"I'm serious, Sam. I need to hire you."
"You, who hasn't paid me a dime of child support in seven months?"
He shifted in his seat. As he did so, I saw that his upper lip was swollen. "I know, Sam, and I'm sorry. This hasn't been easy on me, either."
I didn't want to get into it with Danny. At least not now. Hell, I had a whole lifetime to get into it with him.
"Fine," I said. "What kind of help?"
"Protection."
"What kind of protection?"
"From men."
"What kind of men?"
He looked away, adjusted his tie, giving his Adam's apple more wiggle room. "They're a gang, of sorts."
"Of sorts? What does that mean?"
Now I saw the sweat on his brow and along his upper lip. I also saw the fear in his eye. He waved his hands weakly. "Thugs. A local street gang, I dunno. They sort of run the area I do business in."
"They beat you up?"
He shrugged, too prideful to admit to being smacked around, but not enough to come to his ex-wife for help.
I said, "And by doing business, you mean that shithole where you charge lonely men to look at lonelier women's boobs?"
"Yes, Sam. My strip club."
I shook my head sadly.
"What, Sam?"
"You used to be ashamed of your club."
He was pacing now, running his hand through his thinning hair. "Well, I'm too afraid to be ashamed."
"Sit down," I said. "You're making me nervous."
He sat, although his knee still bounced up and down. I said, "They're extorting money from you."
He nodded. "A grand a week. For protection, of course."
"Of course," I said. "So what do you want me to do?"
He frowned a little. He hadn't really thought this through. "I'm not sure."
"Do you want them to stop picking on you?"
"Sam..."
"What?"
"Fine. Yes."
"The price for keeping these boys from picking on you is..." I did some quick math, which, in my groggy state, took a little longer than it should have. I said, "The price is four thousand, two hundred and sixty-two dollars."
"Jesus, Sam. You can't be serious."
"Oh, but I am. Seven months of child support, plus my usual fee. Have the cash here on my table in one hour and you just hired yourself a bodyguard."
He looked down at his hands. His knee continued to bounce. Loose change in his pocket clanged. Finally, he nodded and stood.
"I'll be back," he said.
"We'll see."
He did come back. Funny what a little fear will do to a man. He handed me a white envelope full of money, which I counted in front of him. Once done, I grinned and held out my hand. He looked at it reluctantly, then finally shook it, wincing as he did so.
After all, I might have squeezed a little too hard.
Chapter Twenty-four
I was sitting cross-legged on a large boulder, on a rock-strewn hill, high above the deserts outside Corona.
I was, in fact, not too far from where Brian Meeks had been found. Or dumped. It was a quiet spot, miles from any major roads. Just me, the lizards, and the coyotes. And maybe a rattlesnake or two.
In the far distance I could hear the steady drone of the 15 Freeway. In the near distance, all I could hear was the wind, moaning gently over the boulder and, subsequently, me. Rocking me a little. I let the wind rock me, as I felt the latent heat from the boulder rise up through my jeans.
My minivan was parked on a dirt service road not too far from here. The service road had been closed off by a locked gate. Amazingly, the lock just happened to fall apart in my hands as I innocently examined it. Shoddy workmanship.
So, what the hell, I let myself in.
Now my jeans were dusty and my cute shoes were officially dirty. But I didn't care. I needed to be out here. Craving the solace, the peace, the oneness.
I closed my eyes and rested my hands on my knees. My children were at home with the sitter, and so I let all worry for them disappear. I took a deep breath, not because I needed the oxygen, but because I wanted to center myself. Years ago, I had done yoga. I knew something about centering myself.
Months ago, I had learned the art of automatic writing, in which one channels another entity to receive messages from angels, or the spirit world, or from Jim Morrison.
Either way, the results were interesting, but now I was determined to go beyond automatic writing. To go deeper, straight to the source. And what was the source? I didn't know. Not entirely. But I was determined to find out.
With my eyes still shut, I tilted my face up toward the heavens, and was met immediately by a mostly cool breeze laced with some tendrils of heat. I always welcomed heat, no matter how small or fleeting.
I focused on my breathing, releasing my thoughts to the wind, where I imagined them being snatched up and escorted far away. To meditate - to do it right - I had to have my mind blank. As blank as I could make it.
Breathing was the key. No, the act of focusing on my breathing was the key. Focusing on something simple. Mindless. It settles the mind. Relaxes it. Bypasses the ego. The ego, the fore-mind, that thing with which we use to calculate and imagine and worry and ponder, didn't like to be bypassed. The ego liked to remain in control.
So I continued concentrating on the fresh air flowing into my lungs. Despite my best efforts, my mind drifted to my son and soon worry gripped me, but I released that thought, too. To the wind.
Breathing.
Flowing in and out.
In and out.
Over lips and teeth and tongue...deep into my lungs.
I thought of blood dealers and corpses hanging upside down.
I shivered and released that thought, too. Into the wind.
My mind felt blank, although fleeting images sometimes crossed it. Kingsley. Fang. Sherbet. Strong men. Strange men. Sexy men.
I released those thoughts, too.
I felt myself relaxing as I did more deep breathing. I didn't need to breathe, granted, but oxygen in this case wasn't the purpose here. The purpose here was to relax my mind. To calm it. To calm it so completely that I could access...what?
I didn't know.
But I was about to find out.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Breathe in, Samantha.
Just breathe.
It's easy. Yes, so easy. Do you see how easy it is, Sam? Focus, child. There now. Good, good. Just focus on your breathing. You're almost there. Good, good.
Good...
It took a moment for me to realize that the thoughts in my head were no longer my own.
Welcome back, Samantha Moon, said the voice.
Chapter Twenty-five