Naked Tao (19 page)

“I’ve never given up hope that my father is alive,” she said.  “One of the many reasons I opened a factory in Brazil was to pick up where the police left off with their investigation into his disappearance.”  

“What did they tell you?”  I asked.  

“Only that he charted a small plane and it never returned,” she said.  

“Where was it chartered?” I asked.

“Manaus, at the mouth of the Amazon,” she answered.  

“The Amazon Rainforest is huge,” I said.  “Do you know where he was headed?”  

She shrugged.  

“Nobody seems to know,” said Ginny.  

Something was bothering me about this story, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.  There were pieces of the puzzle missing and I had a nagging feeling I knew something about them.  

“Do they know where the plane went down?” I asked.

“No,” answered Ginny.  “They spent a few days looking for the wreckage, but soon gave up when it couldn’t be spotted from the air.”  

“Do you have plan?” I asked.  

She nodded, but before she could answer, the nurse hit the emergency call button.  

“You don’t just walk out of ICU,” barked Ms. Quickie.  “You’re not going anywhere until Dr. Wiemp releases you.”  

Ginny stiffened.  She looked like she was about to give the nurse a piece of her mind.  I don’t know about Ginny, but I don’t like to be told what I can or can’t do, especially by a stranger.  

Still, no good ever comes from an unnecessary confrontation over something that is easily resolved.  It was time for diplomacy, but before I could speak, Ginny snapped at the nurse.  

“I’m not your prisoner,” said Ginny.  

Ms. Quickie puffed her flat chest out as far as it would go and said, “Rules are rules.  You have to see the Doctor first.”

“Not if she doesn’t want to,” I said.  “As you can see, she’s in perfect health.”  

The nurse shook her head and demanded, “Who are you and what are you doing in my ICU outside of visiting hours?”  

Her attitude stunned me.  It was time to kick it up a notch, so I extended my hand to her.  

“My name is Grant Li, Attorney-at-Law,” I said.  “This woman does not need your permission to leave.  Surely it’s not your intention to hold her against her will.”  

Ms. Quickie shrank from the extended hand, as if it held a poisonous snake.  She opened her mouth to speak, but then abruptly shut it again.  I think she was accustomed to patients following orders and our rebellion unbalanced her.  

Between my martial arts training and law practice, I know a fighter when I see one.  Ms. Quickie was a fighter and wasn’t about to lose a conflict with a couple of patients.  She shifted her focus to the hospital gown I wore and somehow managed to regain her sense of power.  

“You are a patient in this hospital and there is blood seeping from your bandages,” said the nurse.  “Let’s get you back to your room before you hurt yourself.”  

I wasn’t feeling my best and the bed rest she offered was tempting, but her tone annoyed me.  I was about to say something I might regret when I heard footsteps outside of the door.  

An arrogant voice barked a little too loudly, “This better be a real emergency.”  

A wave of relief passed over Ms. Quickie’s face.  She could now pass the torch to someone else and that somebody happened to be wearing a name tag that read, “Jonathan Wiemp, M.D.”  

Dr. Wiemp was tall, but seemed much shorter thanks to a pronounced stoop.  In addition to the stoop, he had a sag in the back of his neck that reminded me of a cartoon vulture I had seen one Saturday morning years ago.  

In sharp contrast to an exceptionally pointed chin, he had a wide forehead with four rows of deep wrinkles spread across it.  Thinning hair and grayish skin, gave him a haggard look.  

It didn’t get any better as you moved downward.  A pot belly pushed the waist band of his slacks to the max.  I didn’t get a sense that the doctor took very good care of himself.  

I guessed he was much younger than he appeared, but his clothes didn’t help him look his age.  They were old fashioned and added to his antique appearance.  From the faded bow tie, to the heavily worn wing tip shoes, he looked like he had been wearing the same outfit since 1958.  

Ms. Quickie must have seen something different in Dr. Wiemp, because she never once took her doe eyed gaze from him.  On the other hand, Dr. Wiemp hardly looked at her.  My feelings about her softened considerably when I realized it would eventually end badly for her.  

“This patient wants to leave, Doctor,” said the nurse.  

Dr. Wiemp scowled over the top of black rimmed glasses at Ginny.  Leaving was not part of his prognosis.  He expected her to be dead by morning.  I saw something else in his face.  This arrogant man disliked being wrong and found her recovery insulting.  

“No one is leaving,” said Dr. Wiemp in a raspy voice that told me he was a heavy smoker.  

I had one of those random moments we all have from time to time.  For some odd reason, Dr. Wiemp’s statement reminded me of the title to Jim Morrison’s biography, “No One Here Gets Out Alive.”  The disturbing comparison was all I needed to abandon diplomacy and shift into full blown lawyer mode.  

“Unless you step aside and allow her to leave, you will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law for false imprisonment,” I said to Dr. Wiemp.  

He looked me up and down before digging a hand into his pocket and pulling out a smart phone.  He punched in a call and waited impatiently.  

“We have a problem,” he said into the phone.  “Send security.”  

“Has everyone gone completely insane?” asked Ginny.  

“This is ridiculous,” I agreed. “We’re leaving.”

I took Ginny’s hand and gently pulled her to her feet.  At first, she submitted, but then looked down at her clothes.  I followed her eyes.  She was wearing one of those awful hospital gowns that invariably expose your behind.  In most instances, it’s a behind I’d rather not look at, but as Ginny cut a path to the closet I enjoyed a lingering look at a backside that was flawless in a Barbie doll sort of way.  

I had seen her skinny dipping a few days earlier and hungered for more.  As she gathered her personal belongings, a part of me hoped she would strip the hospital gown in front of me.  Instead, she stuffed her things into a bag and grabbed my hand again.  

As we headed to the door, I caught a glimpse of the nurse’s hateful glare.  She quickly cut her jealous eyes to Dr. Wiemp, who was standing in the door blocking our way.  He didn’t show any signs of yielding.  

I looked straight into his eyes and with dead calm said, “You need to step aside, now.”  

Dr. Wiemp’s arrogance seemed to dissipate.  For the first time, he was unsure of himself.  His eyes faltered and his gaze dropped to his feet as he stepped aside.  I led Ginny into the hall where we ran smack into two huge security guards.  

Dr. Wiemp’s arrogance returned as he barked, “Take this man to the psychological services unit and put him in restraints.”  

Of all the things he could have said, Dr. Wiemp managed to say the only thing that could send me over the edge.  Raw terror pushed me into berserker mode.  In keeping with my training, I savagely attacked the biggest guard first, delivering multiple blows to his vital points within the first three seconds.  

He was out cold and on his way to the ground when I disarmed the second security guard and pressed the 45 to his temple.  I would have pulled the trigger too, but I heard something in Ginny’s voice that pulled me from the brink.  

“Oh, my God!” said Ginny.  “Grant, no…please don’t!”  

Her voice saved the guard’s life and it saved me from doing something that would have haunted me for the rest of my life.  In the face of what might have been my hands started shaking uncontrollably.  When I turned to Ginny, I was crushed by what I saw in her eyes.  I wanted to explain and took a deep breath to gather myself, but felt something stab me in the neck and then I was out cold.