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Chapter Three
"Beginnings"
Peter was up before dawn due to his current assignment and definitely not by choice. He made a spur of the moment decision to swing by Lo Si's on the off chance the old man might already be up and about. As he slowed his Corvette, he was relieved to see the lights already on the old man's apartment and he quickly parked.
With winter's shorter days and longer nights, the predawn darkness weighed heavily on Peter as he entered the apartment building of Lo Si, his father's friend and mentor. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket, chilled but not by the cold. It was a brush of apprehension against dwindling hope that his trip to Lo Si's would be a futile one.
Upon reaching Lo Si's apartment, he lifted his hand to knock on the door, only to see the door creak open. Lo Si's wizened face peered around its painted edge with a wide smile, as if he was expecting to find him on the other side of his door.
"Ah, young Peter, what brings you to my humble abode so early this morning?" he said with a bow before sweeping a gnarled hand away from him, indicating for Peter to enter.
"Good morning, Lo Si," Peter said respectfully as he stepped over the threshold and bowed. Though he was anxious for answers, Peter had been taught at a very young age to respect his elders, especially those as old as the man referred to by the community as 'the Ancient'.
"Please, sit, I shall pour our tea," Lo Si said as he bent to pick up the ornate tea pot and began to pour Peter's cup.
Peter knew he shouldn't be surprised by Lo Si's amazing ability of knowing the unknowable, but as he glanced at the two tea cups and the freshly steeped tea, he was dumbfoundedby the fact Lo Si had already prepared for his uncharacteristically early visit.
This time, though, Peter caught himself before stuttering a bewildered question to Lo Si. Even though Peter hadn't said the words aloud, it seemed Lo Si was smiling in silent amusement of his confusion. Or perhaps the Ancient kept a perpetually amused look on his face, Peter thought, before shaking away distractions. He had come to Lo Si for a specific purpose.
"I-I..." Peter stammered, not knowing quite how to ask Lo Si about the reason behind his visit.
The worried detective had been to the Ancient's apartment on a daily basis with his father's disappearance. Then Peter stopped going to Lo Si's when he finally admitted to himself that he was harassing the old man. He didn't know anymore about Caine than Peter did. So why was he sitting with Lo Si, politely drinking tea? He was on a fool's errand and he was tired of it.
Jumping to his feet, Peter began to head for the door, muttering rushed words of apology for bothering him. Peter didn't hear the old man stand or walk to his side, but suddenly, he was there in front of him, blocking his way to the door.
There was a gentle grip on Peter's arm as the old man said, "Peter, you desire to know if I have heard anything about your father."
Peter sighed and nodded. Lo Si led him back to the couch.
"I was going to contact you myself this morning. I was mediating during the night and finally made contact with your father. He was called away for a very important mission. One for the Dali Lama himself. Unfortunately, he could not tell me anything more than that. Other than he loves you, and that he will be home as soon as possible."
Peter had been searching for a cause behind his father's absence for over a week. Now that he actually had one, it brought him no comfort. Instead, he erupted into an explosive rage, throwing his hands up into the air.
"Oh, well, if the Dali Lama needs him...that explains everything!"
Peter bolted to his feet, rushing for the door before he realized that Lo Si had beaten him to the door once again.
'How the hell does that little guy move so damned fast?'Peter thought with amazement.
Lo Si touched the middle of Peter's chest with a light touch. "Peter, it brings your father no pleasure to disappoint you with his various duties and obligations," Lo Si said with a sad smile.
"Well, then that makes it okay, doesn't it, Lo Si?" Peter exclaimed and he started to move around the Ancient.
Lo Si kept his hand on Peter's chest. "I can feel your frustration and sense of abandonment within your heart..."
Peter locked onto the old man's timeless gaze and almost let his anger drop away, but then his rage flared again. Gently moving Lo Si's hand from his chest, he whispered, "Then you must be able to see that I'm tired of dealing with it. I'm leaving."
This time, Lo Si didn't block his path.
Peter twisted the doorknob, but stopped in his tracks and spun around. "No, knowing the reason behind Pop's absence doesn't make it okay!"
He wasn't shouting at Lo Si, but to some invisible remnant of Kwai Chang Caine's spirit lingering in the room. "It sucks big time! I try so hard to be the dutiful son, but Peter Caine has stopped playing the fool as far as his father's concerned. Never again!"
Having made that declaration, Peter stormed out of the room without looking back to see Lo Si's reaction to his outburst. As he barreled down the stairs, Peter felt a rushing flow of warmth and love trying to enter his angry spirit and he rejected it with all the meager Shaolin training he could muster.
He was mad and didn't want to be consoled by anyone or anything. Besides, he had a job to do before he could deal with the emotions swirling inside of him.
oOoOoOoOo
After the encounter at Lo Si's, Peter's day began a downward slide. His next stop was the police vehicle depot to sign out a vehicle to be used for the trip to the mountains. His lingering dark mood wasn't helped by a talkative clerk on the phone who was ignoring his presence. So Peter took off down the endless aisles of the police department fleet garage to find a comfortable car of his own choosing to take for his assignment.
Peter was startled when a commanding voice came booming from behind him. Spinning around, he was surprised to see the voice was from the same pimply-faced attendant he had been waiting on to get off the phone.
"Sorry, pal, but there's only one car available for you right now."
"What do you mean there's only one car available?" Peter asked in an incredulous tone as he waved a sweeping arm towards the sea of cars surrounding them.
The little man, who was probably five years younger than Peter, came to stand only inches away from him. The paper pusher was at least a foot and a half shorter than Peter and the detective had to look down in order to meet his gaze.
"If you had a couple'a hours to waste, buddy, I could run through the reasons why none of them are available, but I've got work to do. So are you gonna take this one or not?"
Peter looked down at the extended paperwork and pen, and then shot a disgruntled glare towards the irritating pipsqueak. His glare continued as he read the name Conrad embroidered on the man's shirt.
"Which one is it?" Peter asked with disdain, not ready to sign anything yet. There was an unspoken power struggle going on between the two of them and Peter preferred to come out on the winning side.
"The tan Crown Victoria over there," Conrad replied impatiently, still holding out the paperwork.
Ignoring the clerk and his paperwork, Peter wandered over to the car, giving the vehicle a critical eye, much like he was looking it over for purchase, instead of signing it out for a couple of days.
He looked at the tires and gave them a kick, as if the amount of bounce would tell him everything. He circled the car and smiled as he heard Conrad sigh. Finally, he opened the driver's door to the vehicle and sat down, giving the interior a quick once over.
With his hands on the steering wheel, he glanced at the odometer reading, noting the low mileage on the car. It was a fairly recent model and pretty much standard issue for a large number of police departments across the nation.
Conrad started pacing from his spot outside the car and Peter thought, with an evil rise of his eyebrow, that he would increase Conrad's aggravation before signing his damned paperwork.
Reaching to the visor above his head, he pulled out the keys placed there and inserted them into the ignition. With a quick turn, the powerful engine roared to life. Peter pumped the gas pedal several times for added effect.
"Look, Caine, either sign for the blasted car or get the hell out of here! I don't have time for you to play Indy 500 on my watch!" Conrad said as he threw the clipboard containing the paperwork onto the cement floor.
Having achieved the desired effect, Peter shrugged his shoulders and switched off the engine, and emerged from the now silent car. Peter wished Paul would have allowed him to drive his own car, but the Captain was emphatic that there had to be plenty of room for the still recovering witness to stretch out during the drive home, if need be.
For some reason, a passing thought of his explosive tantrum at Lo Si's seemed to take all of fun out of tormenting Conrad anymore and he simply signed the paperwork, handing it back to the irked attendant without further comment.
oOoOoOoOo
The drive took forever, Peter thought as he shifted in his seat while turning from the interstate onto a much slower state highway. Now, the car was heading towards the snow-capped mountains sprawled before him. It was one of the most sparsely populated areas of the state, but also one of the most scenic. He noticed traffic was dwindling down to practically nothing on the desolate road.
'Pretty country, though,' Peter admitted as he glanced out the windshield at the passing countryside.
He was trying to find a silver lining in the storm cloud which had covered his day thus far. 'Hell, a storm's covered most of my life,' he thought with disgust.
Peter reflected on the most irritating discovery made thirty minutes after leaving the police garage. He went to switch on the radio, only to find it nonfunctional. Nothing but white static across both the AM and FM bands generated a string of curses.
"Great! Just frigging great!" Peter exclaimed, slapping the seat beside him in frustration. Now, he was stuck on a lengthy trip and the damned radio was broken. He sighed as he tried to hum some tuneless melody to himself, knowing his heart wasn't really into singing acappello.
"Looks like it's me, myself, and I for company for a long time to come. At least until I pick up my witnesses and turn around for home. Maybe they'll have a winning conversational way about them," he said sarcastically, speaking aloud just for the noise.
Cringing at the impropriety of his last statement, Peter remembered what he had read about the young boy. Tommy Hills was an eight year-old youth who had witnessed the shooting deaths of his parents, and was still rendered mute by that trauma.
"Well, maybe the aunt will have some interesting stories."
Then he recalled reading a notation made by someone in the district attorney's office indicating Celeste Crowfoot had been very belligerent in dealing with their office, along with a total lack of cooperation. She wanted to testify, but would be safely hidden away at a place of her own choosing until the trial began.
Another note spoke slightly better of her saying she was a no-nonsense lady who took the responsibility of watching out for her young nephew more seriously than she did in tending to her own recovery.
She had survived two bullet wounds in the same attack that had killed her sister and brother-in-law. One of the bullets came very close to leaving her paralyzed. If one of the bullets had hit another fraction of an inch to the left, she would have been dead, too.
Celeste Crowfoot was the reason why Peter was silently driving in a car with a useless radio, instead of his own beloved Corvette with quadraphonic stereo and CD player. She was a witness to a high profile murder case and it was Peter's job to get her back to town safely. She didn't know it, but she was also the reason why Peter had developed the irritating habit of talking to himself in a way he usually associated with the clinically insane.
"Then again, Peter Caine, be careful what you wish for. You might wind up wishing you were alone for the trip home," he admonished himself with a slight smirk.
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