid out on a towel for cleaning.

Leonard smiled and nodded at the pistol. "You expecting trouble, Mr. K?"

"I certainly hope not, but you never know," Neil replied. "I offered it to Michael but he wouldn't take it."

Leonard nodded. "He won't use a gun ... he doesn't need one."

"I wish I had his confidence," Neil said.

Danny looked down at the pistol as Neil began to reassemble it. The pieces were snapped back together and the pistol went back in the box.

"I suppose you're stuck with me," Danny said.

"We'll do well together, probably better than Michael will with your father," Neil said.

"That's for certain."

Michael found getting into the condo was absurdly easy, people were just too trusting. He stood at the outer lobby door and punched a call button.

"Yes?" A voice answered.

"Dominoes Pizza," Michael said. "Order for Mr. Rhodes."

"Can't you read? Rhodes is in 8 B, this is 3 B," The woman said, but she buzzed him into the building.

Five minutes later Michael was standing in the hallway outside 8 B. He had given little thought to how Danny's father would react to seeing him again. Despite the denials they had seen on television, Michael was sure Robert Rhodes would remember him and be afraid. He pushed the doorbell and waited.

"What? Who are you?" Robert said through the door. Michael knew the man was looking through the peephole lens but those things presented such a distorted image.

"Danny sent me to give you something," Michael said.

A pause and then Michael heard the deadbolt snap open. The door opened a few inches and Michael saw Robert didn't even have security chain engaged.

"What do you want?" Robert asked, looking down at the gym bag. "What's in there?"

"Things ... may I come in?" Michael asked.

Robert opened the door and stepped back as Michael entered, shutting the door behind him. The man's gaze went from the bag up to Michael's face, and recognition suddenly dawned.

"You ... you're the one who assaulted me," Robert said. "I'm calling the police."

"Go right ahead," Michael said, setting the bag down on the tiled floor. "I'm not here to harm you and Danny did send me."

Robert had backed away, his hand hovering above the phone on a side table. "Why would he do that?"

"That's a rather long story, but he doesn't want you to get hurt."

Robert looked down at the bag once again. "What have you got there?"

"It's not the contents of your briefcase, if that's what you're thinking," Michael said. "Danny turned that over to the District Attorney last week."

Robert seemed to deflate and dropped onto the nearest chair. Michael left his bag and walked over to the couch where he took a seat. Robert turned himself and faced Michael.

"So they know ... they know what's in the briefcase?"

"It seems everyone does, including your friend Mr. Rankin. It's a shame really. Danny's lawyer thinks you told your lawyer all about the contents of that briefcase and he went right back to Rankin with the news. Kind of puts you between a rock and a hard place, don't you think?"

Robert looked positively pale now as if he was going to be sick. "I told Rankin that I kept my ledger in there."

"But you didn't tell him about all the things you documented. It seems the District Attorney is very interested in what you managed to find out about CRA's shady little business."

Robert jumped up off the couch and rushed into the kitchen. Michael could hear him retching into the sink. Good, the man was scared to death. The sad part of all this was that Robert was frightened for what Rankin might do to him and not concerned for Danny's safety. The man had a long way to go to reclaim his fatherhood.

Robert returned to the living room a few minutes later and sat back down, wiping his mouth with a dish towel. "I'm in deep trouble," He said.

"That's putting it mildly," Michael replied. "I think Danny understands the problem better than you do."

"You said he sent you here ... why?" Robert asked.

"You might be a bad father and a total asshole, but I think Danny still cares about you."

"Rankin can be a dangerous man. He has those two thugs ... "

"Barrett and Simpkins ... we know all about them," Michael said.

"You do? They're like a small army," Robert said. "I don't see how we can stop them if they wanted to kill me."

"I don't think they will openly kill you, Mr. Rhodes. Rankin would have too many questions to answer if that happened. I came here to prevent them from harming you."

Michael smiled and Robert stared at him. "You're just one guy. I know you knocked me out somehow, but that was just a lucky punch."

"Don't flatter yourself," Michael said. "I'm the best protection you've ever had."

"I'm supposed to have a police watchdog. Did you see them out front?" Robert asked.

"Yes, and I walked right past them, they're useless."

"What are we going to do?" Robert asked.

"Sit, eat dinner, and then watch some television ... do you have cable?"

Danny had managed to heat a can of soup and make some grilled cheese sandwiches for their dinner. It wasn't fancy, just filling.

"I'm sorry about this," Neil said. "Michael usually does the shopping. We'll order something for delivery tomorrow."

"That's fine, I have simple tastes," Danny replied.

"That's surprising considering the fancy lifestyle you must lead."

Danny laughed. "You think I dine on caviar and champagne every night? I come from a small suburban neighborhood in Tacoma, nothing out of the ordinary. My parents were real church people so we lived pretty simple lives. As for the music career, I've spent a lot of nights in hotels and motels eating fast food."

"Sorry, I just assumed things would be so different when you were so famous."

"My father is an accountant ... frugal is the best word I can come up with to describe him," Danny said.

"And your mother, what does she make of all this?" Neil asked.

"She's gone to glory in her mind, and that's a fact. I suppose if God spoke to her she might listen. I think my father did something that killed the marriage. She and the church we belonged to tossed us out."

"That might explain why she divorced him, but what about you?"

Danny sighed. "I sing 'godless' music, at least in her estimation. Her view of popular music is limited to what those kooks in the God's Way church tell her. I doubt if she even knows what kind of lyrics I write. There's nothing indecent about what I have to say."

Neil smiled. "I read some of them this afternoon when I was in vacuuming your rug. I hope you don't think I was prying?"

"You looked at the song book in my room? No problem since that will all be public eventually when I get finished. Providing I ever get back to recording. Did you look at all of them?" Danny asked.

"No, just the first few. I liked that one you call 'Smiles.'

"When the world's dark and gray you can push it away ... with a smile. If the pain inside seems to hurt all the time ... you must smile. You can cancel the rain, and put the sun in your sky ... with a smile." Danny nodded. "Still working on that one."

"Where do the ideas come from?" Neil asked.

"Life," Danny said. "And my focus has changed over the years. I used to respond to the young fans and write for them, but that was when I was their age. It seems absurd to write down to that level now. I've changed and so have my fans.

"That performance at The Palace gave me some ideas. I had the young fans there but I could also see the way their parents reacted to the music. My music has to evolve if I'm going to continue this career. CRA is more interested in maintaining an image of me that isn't real. If they want a kid singer then they need to go out and look for someone else."

Neil smiled. "I think you're capable of directing your own career from now on. Perhaps you need an agent to take care of the details, but you'll be the one pointing the way."

"I agree," Danny said. "I need someone who will take me seriously."

Barrett knew Rankin wasn't going to be happy. They had the boy and his lawyer cornered in that courthouse, and then the kid just disappeared. That little Jap car the lawyer was driving pulled out of the parking garage and she was alone behind the wheel, there was no sign of Danny.

Simpkins had the front entrance scoped out and the boy had not gone out that way. Barrett had seen nothing suspicious exit from the garage or the rear entrance either. Their chances of retrieving the briefcase had never been good and now they seemed hopeless.

That left only one option and Barrett didn't like it. He had obtained a copy of the arrest report for Rhodes from a buddy on the police force. There had been no mention of a briefcase in the personal effects taken from the man, but Barrett didn't expect it to be that easy. The one good fact in the report was the home address which was something they could use.

Rankin was mad enough at Mr. Rhodes to want him eliminated, but that wasn't going to be easy. Barrett knew enough about the police to know Rhodes was probably under surveillance. The address he had discovered was a high rise condo with good security features.

The last thing they needed to do was call any attention to Rhodes with a suspicious death. Natural causes would be best. Failing that, a suicide might be in order, and who was more likely to kill themselves than a man in Rhodes' current position. But it was late and Barrett needed some dinner and a good night's sleep. Rhodes wasn't going anywhere.

Michael had found fresh eggs, some ham, and a jar of salsa in the kitchen. Now that Robert had figured out why he was there Michael could ignore the man long enough to make dinner. He broke eggs and cut up the ham, whipping it all up and then pouring it into a fry pan with some butter. He rummaged in the refrigerator and the cabinets deciding they either needed to shop or order out tomorrow.

"We need to get you some food, the cabinets are nearly bare," Michael called out.

Robert made his way into the kitchen and sat at the table. "We ate out a lot before ... " And his voice tapered off.

Michael cut the omelet in half and served the portions up on a plate with a dab of salsa on top. He carried the plates to the table and put one in front of Robert before sitting down. The guy looked miserable and more than a little scared. He made no move to eat as Michael looked down at his creation.

"Eat," Michael said. "I don't want you to get sick."

"I don't have an appetite, but it looks good. So you cook too?"

Michael shrugged and pulled a pair of lacquered chopsticks from the pouch in his sleeve. "I cook for my Pops ... and Danny."

Robert looked up with curiosity. "He's staying with you?"

"He's my friend and we'll take good care of him."

"Danny is in danger too, isn't he?" Robert asked.

Michael nodded. "Rankin would like to use him to get to you or that briefcase I imagine. Too late for all that so I think you're the one in danger. Danny has good protection ... my father was a cop. Go on, eat something."

Robert slowly picked up his fork and took a bite ... and then another. "How did ... I mean, how did you become Danny's friend?"

Michael set down his chopsticks and fetched them both a glass of water. "I have lots of friends, some closer than others. But I choose each of them carefully because of who they are and what they mean to the harmony of my existence."

"Harmony? What is that ... some kind of religious meaning?" Robert asked.

"The Taoist belief speaks to the harmony of the universe, the balance in all things. The ancient Chinese philosophy is more than a religion ... it's a way of life."

"You may eat with chopsticks but you aren't Chinese."

"I don't have to be Chinese. We're all part of the same existence. I study the Taijiquan to further understand what I am as a person in relation to the universe." Michael smiled. "It has also taught me the skills I need to defend myself against violent acts."

"Martial arts won't work against bullets," Robert said.

"This is true, but only if my opponents are allowed to reach that point. I have confidence that they won't get the chance to pull the trigger."

Robert shook his head. "I really fucked up this time. Here I am risking your life and mine. I should have just gone to the police with the truth."

Michael nodded. "Truth is always the best way to begin a journey. Can I ask you something?"

Robert shrugged. "Sure, what else have I got to lose?"

"Danny believes his mother turned her back on him because of his music. I don't think it's that simple. There is something else that happened and the boy deserves to know the truth."

Robert stared for a moment and then put his face in his hands and began to sob. Michael did nothing to disturb the flow of grief. Robert might deny that the events of the past affected him, but he could not bear the feeling that Danny was hurt from his actions. This was a good sign.

"I ... I had sex with the minister's daughter and she got pregnant. They told my wife and she left me. By then I was deeply involved in Danny's career and he had stopped singing church music to focus on the popular stuff. She saw that as the devil at work in his life ... .and then I became her personification of evil. It's so irrational, but those church people ... they all believe that nonsense."

"Why did Danny stop singing in church? He could have continued there and still developed his career," Michael said.

"That was my fault ... I wanted him to make fast money. I pushed him into it."

"You did, I can see that. But you saddled him with a terrible contract at CRA, and Rankin ... how did you miss seeing what a greedy bastard he is?"

"Because we're too much alike ... he's just better at it than I am," Robert said.

Michael washed the dinner plates and the fry pan. By that time Robert had returned to the living room and was staring at the blank television screen.

"It's getting late and I'll be up with the sun," Michael said. "I'm going to bed in Danny's room. You should sleep soon, get some rest. I don't think anything will happen tonight, maybe not even tomorrow. We can't predict their moves ... we just have to be prepared for them."

Robert nodded. "I don't know how I can make this right."

"I think tomorrow you should call that District Attorney and offer to work with him, at least make the first gesture," Michael said. "I would say nothing more to that attorney of yours, especially since Rankin sent him to you. I think his loyalty is questionable."

"Thank you," Robert said.

"The road back is long and difficult, you shouldn't do it alone. That's why I'm here."

Michael sat in the middle of Danny's bed beneath the dark windows. The drapes were open and even this high up off the ground the lights from the city left a glow on the ceiling. The walls were bare and the room felt empty ... unoccupied. Danny had used this room, but it had not been a part of his consciousness.

Now all they could do was wait and let the others make their move. It was time to prepare his thoughts for the coming trial. Michael had to open himself to the possibilities of the violence ahead. The Taijiquan taught discipline of the mind and body. His body was ready, and so Michael turned inwards and allowed the thoughts to flow.

They had arrived at the school one afternoon to find Master Chen sitting before a vase of flowers which he had placed on a low tea table against the wall. The vase was of the purest white porcelain with the Chinese character for 'Tao' written upon it. It held one red rose and one white one, nothing else.

Sensing something was afoot, the boys all took seats in their accustomed rows behind the Master and remained silent. If Leonard knew what his father had in mind he gave nothing away. In fact, he seemed in awe of his father most of the time. They waited ... and waited.

"What do you see?" Master Chen finally asked aloud, and then slowly turned around to look at the rows of boys. He nodded at one of the youngest boys, Ron Lee.

"I see two flowers in a vase," Ron said. "But that is the obvious, and perhaps the Master intends for me to see something else."

Master Chen chose another boy, Barry Chang. "The flowers are the same except for color," Barry said. "It is the vase that I find important because of what is written on it."

Master Chen looked at Leonard and inclined his head. "What do you see, my son?"

"The flowers and the vase are irrelevant. It is what they represent that matters."

And then the Master looked at Michael. "And what do they represent to you?"

"Nothing," Michael said. "They serve to distract us from the gun you hold in your lap."

The other boys gasped and the Master smiled, lifting his hand which held a .38 revolver. The deception had embraced everyone but Michael.

"Will you explain how you knew so the others might learn?" Master Chen asked.

"The flowers are pretty and catch the eye. The vase is also a thing of beauty, but it was the character 'Tao' written on the vase that first made me question your purpose. Such an obvious expression of what we expect to see here, and that made me think you were concealing something.

"When turning, you favored your right hand and tried not to move it from your lap where it concealed the pistol. A weapon like that is heavy so it took some effort on your part to hold it still. But the muscles of your arm gave it away. This is what I saw."

The human mind is capable of analyzing thousands of bits of information at one time. It takes great effort to comb through the data and choose those important things which allow the Taijiquan warrior to focus. Michael had been an adept at focusing his mind very early on, but the extreme physical requirements had taken much longer to learn.

In combat, the physical needs of the body moved from one state to the next. Properly trained, a warrior of the Taijiquan seemed to flow over his intended target and dispense the proper touch, squeeze or blow. Every part of the body was used in the assault and so the attack could turn deadly very fast unless the mind remained focused.

A man who aims a gun has already chosen his path, and would likely die for his efforts. Michael had not killed before, but he was prepared to do so if necessary. To maintain his own sense of harmony it was best to allow the assailant to choose his own destiny. Michael was sure that with their military background, Barrett and Simpkins might appreciate the subtlety of their demise if that is what they chose. He stretched out on the bed and quickly fell asleep.

It was past midnight when Danny looked up from his keyboard after sensing another presence in the room. "Can't sleep?" Leonard asked.

Danny smiled. "I might ask you the same thing. I have too much on my mind."

"I can tell the music calms you. This is the path to your inner self."

Danny gestured to the bed and Leonard took a seat. "Michael explained a little about this Taijiquan you guys practice. The mind and body working together to create this method of fighting. How did that come about?"

"It is an ancient practice developed by monks in China. Men and women who chose the path to understanding of self were very poor people. They might work in the fields to grow rice and vegetables, or raise animals for the community kitchen. Such people had little and yet there were those who sought to take away what little they had.

"A rich man might afford sharp weapons or even the men to wield such things, but a poor farmer had nothing for defense except perhaps his hoe. A monk had even less, just his hands and feet. Waijia is a form of combat that allows the user to adapt to his environment. Anything and perhaps everything around him becomes an element in offensive combat.

"The Neijia teaches my mind to see what you do not and use it to my advantage. You see a bowl of rice upon the table and I see a shield to fend off a knife thrust. Our world is filled with blunt and sharp objects. We just need to know where they are and how to use them."

"If someone pulled a gun on you how could you defend against that?" Danny asked.

Leonard smiled. "The key to defense is preparation. A man with a gun gives off signals of his intended aggression. The gun gives him false courage and a sense of respect that perhaps he feels is deserved. The time between the thought that tells him to draw his weapon and fire it may only be seconds long, but to me that is a lifetime."

"I saw Michael when he defended me. The blow he landed seemed pretty quick," Danny said.

"But his mind already knew what path the body would take in the defense of his friend. For example, you have a computer there and I am sure it asks you questions." Leonard said.

"Yes, the program wants to know what to do with the information I key in."

"The trained mind is the same way. One thought triggers another until there is a cascade leading to the proper response and physical action. But we do not wait for the conclusion to be reached, action takes place immediately and adapts as we move. This is called the swarm, during which the opponent is evaluated and decisions made to apply physical harm."

"The short combat I saw at the school looked like a dance," Danny said.

Leonard smiled. "Yes ... a very serious dance. It is often called the dance of death."

Barrett drove slowly past the condo buildings looking for a quiet place to park. It was just eight in the morning and he had Rhodes figured for a late sleeper. Simpkins was sitting in the passenger seat juggling a cup of coffee and a breakfast sandwich. That shit would clog the arteries and give the man a paunch before he ever reached fifty. Barrett drank soy milk and ate tofu burgers. He wanted to live a long and healthy life.

Rhodes' police watchdog was parked at the curb with a good view of the front entrance, how dumb could you get? There had to be a service entrance on the building and that was where they were headed. He looked up through the windshield once again. Eight floors up ... a long drop to the ground.

Michael had prepared the last few eggs and a slice of ham on toast for Robert who seemed grateful that someone could make him breakfast. Going out to the market didn't seem like a good idea, it left them exposed. But there were several carry-out menus in a kitchen drawer so at least they had a selection.

The kitchen trash was full and Michael tied up the bag and turned to Robert. "Is there a trash chute nearby?"

"Down the hall past the elevators, like the third door on the right, it's marked," Robert said.

"I'd say you ought to call the District Attorney and get that rolling," Michael said.

"Yeah ... I know. Maybe he'll agree to see me today and get this over with. That would be a relief."

"I'll take the trash out and be right back," Michael said.

He opened the door and looked down the hall towards the elevators. There was no one in sight and so he closed the door behind him and carried the bag down the hall. He noticed the elevators were down on the first floor and passed them by. The trash door was just past the stairwell and he opened it to see several other bags piled on the floor.

It was amazing that some people were just too lazy to open the small door to the chute and dump their trash. Michael dumped his bag and then tossed the others in behind it. He opened the trash room door and turned to walk back to the condo, but what he saw brought him to an abrupt halt.

There were two men standing down the hallway at the door to 8 B, and without a doubt one of them was Barrett. The men were dressed in maintenance worker coveralls and Simpkins wore a work jacket as well. He would be carrying a gun under that jacket, but if Barrett had one it would have to be stuffed in a pants pocket.

They had already knocked and Michael knew if they got through the door before he got there that he would be locked out and Robert would face the consequences alone. It would be too much to hope that Robert would use the peephole before he opened the door. But he knew Michael had gone out with the trash, he would probably just turn the knob and realize his mistake too late.

There was nothing else to do and so Michael stood up straight and made his way to the elevator. Barrett knocked on the door again and Simpkins looked down the hall and saw Michael standing in front of the elevator jabbing at the button impatiently. Michael had his wallet out and was looking at something in it ... and then Robert opened the door.

Barrett pushed his way inside and even from twenty-five feet away Michael could hear Robert squawk. Simpkins was focused on following his partner which allowed Michael to make his move. It took him about three seconds to dash the distance to the door and slip his laminated driver's license into the door jamb to keep the latch from making contact. Simpkins pushed the door shut, completely unaware that it was still unlocked.

Michael placed an eye against the peephole. He could see no details, just light and shadow. That was enough to show him that no one was standing just behind the door. There was no doubt in his mind that he had to go in there very soon before they did something stupid. Barrett and Simpkins were at least predictable, Robert was the wild card.

Michael shoved the door open and dropped his car keys at the same time. He reached down and scrabbled for them on the tile floor making as much noise as possible. When he stood up Simpkins was facing him with a hand under his jacket, fingers on the butt of the pistol.

"Sorry," Michael said. "I didn't know Mr. Rhodes had company."

"Who are you?" Simpkins asked.

"Maid service ... I clean apartments," Michael said. "I just took out the trash."

Simpkins looked doubtful and Barrett was busy confronting Robert. Michael just hoped he could pull this off, and he immediately turned and walked towards the kitchen.

"Wait just a minute ... " Simpkins started to say, and at the same time his right hand came out from under the jacket and reached for Michael's arm.

Barrett had a hand on Robert's chest and was pushing him across the living room towards the sliding glass doors to the balcony. That took no thought. Michael knew that Barrett was going to throw Robert over the railing. Fortunately the doors were closed and that would slow them down.

Michael reached the kitchen doorway just as Simpkins grasped his arm. The man was only using his right hand for contact which left him unable to go for the pistol he carried in the shoulder holster. This left Michael with several options and as the momentum of his stride carried him on into the kitchen Simpkins was dragged along. One step ... two and they were out of Barrett's line of sight.

Robert started to protest as he was pushed up against the glass doors to the balcony. Michael hoped they were locked because he needed the seconds ...

"Stop right there ... " Simpkins started to say, and then Michael struck.

The first blow landed in the center of Simpkins' chest. The method of the collapsing fist allowed fingers to strike, and then the hand folded so the knuckles struck a second time. A double whammy that knocked the wind out of an opponent so he could not cry out for help.

The second blow dislocated the man's right shoulder which denied him the capacity to reach for the gun. But Simpkins wasn't thinking about shooting anyone, he couldn't breathe. Michael decided to ease the man's suffering with a tap on the side of the head which knocked him out and allowed Michael to lower him to the floor.

"Stop ... no ... don't," Robert was yelling, and Michael heard the glass door slide open.

Two steps and Michael threw himself across the breakfast bar, kicking the toaster and a phone book out of the way. Barrett had the door halfway open and with his superior strength had lifted Robert off his feet. If he got the door open Robert would be sent flying and there would be no way to stop his fall.

Michael landed on his feet only long enough to arch his body and flip over the couch, tumbling in the air until he landed. The momentum brought him within reach of Barrett who was looking over his shoulder at the crash of the toaster hitting the wall. Michael was in mid-air and coming on fast ... it was decision time.

The railing was six feet away across a clear span of concrete. It would take Barrett two strides to push Robert over the railing. But this new threat was coming on fast and Simpkins had disappeared. The image of Michael flying through the air in a controlled maneuver set off alarms in Barrett's head.

The Special Forces training he had received had exposed Barrett to all sorts of martial arts styles. A soldier in his outfit was expected to be proficient in judo style moves to disarm an opponent, and to study the offensive capabilities of kung fu. He did not immediately recognize the martial arts style Michael was using, but it was a greater threat than Rhodes presented.

Barrett dropped Rhodes to the floor in the doorway and turned to meet this new threat. Michael landed on his feet within easy reach and Barrett made the mistake that would cost him his life, he tried to grab the boy.

Michael had used the speed gained in his flip to go into a crouch and Barrett's grasp closed on thin air. The alarms in Barrett's skull were shrilling full blast now as his last view of the boy had been of his hands. Chopsticks clutched between those fingers had given Barrett the final clue. He was up against an adept of the Taijiquan, and that would mean he would be fighting for his life.

Michael's foot came up and caught Barrett in the armpit, the blow strong enough to turn his body away and expose the target Michael had chosen. The chopsticks in his hands were held between the second and third fingers which allowed the base of the lacquered wood to butt up against his calloused palm. This gave the end a solid resting place for the force of the blow.

Barrett felt the shattering pain as the point of a chopstick was driven into the back of his knee, immobilizing the joint and crippling his right leg. He looked down to deliver a blow to his opponent only to discover Michael was still on the move and behind him now. A hand grasped Barrett's coveralls at the waist and Michael was back on his feet.

With his leg feeling like it was on fire, Barrett could not turn to the right or he would fall. He swung back left just as he felt Michael on his back and realized the danger ... his neck was exposed. But as he faced the doors to the balcony Barrett saw his original target getting to his feet. He growled as his hands pushed out and made contact.

Robert stumbled through the doors onto the balcony, tripping over his own feet. The force of the blow slammed him up against the railing and he screamed, scrabbling to hold on. Barrett saw his chance and thought he could carry the boy on his back just long enough to complete his mission ... but he was wrong.

Michael saw what was about to happen and pulled Barrett's head back as his right arm came around in an arc which drove the point of the remaining chopstick through the soft underside of Barrett's chin, through the tongue, sinus cavity and into the soft spongy matter of the man's brain. Barrett was still on his feet ... dead, but still standing. The weight of Michael on his back eventually pulled Barrett's body down and the boy stepped off as the dead man hit the floor on his back.

Michael took several steps and pulled the hysterical Robert off the railing and back into the condo. "I think we need to call the police ... and an ambulance," Michael said.

Robert was gasping for air, a hand on his chest. "Oh My God, he almost ... where is the other guy?"

"Unconscious, let me go check."

Simpkins was indeed flat on his back and unconscious. Michael used a dish towel and lifted the pistol from the holster inside the man's jacket. He wrapped the gun in the towel and placed it inside the microwave for safekeeping. The phone was right there so Michael dialed 9-1-1 and reported the assault and the killing. He then called Janet.

They didn't have long to wait for the police and Michael assumed they were the officers stationed out in front of the building. Everything rolled into one long confusing mess after that. The uniformed officers called the detectives, an ambulance and the coroner. Lab technicians arrived, cameras flashed and statements were taken.

In the middle of all this the District Attorney arrived with Janet and Judge Gwynn right behind him. Barrett was bagged and tagged, and his body removed to the morgue. Simpkins was cuffed to a gurney and driven off to the jail wing at the hospital. Billy Beale looked at the blood stained carpet and the smashed toaster. Then his eyes fell on Michael.

"You did all this ... by yourself?" Beale asked.

"I regret the death," Michael said. "I have never killed a man before. He made it necessary."

Beale shook his head. "He had you by at least a hundred pounds ... how did you do it?"

Michael gave back a weak smile. "I was prepared."

The uniformed officers had been placed on guard out in the hallway and the detectives had gone into a huddle when the DA and the Judge arrived. Now there was a commotion at the door and Neil Keene appeared in the hallway ... and behind him stood Danny.

"I want to see my son," Neil said.

Beale nodded at the uniform and Neil stepped into the room. Michael rose from the chair and walked over to his father.

"They say you killed a man," Neil said.

Michael nodded. "I did it to save a life."

"That's the only good reason I ever found," Neil said, and he hugged his son.

Robert stood up and looked across the room at Danny standing in the doorway. He turned to Judge Gwynn who immediately recognized the situation.

"Go on," Gwynn said. "He wants to talk to you."

Robert turned to Danny and motioned him over. "I'm sorry ... I am so sorry ... " And then Robert began to cry. It was Danny who held out his arms and they hugged.

Michael and Neil stood and watched the reunion of father and son. They both knew it would take time for the wounds to heal and for the legal system to reach an equitable solution. But this was a beginning, and for all of them there would be some new tomorrows.

The chords resounded off the walls in the concert hall, focusing the audience's attention on the piano and the young man at the keyboard.

"When the world is dark and gray, you can push it all away ... with a smile ... " Danny sang.

"If the pain deep inside seems to hurt you all the time ... you must smile ... "

His voice rose an octave and pierced through the sound of the orchestra who joined the song at this point.

"You can open your heart and share the feelings trapped inside ... with a smile ...

If you don't know it now, someone loves you so dear ... and with time on our side, let us smile ...

always smile ... you must smile."

The string section took up the melody and Danny glanced across the top of the grand piano and into the wings of the stage. For a moment he thought his father was standing there, but that wasn't possible. No, it was Neil who was standing backstage beside Martha Trent.

This was the tour opening concert, a sixty piece orchestra with Danny as the headlining act.

"In the rush of your life, all the good friends you know make you ... smile ... "

And Danny saw Michael step out of the shadows beside Neil and place an arm on his father's shoulder. The image brought forth a rush of emotion and Danny looked down at his hands on the keys to keep from faltering.

"You can smile away the rain, all the darkness and the pain,

Let the sun in your heart, brighter days are just a start ... then you'll smile ... smile ... smile ... "


On to Chapter Twenty-Three


Back to Chapter Twenty-One

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Exit Hollywood is © 2010 by Chris James.
    This work may not be duplicated in any form (physical, electronic, audio, or otherwise) without the author's written permission. All applicable copyright laws apply. All individuals depicted are fictional with any resemblance to real persons being purely coincidental.

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