Falling Down by David Cole Read Free Book Online Page A

I’d shuck her off quickly, I’d report to Bob Gates that I’d done my absolute best, but I really needed to get up to the Navajo rez today.
    Goal fixed.
    Head clear with determination.
    And so I’d go running, then I’d see my Reiki master and psychic.
    When I came back, Nathan might even be home.
    Or not. I’d face that if I had to.
    Later, I sat in the kitchen, munching celery stalks, still wearing the wet swim suit.
    Yesterday, sure, there were problems in my life, but when I went along with Nathan to the reservation, after he’d adopted that boy into his family, then I figured we’d just work out who lived where and how much time we should spend together. Check that. How much time I should spend on the reservation to keep Nathan happy.
    And today, everything’s so…so complicated, which is to say, I no longer felt serenely confident in working out problems, in fact, I didn’t believe there was a serious problem. I’d naively believe that my days as a licensed, working PI were over, my involvement with violence reduced to occasional random computer searches that nolonger bore any resemblance to the illegal hacking I’d done.
    I stared at the television where I’d watched Bambi the night before.
    Bambi, the innocent.
    Today, I felt more like the hunter that killed Bambi’s mother, I felt…I felt as though…I felt as though I was destroying my love for Nathan, but I felt powerless to make the choice of love, to join Nathan and leave police work behind, I felt impelled to get back my PI license and in that, my dear friends, I felt more like the hunter than the innocent deer.
    Decision. Enough soul-searching, second-guessing, emotional games.
    Â 
    Eventually even Bambi has to grow up.

5
    â€œS o what’s wrong?” Sandy said.
    After she’d laid Reiki hands on me. After I’d cried for fifteen minutes.
    She knew, even before I jogged into her yard and lay on her massage table, she knew something was wrong. But Sandy never probed and pressured, never asked too many questions unless you gave her permission. If you’ve never been to an astrologer or a psychic, my friend, if you’ve never given yourself over to tarot readings or to Reiki, don’t jump to a quick dismissal.
    Sandy was my new Reiki master, after Georgia Roan told me that she’d not work with me unless I left my Beretta at home. Not wanting to do that, not wanting to feel less vulnerable without the Beretta, our relationship ended suddenly and it took me quite a while to find Sandy.
    Sandy places her palms on my shoulders. I lie on her massage table, but I could equally sit in a chair, or, and this is totally unfathomable to nonbelievers, I can be any where in the world and Sandy can connect.
    Reiki is not like a massage, where you fall asleep. Reiki attunements send you to such deep relaxation that your body sags, warmth spreads from the Reiki master’s touch, warmth radiates from the spot of physical contact.
    Sandy was my priestess, I was her altar.
    Or to come down from that soap opera feely-touchyway of talking, quite simply, Sandy had a power. Sandy had the power to give you relaxation. She also did traditional massage.
    This morning, I needed every kind of relaxation.
    Massage is a bond between giver and taker. If you don’t really communicate stress to your masseuse, you never get maximum relief. It’s as simple as that. Massage is also about pressure. Physical pressure, sure. Like you feel physical discomfort and the masseuse presses and pokes your body until it hurts good.
    A time of pure pleasure, a banishment of pain.
    But of course it’s only temporary.
    My cell rang. Thinking, believing that Nathan would call, I’d violated one of Sandy’s basic rules. Turn the cell phones off .
    â€œNathan?” I said. Sandy frowned, shook her head.
    â€œNo. It’s Bob Gates.”
    â€œSorry,” I said. “Sorry,