CHAPTER 1
Alexa's grip on the steering wheel became tighter and tighter, so much so that she began to lose sensation in her fingers. She kept reminding herself to relax. She took several deep breaths and kept repeating to herself a mantra she had learned in a yoga class years ago: let your mind hold to nothingness, focus on your breathing, and follow your inner voice. She could only imagine how the crew at the tai chi school would think she had lost her edge the way she was panicking over her sick dog and all. It would be hard for her to explain the affection she felt for her dog.
She remembered going to the house of one of the city's top dog breeders and looking over the litter of rottweiler puppies and being immediately taken with the runt of the litter — the only female in a litter of six pups.
"Why'd you pick that runt?" asked the breeder, squinting his eyes as if to get a better look at Alexa.
"I dunno. Maybe because she reminds me of myself in a way," Alexa answered.
"Well, it's a good thing you want it, 'cause people looking for a good dog around here don't want nothing to do with no runts. If you hadn't happened along, I was going to give it to those kennel folks downtown."
Even then, she thought she saw something special in this little pup that no one noticed: fearlessness. And as if on cue, the runt began waddling right toward Alexa just as she was about to walk over to pick her up. "That's it! Fate has spoken," Alexa said loudly, cradling the puppy in her arms, loud enough so that a few customers in the breeder's shop snapped their heads around and gawked at Alexa for a few seconds before returning to look at puppies. "Hey, little girl," said Alexa, holding the puppy at eye level, "don't you worry, I'm going to take good care of you always."
"Well, you still got yourself a pretty good hound there even if it's a runt," said the breeder, eyeing Alexa as she patted her new puppy on its head.
"I'm Jim Bossum, but everyone around these parts calls me Jimbo, like the circus elephant Jumbo, 'cause of my size." He then let out a roaring laugh that caused his belly to shake underneath his shirt.
Alexa chuckled then said, "Good to meet you too, Jim — I mean Jimbo." She was still somewhat amused.
With that, he took her hand in his and firmly shook it. "That'll be $375, miss."
"Oh well, I hadn't really planned on spending quite that much," Alexa countered.
"Look it, miss, you got yourself one of them top-of-the-line pedigreed rottweiler dogs. They come out of Germany. Them dogs are as strong as an ox, and there ain't an inch of fear in them — not one bit. And they have a real protective streak in them too. Now that's the kind of dog a pretty girl like yourself needs around the house late at night. Plus," Jimbo added, "rottweilers are some of the most even-tempered and obedient dogs you can find. I'll even take fifty dollars off. She's yours for three hundred and twenty five dollars. Now you can't beat that with a stick!"
"I'll take her," Alexa replied.
She placed the puppy down on a display countertop momentarily while she wrote a check out to William Moore's Champion Breeder's Company for $325. As she handed the check to Jimbo, Alexa said, "And by the way, I'm pretty good at taking care of myself late at night."
"I'm sure you are, miss, I'm sure you are," said Jimbo, smiling.
Alexa picked up the puppy and headed for the front door. As she turned to close the door behind her, she noticed, out of the corner of her eye, Jimbo behind the counter, still smiling.
Alexa could in fact take care of herself, thanks to her uncle Viggo, who introduced her to the fundamentals of movement and old-world calisthenics — beautiful strength — at the tender age of twelve, and to the expert martial arts coaching she received later from Master Lo and Head Instructor Miguel at Five Element Tai Chi School of Boxing. The school was located on 222 Belvedere Street, second floor, above Dave's Pizza Palace and next door to a popular late-night college hangout, the Hong Kong Club, in midtown Amaryllis, Ohio.
Amaryllis got its name from German immigrant sheep farmers who settled in the southern part of Ohio during the last half of the 1800s. They were so taken by the beauty and abundance of the amaryllis plants, which have red or pink flowers resembling lilies, they named the town Amaryllis, town of lilies.
CHAPTER 2
OMAR AND THE REVOLUTION
The tai chi school was about a fifteen- to twenty-minute walk or eight- to ten-minute bus ride from the Amaryllis University Community College Campus, and a few of the students from the community college would stop by the tai chi school to observe a class. Some of the students would remain there well over an hour, listening intently as Master Lo recounted his early life experiences in China and the rigorous martial arts training he endured as a disciple under Master Kee Wu-Liang.
The second-floor space was a renovated artist loft that now resembled a cross between a dance studio and boxing gym: treated wood floors, mirrors along a front wall and sidewall, a row of six windows above whitewashed brick wall on the north side of the studio that looked out onto the rooftops of a several industrial buildings nearby. Training equipment was sparse: two hanging heavy bags, a speed bag, half a dozen leather medicine balls, a bar for pull-ups, an assortment of jump ropes and boxing gloves, and a dozen bottles of dit da jow ointment (knockdown wine) for treating bruises.
At the far end of the studio was a five-by-four-foot red-gold-and-black-colored wooden altar with a three-foot-tall bronze statue of Buddha sitting on top along with a pot of sand for placing sticks of incense. Propped up behind the statue and pot was a ten-by-twelve-inch photograph of Master Lo's tai chi teacher Taoist Master Kee Wu-Lian standing in front of the Taoist temple of the Jade Dragon in China, taken six months before the Communist Party came into power, ushering in what historian's refer to as China's Cultural Revolution. Spearheading the Cultural Revolution were the infamous Red Guard, whose motto "Down with the liberal intellectual bourgeoisie" spurred them to institute a law that forbade Western-style clothing and intellectual or artistic pursuits of any kind that the Communist considered selfish and elitist and not conducive to the betterment of the Chinese society as a whole.
Within days, many religious leaders, elders, authors, teachers, musicians, artists of all sorts were rounded up, often beaten in the process, and sent away to a reeducation work camp where they toiled, breaking boulders into smaller and smaller pieces ten to twelve hours a day. Labeled traitors by the Communist, detainees were required, as part of their reeducation, to pledge allegiance to the Communist Party three times daily, asking forgiveness for their previous liberal bourgeoisie way of life in front of Red Guard group leader Chairwoman Madame Q before retiring nightly.
Master Wu-Liang, who had been known throughout China as Wu the Invincible for his fighting prowess and superextraordinary feat of fending off a band of drunken Hungarian foot soldiers, mortally wounding seven, who had, on the previous night in a local village, kicked to death a young boy's dog for barking at them, assaulted three women for spurning their advances, beaten an elderly man nearly to death for attempting to intervene on the women's behalf, and taken turns holding bucktoothed beggar Shen down while other soldiers urinated on his head and face, had retreated to the mountains to live in hiding, where he continued teaching a small group of dedicated disciples under the cover of darkness.
Increasingly fanatical, the Red Guard was unsparing in their allocation of punishment: churches, synagogues, temples, martial arts schools, ancient historical sites were looted and destroyed; books, paintings, musical instruments, and antiques were burned; and all non- Communist were now considered criminals and antigovernment. Many of those who were affiliated with the arts, academia, or anti-Communism fled China rather than risk imprisonment in a reeducation camp, or worse. Some, like Master Wu-Liang, thought the fanaticism brought on by the Cultural Revolution was ultimately destined to fail and chose to "weather the storm of insanity" rather than leave his beloved homeland. Master Wu-Liang deeply believed that government officials would eventually regain their moral sense and inevitably restore societal harmony.
Master Lo was not a disciple of Master Wu-Liang. But Master Lo's grandfather, who had taught him to strengthen his mind and body through meditation, breath control, and Chinese gymnastics and had introduced him to the techniques of eight-diagram boxing early on, asked Master Wu-Liang to accept his only grandson as a student. Master Wu-Liang graciously accepted. Master Wu-Liang had heard of Master Lo's grandfather and regarded him as a fellow martial artist of the highest caliber.
"Thanks to my grandfather, I had the privilege of studying under one of the last great martial arts masters of China, Master Kee Wu-Liang," Master Lo announced to his audience, which included a few tai chi students, several students from Amaryllis Community College, as well as Omar, the waiter from Dave's Pizza Palace.
Looking every bit the scholar monk he was — bespectacled and well-spoken, wearing a white silk traditional Chinese jacket, loose-fitting black cotton pants, and rubber-soled black cotton tai chi slippers — Master Lo took great pride in his role as martial arts teacher and his dissemination of Chinese history and culture.
"Now, for those of you who don't know, this was a very chaotic and dangerous period in China. How many of you have heard of China's Cultural Revolution?" Master Lo asked. He scanned the audience patiently, waiting for someone to raise his or her hand. After several seconds passed without a response, Master Lo smiled, nodded, and was on the verge of beginning a critique of the Cultural Revolution when Omar the waiter's had shot up.
"Yeah. I heard those Communist Red Guard kinda went crazy on people. No religion, no Western stuff, no art, music — they didn't like any of that. They'd throw you in one of those work camps, where you'd break rocks all day too," Omar announced, surprising himself that he'd actually remembered something from Mr. Delaney's world history class when he was in middle school.
"Ah, you are correct," Master Lo said firmly. "And you are?" he asked enthusiastically, shifting his attention to the back corner of the room.
"I'm Omar, Omar Taylor" came a self-assured reply. "You know, I work at Dave's Pizza downstairs," Omar added as he stood up, revealing every bit of his six-foot, seven-inch frame.
"Ah yes, you're the baseball pitcher," Master Lo said commendably. "I've heard a great deal about you from several of my students who follow baseball," Master Lo recalled. He continued, slightly amused, "If I'm not mistaken, you were know as Omar 'the Heat' Taylor and picked first round by our very own Ohio Cyclones." Master Lo admired Omar.
"Yeah, that was me back in the day," Omar said, acknowledging his notoriety while people in the audience looked on with surprise. "Now, though, I'm just a regular dude tryin' to make it." Omar spoke quite matter-of-factly then unceremoniously sat back down.
Omar caught himself momentarily reliving his glory days: pitching a twenty-game strikeout, throwing 115-mile-per-hour-fast balls, having the lowest walks per inning pitched, and being voted most valuable player of the year.
He thought to himself, Man, people wouldn't believe how much dough I was making at that time. I mean, I was making millions upon millions upon millions a year. I had a penthouse with a ten-car garage, two vacation homes in the San Fernando Valley and one in the Bahamas, a private jet, and a chauffeur-driven limo 24-7.
I couldn't spend my money fast enough, Omar reflected. Flabbergasted, he went through a mental checklist of expenses.
Yeah, I bought my boy Too Short a brand-new BMW. I bought my moms and pops a new house with six bathrooms in a real nice part of the city. I gave a bunch of cash to my aunts, uncles, and cousins for whatever; bought my girl, White China, clothes, jewelry, and anything else she needed; and the rest of the money was just spent.
Inevitably, the mental checklist also held a painful reminder of the demise of his baseball career, which he had tried, unsuccessfully, to forget. Halfway through his third season with the Cyclones, Omar's pitching arm began to ache. First, it was an inflamed elbow, then a tear in one of his rotator cuff muscles. The Cyclones organization paid for Omar's visits to a sports shrink for his frequent bouts of depression, but that ended when his contract wasn't renewed. He was left to his own devices. Omar was left with several outstanding medical bills due to follow-up treatments for two surgeries he had when he was still with the Cyclones, one to repair his elbow and the other for a torn rotator cuff muscle.
Omar remembered trying to psych himself up during games, literally talking to himself: C'mon, Omar, don't let 'em see you hurt. You'll be all right, just play through it. Cortisone injections the team doctor gave him before each game for his elbow and shoulder pain, after a while, stopped working. He began to rely more and more on painkillers orally to help dull the pain. Omar would get a cortisone shot in his arm before each game as usual, then he'd down four tabs each of Advil and Vicodin. His elbow still hurt when he pitched, but just not as bad.
After each game, he'd soak his arm, which would swell to three times its normal size, in a sink filled with ice for forty-five minutes. Once the ice bath was finished, he'd down four tabs of Percocets for any residual pain. His addiction to painkillers went unnoticed by the team's doctor, head coach, and the other players on his team. The only people who knew about his addiction were Too Short and Too Short's cousin Pookie. Pookie's woman, Nay Nay, who became the supplier, was a pharmacist and was able to make fake prescription orders for Advil, Vicodin, and Percocet — Omar's pain meds of choice — that she personally filled for Too Short when he showed up at the pharmacy for a pickup. Nay Nay never asked any questions, and she got a nice little kickback for her troubles. Nay Nay pocketed $175 for each prescription she made up. Too Short usually made a prescription-pickup run three times a week, sometimes four, if Omar was really hurting.
What Omar couldn't hide was his stats: two to three balks a game, walks and hits allowed per inning pitched went up significantly, zero to one strikeouts, blown saves, no shutouts, and the speed of his fastball dropped from 120 miles per hour to a pedestrian 65.
Hell, I knew it. Coach and the rest of team must've known it too. Even Too Short saw it. After watching me pitch against the Venezuela Vipers, he said flat out, "Hang it up, cuz. Ain't no more heat."
Omar inhaled deeply and let out a breath. He casually surveyed the audience, wondering how many had come to Master Lo's for the same reason he had. I wanna get my mind and body together. That's definitely why I'm here, Omar reassured himself. He was feeling a lot better about himself these days. He'd walked out of Catholic Memorial Hospital's substance abuse rehab clinic with a clean bill of health, and his caseworker, Mrs. Shanahan, had helped him land his first job in the real world — waiting tables at a pizza joint.
It all started when this dude Reggie, who was a student at Five Element Tai Chi School of Boxing, put up a flyer on the community bulletin board in Dave's Pizza Palace, inviting one and all to come to a lecture on Chinese martial arts given by the school's director, Master Lo.
CHAPTER 3
REGGIE'S TRASH TALK
Omar remembered Reggie talking a lot of trash about how, before he found Master Lo's school, he used to go to Hot Bodies by Zane, a fitness gym in the Dupont Hill Complex over on the West End. Reggie said the gym was in this massive industrial complex that used to be a weapons manufacturing plant during the early seventies. Reggie heard that Zane, the owner, got the building for practically peanuts.
Reggie had read in the Ohio Bulletin that, for ten years, the city had tried unsuccessfully to attract a buyer for the complex despite lowering the sale price several times. Later, a reporter wrote a piece in the Ohio Bulletin accusing the members on the city council of trying to cover up that the complex had been built over a garbage dump, which could release pollutants into the ground soil and contaminate the city's water supply for the next fifty years.
