Turning PointsChapter 8
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"Hi, Eric," my father said when I answered the phone. "I thought I'd check on you. I'm also calling to thank you. The accommodations you arranged for us are fantastic."
"I'm happy you're enjoying yourself," I said.
"Listen, before I called you, I called Detective Newman. Hobbs finally rolled over on the cooker. Robert Jones is under arrest and in custody, and we have nothing to fear from him. Newman says he's non-violent, a nerdy chemist, not a drug kingpin. Escalante was the leader of the gang, the man behind the violence perpetrated against us. Hobbs and Chavez followed Escalante's lead. All four men confessed and agreed to plead guilty when offered plea bargains for lesser charges, so we won't be required to testify at their trials. Newman also told me that he didn't believe we'd be attacked again."
"Is Escalante or either Hobbs or Chavez members of any street or prison gang?" I asked.
"I don't know. Is knowing important?"
"Maybe." I told him about Alana then, not in detail but enough that he could understand my concern. Of course telling him about Alana worried him, not because I was harboring a young woman in his home, but instead because I'd once again put myself in harm's way. "I'll check with Newman about any gang affiliations," I said.
"All right. By the way, you can pick up your Civic." He gave me the vehicles location and a phone number. "Maureen wants to talk to you now. Take care, Son. I love you."
"I love you, too, Dad," I said, and then listened to Maureen rave about the first-class seats on the flight to Hawaii, the greeting they'd received at the airport in Honolulu including orchid leis draped around their necks, the ride to the hotel in a limo, and the fantastic suite at the hotel. After she thanked me four or five times, we ended the call.
When I turned, Alana stood in front of me wearing her robe. She had a tall glass of iced tea in her hand. "Are you thirsty?"
"I am," I said. She handed me the glass and I gulped half of it before I tipped the glass upright.
"Did you tell your parents about me?" she asked.
"I told my father," I said.
"Is he all right with me staying with you?"
"He's concerned about the new threat to my safety, but as far as I know he has no other objection," I said and chuckled. "He's telling Maureen about you right now. I expect another call in a few minutes. Knowing Maureen, she'll want to speak to you."
The ringing phone made me laugh. I answered the call by saying, "Hi, Maureen. Would you like to speak to Alana?"
I listened to silence for two heartbeats, and then she said, "Yes, I'd like that."
Before I handed Alana the phone, I covered the mouthpiece and told Alana I was going to take a shower.
"You spoke with the girl Eric rescued for a long time," Johannes said. "What do you think of her?"
"The girl's name is Alana Perez. She's eighteen years old, well-spoken, and has a pleasant voice, and if she's not in love with Eric now, she soon will be," Maureen said. "Like with you and me, Eric rolled over her like a tank. If she's reasonably attractive and can excite Eric sexually, they'll be sleeping together before we return."
Johannes nodded. "Eric described her perilous situation. The new Eric didn't have it in him to not help her. I understand and applaud him for helping her, but her situation is more dangerous than Eric's after he turned Hobbs over to the police. A powerful and ruthless prison gang has marked her for death. They've already murdered her parents, and Eric stopped two of the gang members from killing her in a very public place with many witnesses. If they'll go to that length to kill her, they won't give up. Fortunately, they don't know who Eric is, but they saw him, and his current proximity to the girl places him in the same peril that she faces. I worry about him, Maureen."
"And you're considering cutting our honeymoon short to return to Santa Fe to help in any way you can," Maureen said.
"No," he said. "I'll speak with Eric again tomorrow. He said he would call Newman to determine if Escalante or either of the other two dealers is a member of a prison gang, but that call has nothing to do with the girl. Learning what a prison gang did to the girl's parents, Eric realized if one of the meth dealers in the gang that attacked us is a member of a prison gang that it's possible, even likely, that more attempts at retribution could happen, not only against him but also against you and me. If Newman answers yes, I won't take you back into harm's way, which suddenly made me realize returning to help Eric would be foolish. Instead, I'll encourage Eric to get out of Dodge. He has the money. He can take that girl anyplace in the world. I'll only return if Eric refuses to leave Santa Fe. With that threat, he'll leave. The new Eric would not want to be the cause of ruining our honeymoon."
Maureen kissed her new husband and said, "A brilliant solution, as usual, my husband."
This time I could work. Now, Alana's nudity was like the nudity of models I'd had in life drawing classes while in college many years ago. I saw the architecture of the human body from the bones to muscles and finally skin. I saw forms and color and light and texture, not the naked body of a desirable woman. I think, however, Alana was disappointed that she didn't excite me this time like she had the first time.
The quick one minute-sketches were piling up on the floor. I'd started to understand her body, how it was put together, how it moved, and understanding enhanced her astonishing beauty. She was an amazing model. With Alana, I could celebrate the beauty and passion of the female form with my art.
"Hold that pose for another minute," I said and continued the sketch I'd blocked out in the previous minute. She was leaning forward on her stiffened straight arms, her hands on the stool, and she'd pulled one leg up, resting that foot on an ottoman. Her stiff arms squeezed her heavy breasts together, not a lot, just enough. Her expression was introspective, and her dark hair flowed over the shoulder closest to me. The sinuous strands divided and framed one breast.
I worked feverishly. I'd found the pose I'd want for my first painting, and I decided it'd use pastels as my medium. I could exaggerate her fantastic coloring with pastels and make her flesh glow on the paper as if it were alive. I added more detail with a rust-colored conte crayon, and then even more detail appeared. Conte crayons are harder and thinner than traditional pastels. I used them in sketches to compliment the line work of charcoal and give the sketch color. Her body took form on the newsprint, became three-dimensional with light and shading, instead of the two-dimensional line work limitations of soft charcoal or lead pencils.
I went beyond the extra minute, and continued for two or three more before I stepped back satisfied with the sketch.
"Take a break, Alana. And thank you. You're a very good model," I said.
She rose erect and shook her shoulders, trying to remove some knots. Shaking her shoulders shook her breasts. Sexy. She smiled at me, slipped on her robe, and said, "May I see the last sketch?"
"It's just a sketch, a study. I'll do more studies before I start the pastel painting that will be the finale for what we started today."
She stood in front of the sketch and studied it. Without looking at me, she said, "Is this how you see me?"
"One aspect of you, yes," I said.
"Which aspect?"
"Your introspective side," I said. "The pose shows you deep in thought but your passion, the fire in your belly, is close to the surface. It's an edge, a split-second, the moment in time before you make up your mind, and it's very female. I love the pose."
"I am not that mysterious. I am not that beautiful," she said.
"You are to my eyes. For other poses, I'll capture other aspects of you, and in each you will be beautiful but never flashy. In my paintings of you, your earthy passion will be forever submerged, just below the surface, evident but still elusive, and anyone who views the paintings will want to know you, experience your passion, uncover your mystery. The series will launch my career as an artist."
"Yes," she whispered. "And because of you, I will become immortal."
I chuckled. "Launching a career and ending up in future art history books are not synonymous. I will call the series: Aspects of Alana. The title for the first painting will be Introspection."
She turned to me and said, "You will be in future art history books, and I will become immortal as your first model. Thank you."
Her robe fell away and she kissed me. I didn't shop for art supplies and books that afternoon. I didn't mind the delay.
The next morning the sky was a blue-black angry, and I saw lightning flash on the mountains as Alana and I moved through the beginning form of tai chi. Is today the day, Hector? I asked my so-called personal power in the universe. Will you be moving my essence to another body? What do you have in mind for my next swap? A bag lady perhaps? Or maybe you'd like to see how I'd react as a prisoner on death row? How about a ninety-year-old man, or worse a ninety-year-old woman? What's next Hector? Or should I say who is next? How about a real six-year-old instead of a young woman with a six-year-old mind? And so far you've kept the swaps in the Western area of the USA. How about a female wearing a chador in Beirut, Lebanon? Or a black child in Darfur?
I did not want to be moved again. I was doing what I'd always wanted to do—be an artist. As Eric Kleiner I could become all I could be. And I wouldn't be alone. Besides my new father and step-mother, I had Alana. I had a beautiful, devoted, inventive lover. My raging teenage hormones had been calmed, and my satisfied libido helped tamp down my withdrawal pangs. I felt fully human for the first time since I took over Eric Kleiner's body. I could see a wonderful life in my future as Eric Kleiner. I still had a long to-do list for this life.
Just leave me the hell alone, Hector!
Alana and I finished the form, and I moved inside to avoid the lightning. "This morning is a workout with free weights for you, right?" Alana said.
"Yes."
"I do not want to work out with free weights," she said. "I don't want pumped-up, bulging muscles. I'll stay here, fix breakfast, and start the laundry."
"All right," I said.
During the drive to the gym, I called Detective Newman. Yes, he told me, Escalante was a member of a prison gang. No, he did not belong to the Sindicto Nuevo Mexico. Escalante was a member of the more powerful Los Carnales. The Los Carnales, sworn enemies of the Sindicto, controlled the wholesale distribution of locally produced methamphetamine throughout the state. No, he didn't believe Los Carnales would assume Escalante's responsibility to exact retribution on me and my family. Los Carnales did not care about me or my family. They had their hands full protecting their turf from the Banditos, yet another Hispanic prison gang. The Banditos coveted control of the wholesale distribution of locally produced methamphetamine.
"Eric, I have been seriously considering handing over the City of Santa Fe to the Hispanic prison and street gangs and emigrating to New Zealand," Newman said. "I'd do it, I swear, but my wife wouldn't go with me. She's in the middle of redecorating our living room."
When I parked in the gym's lot, it was raining hard and lighting periodically lit up the sky. I felt safe from Hector sitting in my Honda. The vehicle was grounded. It would act like a lightning rod. I sat without moving until I realized if Hector wanted me, sitting in the grounded Honda wouldn't protect me. I jumped from the car and dashed inside the gym, heaving a sigh of relief as I moved through the entrance doors.
Alana prepared huevos rancheros for breakfast, one of my favorite breakfast dishes. While we ate, I told Alana about Los Carnales and the Banditos, and related what Newman had told me about the two gangs.
My mentioning prison gangs must have reminded her of her brother because she said, "I need to check on Paul. I must know if he's still alive. He isn't worth much, but he's the only family I have left."
"What must you do to check on him?"
"Call the prison," she said.
"I don't think so," I said. "Not from the phone here."
"A payphone, then," she said.
I shook my head. "A third party should make the call," I said. "Do you have a friend who will make the call for you?"
"No, I don't want to put a friend in jeopardy," she said. "I must make the call."
Against my better judgment, after breakfast I drove her to a payphone on the other side of Santa Fe and gave her the money to make the call. I had to catch her and hang up the phone when she collapsed after receiving the bad news. She sobbed as I half-carried her to the car. Instead of driving away, I held her until she partially recovered.
"I'm alone now," she said.
"You have me," I said.
"Do I?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
She fixed her tear-filled eyes on mine and held my gaze. Finally, she nodded and said, "Yes, I have you, Eric, my knight in slightly tarnished armor."
The phone was ringing when we walked into the trailer. I wasn't surprised to hear Dad's voice when I picked up the receiver. He didn't waste time with niceties.
"Here's the deal, Son," he said. "Either you and ... what is the girl's name?"
"Alana Perez," I said.
"Right, either you and Ms. Perez get out of Dodge or Maureen and I will cut our honeymoon short and return to keep you from harm's way in whatever way we can. You have money. You can take her anyplace in the world."
"Dad, do I have a passport?" I said.
"No," he said. "But you can get one."
"Not overnight, and I'm a minor. I believe you'd have to be involved to apply for one with me. And it's my guess that Alana doesn't have a passport either."
Alana was sitting at the table listening to my end of the conversation. She spoke up. "I have a passport. It's at my house in Albuquerque, though."
"I stand corrected," I said and relayed Alana's comment to my father. "But I hear you, Dad. Alana and I will get out of Dodge somewhere in the United States where a passport is not required. We don't have the details, but Alana's brother, Paul, was murdered in prison yesterday. She found this out when she called the prison from a pay phone here in Santa Fe."
Dad groaned. "Which means that it's possible for the prison gang to place her in Santa Fe."
"That was going to be my next point," I said. "I think it's unlikely, but it is possible, so leaving Santa Fe is a good idea. Let me speak with Alana, and I'll call you back."
After I ended the call, I sat at the table with Alana and said, "What is your preference for a dream vacation? The mountains or the seashore?"
"What is your preference?" she said.
"This time of year, I'd say the mountains," I said.
She nodded and said, "I agree. What's this all about, Eric?"
"My father wants us to get out of Dodge. He says if we don't leave Santa Fe that he'll cut his honeymoon short and return to Santa Fe to help keep me safe in any way he can." I chuckled. "He's not playing fair. He knows I won't ruin his honeymoon."
"This is because of me, because I brought my trouble to your house, isn't it?"
I grinned and said, "You betcha. I'm excited about this, Alana. This will force me to concentrate on my goals, on my art, will let me be selfish without feeling guilty."
"Huh?" she said looking like I'd plinked a nail into her forehead with a pneumatic nail-gun.
"I know what I want to do to launch my career as an artist. I want to paint you in all your guises. To protect you, we've got to make ourselves difficult to find. Combine the two, and what have we got?"
Her furrowed brow took another spike from the nail-gun, maybe two, so I said, "Opportunity, that's what we've got—a month or two of concentrated work while being pampered. With that much time I can finish Aspects of Alana, ten or twelve paintings, enough for my first one-man show. I'll cut back my poker playing to two tournaments a day, one if my painting is going well. Modeling is hard work. You'll need some pampering, too. How about Jackson Hole, Wyoming? The Grand Teton. Jackson Lake. Horseback riding. Country music and line dancing. A day trip to Yellowstone. And work, work, work. My parents can search for property in Santa Fe for our compound while we live in the lap of luxury. Waddaya say?"
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