Chapter Five
When Richard got back home, he could not believe what he had done. It was impossible, absolutely impossible that he had killed Charles so easily. It wouldn't have been so easy even if Charles had not been a master, but he had seen him fall on the ground with his own eyes, unless as the saying goes, “Eyes can be deceived.” Could Charles have feigned the falling to avoid being hit by his chi? Not likely. Why should he? He was at the same master level. However, he had felt his chi hit him, right where his finger had pointed, before he collapsed.
Richard was not a bad man at heart. Only a bad man wouldn't care if he killed people. He merely had a wrong ambition. He never killed anyone in his competitive challenges against other masters. He had not intended to kill Charles. It had been a total accident. When he watched the news program on TV late that night, he learned that Charles was actually dead. The police didn't release the cause of his death, though. He felt a stab at his conscience and regret, too. A doubt arose in him for the first time about his special life career of aspiring after the fame of “Master the Invincible.” Was this fame worth seeking for a lifetime, a fame that might be gained at the cost of another life? It would be best to stop right now lest more lives were put into danger.
Since that night, he had been harboring the fear that the police would someday trace Charles’s murder to him and throw him in jail. He dared not tell his wife. He was fully aware that his wife would be worried to death once she came into the knowledge of it. He had to shoulder the mental burden alone till the day when the police came knocking at his door.
David came to classes three times a week as usual. He never mentioned the name of Charles anymore, being certain that the master did not want to talk about it. He came here to learn kungfu and should not be interested in or curious about anything else. He felt that the master's attitude had changed towards him, not so warm as before. If exactly speaking, a little cold. He did not really care as long as he could come to classes. He had to come and watch the master to see if he suspected anything. He had to, whether he wanted to or not. The master really did not have the slightest suspicion whatsoever to that effect. He only thought that it was all David's fault. If he hadn't offered him the information, the whole mess would not have occurred.
***
Peter and Mary Perez resided in Clifton, New Jersey. They had three children, two boys and a girl. Their daughter, Monica, was the eldest at twenty-three. She had graduated from Rutgers, the state university where she had studied psychology and was now working as an assistant to a psychiatrist, a lady whose office was in Paterson. The elder boy, Frank by name, was twenty-one and had not even graduated from high school. It was not that he was not clever, just that he did not like to study. He did not like hard brainwork, such as committing to his lazy mind all the facts from the books. He didn't even know who George Washington was and what the Constitution was. Once his younger brother, Tom, who was seventeen and still at high school, had been studying American history and discussing some facts with Monica, who happened to mention the name of George Washington.
“What, you've got another boyfriend?” he wondered out loud, throwing both Monica and Tom into an uproar of guffaws, which had made their sides ache. If he were a new immigrant, he would never have passed the language test for American citizenship. But he was quick of limb and dexterous of hands. He worked as a mechanic in some garage in the same town, having taken a course at some job training school.
Though he worked in the daytime, Frank always came home very late, smelling of alcohol. Sometimes he did not even show up all night. By law, he was an adult now and responsible for his own behavior. Parents could not interfere with his freedom even if he did not act like a responsible and mature person.
“Does the age twenty-one really reach maturity?” His mother would ask a question like that whenever she was worried about Frank. “Maybe some are, some are not.”
The law, nevertheless, has to give them equal rights. The problem is what parents can do about their adult sons and daughters who mi*****ehave. Every parent will wish their children to be happy all their lives, happy in a normal way, in a good way. Sometimes the sons and daughters feel happy in their mi*****ehavior, which does them no good in the long run. They either don't realize it or refuse to face it. They just enjoy the temporary morbid happiness, leading them directly to a tragic end, more to the heartache of their parents.
Late one Monday morning, the owner called from the garage Frank was working for. He asked to speak with Frank. Mrs. Perez answered the phone and was told that her son had been expected at work two hours earlier. Mrs. Perez informed the owner that her son had stayed away from home the whole weekend and even she did not know his whereabouts. What else could the owner say? He hung up. Mrs. Perez was greatly and rightfully worried and called her hu*****and at his office, but he was away on business. Then in her despair she called her daughter at her office. Once Monica was on the phone, she anxiously imparted the urgent information about the Frank’s disappearance. Monica was equally shocked by the news. Though she lived away in an apartment in Hackensack with her long-time boyfriend, she often came home to visit her parents and brothers, sometimes bringing her boyfriend, Billy. “I think you'd better report it to the police. I will come home after work,” she promised.
It did not matter how hard it was showering. It was five, and since office hours were nine-to-five, it was time to go home. Usually when the downpour was in sheets, Monica would stay in the office till the rain became less heavy, because she could not get a clear view in front of the car when the windshield was screened by the torrents of water from the big-hole-leaking sky. The wipers were simply no use, even though she put them in the fastest position. She was so afraid of having an accident in such bad weather that she’d rather stay late, but today she had to leave and drive in the cats-and-dogs condition. She drove so slow that she got honks twice from the drivers behind. “Sorry,” she muttered to herself, “better to be slow and late than have an accident.” At last she arrived at her parents' house safely, finding her mother pacing up and down in the living room like a restless caged animal and wringing her hands all the time as if she were rubbing some wrinkle-free lotion into her skin.
Murky silence reigned over the dinner table. At length Peter broke the ice. “In my opinion, the police will do nothing more than put up a public notice. Some people disappear for years and are never heard of, just like evaporating into thin air or falling off the edge of the Earth, supposing the Earth were flat.” He heaved a deep sigh, shaking his head. The food in the plate before him was barely touched yet. He was holding the fork in his right hand, the tines poising upward. The air was so dense and heavy in the room that everyone felt stifled by the distress. They sat there still and frozen as if the sleeping beauty had just pricked herself with the spindle.
All of a sudden Monica looked up, eyes blinking with hope, breaking the spell, though no prince on a white horse had come to kiss anyone. “I had a roommate in college who studied chemistry. We still keep in touch with each other. Once in a while we will talk on the phone, exchanging our personal information. She's working now as a private detective in the Lioness Team. Have you heard of it?” She lifted some food and put into her mouth. She was wearing a navy blue dress with white specks on it and blue high heels. Her dark hair was knotted into a chignon behind her head.
“I've read about them in the newspaper. They have a wide reputation of cracking difficult cases,” Mary interrupted anxiously. The mother was in her late forties, a housewife in a T-shirt and a skirt down to her calves with flip-flops on her feet. She looked like she could lose ten pounds, but she did not care as long as she felt healthy and as long as her hu*****and did not care, either.
“Her name is Tricia,” Monica provided. “I'll ask her to help us.”
“I've heard that they charge very high.” Peter hesitated. He was a salesman working with a big company; so he was always dressed formally in tuxedo and trousers, and a tie of course.
“Don't worry about money, Dad. They may give me a discount since we are such good friends.”
When Richard got back home, he could not believe what he had done. It was impossible, absolutely impossible that he had killed Charles so easily. It wouldn't have been so easy even if Charles had not been a master, but he had seen him fall on the ground with his own eyes, unless as the saying goes, “Eyes can be deceived.” Could Charles have feigned the falling to avoid being hit by his chi? Not likely. Why should he? He was at the same master level. However, he had felt his chi hit him, right where his finger had pointed, before he collapsed.
Richard was not a bad man at heart. Only a bad man wouldn't care if he killed people. He merely had a wrong ambition. He never killed anyone in his competitive challenges against other masters. He had not intended to kill Charles. It had been a total accident. When he watched the news program on TV late that night, he learned that Charles was actually dead. The police didn't release the cause of his death, though. He felt a stab at his conscience and regret, too. A doubt arose in him for the first time about his special life career of aspiring after the fame of “Master the Invincible.” Was this fame worth seeking for a lifetime, a fame that might be gained at the cost of another life? It would be best to stop right now lest more lives were put into danger.
Since that night, he had been harboring the fear that the police would someday trace Charles’s murder to him and throw him in jail. He dared not tell his wife. He was fully aware that his wife would be worried to death once she came into the knowledge of it. He had to shoulder the mental burden alone till the day when the police came knocking at his door.
David came to classes three times a week as usual. He never mentioned the name of Charles anymore, being certain that the master did not want to talk about it. He came here to learn kungfu and should not be interested in or curious about anything else. He felt that the master's attitude had changed towards him, not so warm as before. If exactly speaking, a little cold. He did not really care as long as he could come to classes. He had to come and watch the master to see if he suspected anything. He had to, whether he wanted to or not. The master really did not have the slightest suspicion whatsoever to that effect. He only thought that it was all David's fault. If he hadn't offered him the information, the whole mess would not have occurred.
***
Peter and Mary Perez resided in Clifton, New Jersey. They had three children, two boys and a girl. Their daughter, Monica, was the eldest at twenty-three. She had graduated from Rutgers, the state university where she had studied psychology and was now working as an assistant to a psychiatrist, a lady whose office was in Paterson. The elder boy, Frank by name, was twenty-one and had not even graduated from high school. It was not that he was not clever, just that he did not like to study. He did not like hard brainwork, such as committing to his lazy mind all the facts from the books. He didn't even know who George Washington was and what the Constitution was. Once his younger brother, Tom, who was seventeen and still at high school, had been studying American history and discussing some facts with Monica, who happened to mention the name of George Washington.
“What, you've got another boyfriend?” he wondered out loud, throwing both Monica and Tom into an uproar of guffaws, which had made their sides ache. If he were a new immigrant, he would never have passed the language test for American citizenship. But he was quick of limb and dexterous of hands. He worked as a mechanic in some garage in the same town, having taken a course at some job training school.
Though he worked in the daytime, Frank always came home very late, smelling of alcohol. Sometimes he did not even show up all night. By law, he was an adult now and responsible for his own behavior. Parents could not interfere with his freedom even if he did not act like a responsible and mature person.
“Does the age twenty-one really reach maturity?” His mother would ask a question like that whenever she was worried about Frank. “Maybe some are, some are not.”
The law, nevertheless, has to give them equal rights. The problem is what parents can do about their adult sons and daughters who mi*****ehave. Every parent will wish their children to be happy all their lives, happy in a normal way, in a good way. Sometimes the sons and daughters feel happy in their mi*****ehavior, which does them no good in the long run. They either don't realize it or refuse to face it. They just enjoy the temporary morbid happiness, leading them directly to a tragic end, more to the heartache of their parents.
Late one Monday morning, the owner called from the garage Frank was working for. He asked to speak with Frank. Mrs. Perez answered the phone and was told that her son had been expected at work two hours earlier. Mrs. Perez informed the owner that her son had stayed away from home the whole weekend and even she did not know his whereabouts. What else could the owner say? He hung up. Mrs. Perez was greatly and rightfully worried and called her hu*****and at his office, but he was away on business. Then in her despair she called her daughter at her office. Once Monica was on the phone, she anxiously imparted the urgent information about the Frank’s disappearance. Monica was equally shocked by the news. Though she lived away in an apartment in Hackensack with her long-time boyfriend, she often came home to visit her parents and brothers, sometimes bringing her boyfriend, Billy. “I think you'd better report it to the police. I will come home after work,” she promised.
It did not matter how hard it was showering. It was five, and since office hours were nine-to-five, it was time to go home. Usually when the downpour was in sheets, Monica would stay in the office till the rain became less heavy, because she could not get a clear view in front of the car when the windshield was screened by the torrents of water from the big-hole-leaking sky. The wipers were simply no use, even though she put them in the fastest position. She was so afraid of having an accident in such bad weather that she’d rather stay late, but today she had to leave and drive in the cats-and-dogs condition. She drove so slow that she got honks twice from the drivers behind. “Sorry,” she muttered to herself, “better to be slow and late than have an accident.” At last she arrived at her parents' house safely, finding her mother pacing up and down in the living room like a restless caged animal and wringing her hands all the time as if she were rubbing some wrinkle-free lotion into her skin.
Murky silence reigned over the dinner table. At length Peter broke the ice. “In my opinion, the police will do nothing more than put up a public notice. Some people disappear for years and are never heard of, just like evaporating into thin air or falling off the edge of the Earth, supposing the Earth were flat.” He heaved a deep sigh, shaking his head. The food in the plate before him was barely touched yet. He was holding the fork in his right hand, the tines poising upward. The air was so dense and heavy in the room that everyone felt stifled by the distress. They sat there still and frozen as if the sleeping beauty had just pricked herself with the spindle.
All of a sudden Monica looked up, eyes blinking with hope, breaking the spell, though no prince on a white horse had come to kiss anyone. “I had a roommate in college who studied chemistry. We still keep in touch with each other. Once in a while we will talk on the phone, exchanging our personal information. She's working now as a private detective in the Lioness Team. Have you heard of it?” She lifted some food and put into her mouth. She was wearing a navy blue dress with white specks on it and blue high heels. Her dark hair was knotted into a chignon behind her head.
“I've read about them in the newspaper. They have a wide reputation of cracking difficult cases,” Mary interrupted anxiously. The mother was in her late forties, a housewife in a T-shirt and a skirt down to her calves with flip-flops on her feet. She looked like she could lose ten pounds, but she did not care as long as she felt healthy and as long as her hu*****and did not care, either.
“Her name is Tricia,” Monica provided. “I'll ask her to help us.”
“I've heard that they charge very high.” Peter hesitated. He was a salesman working with a big company; so he was always dressed formally in tuxedo and trousers, and a tie of course.
“Don't worry about money, Dad. They may give me a discount since we are such good friends.”
