Kali for extraordinary men, no matter what their race or dietary habits.
'I assume I made it in time?' Jack said.
'Yes. Just in time. She will be well now.'
The American's brow furrowed. 'It's going to patch her up?'
'No, of course not. But knowing it has been returned will help her up here.' He tapped his forefinger against his temple. 'For here is where all healing resides.'
'Sure,' Jack said, his expression hiding none of his skepticism. 'Anything you say.'
'I suppose you wish the rest of your fee.'
Jack nodded. 'Sounds good to me.'
He pulled the thick envelope from his tunic and thrust it at Jack. Despite his prior conviction of the impossibility of his ever seeing the stolen necklace again, Kusum had kept the packet with him as a gesture of hope and of faith in the goddess he prayed to.
'I wish it were more. I don't know how to thank you enough. Words cannot express how much—'
'It's okay,' Jack said quickly. Kusum's outpouring of gratitude seemed to embarrass him.
Kusum, too, was taken aback by the intensity of the emotions within him. He had given up hope. He had asked this man, a stranger, to perform an impossible task, and it had been done! He detested emotional displays, but his customary control over his feelings had slipped since the nurse placed the necklace in his hand.
'Where did you find it?'
'I found the guy who stole it and convinced him to take me to it.'
Kusum felt his fist clench and the muscles at the back of his neck bunch involuntarily. 'Did you kill him as I asked?'
Jack shook his head. 'Nope. Told you I wouldn't. But he won't be punching out old ladies for some time. Don't worry. He's been paid back in kind. I fixed it.'
Kusum nodded silently, hiding the storm of hatred raging across his mind. Mere pain was not enough—not nearly enough. The man responsible here must pay with his life.
'Very well, Mr. Jack. My family and I owe you a debt of gratitude. If there is ever anything you need that is in my power to secure for you, any goal that is in my power to achieve, you have merely to ask. All efforts within the realm of human possibility' —he could not repress a smile here— “and perhaps even beyond, will be expended on your behalf.”
'Thank you,' Jack said with a smile and a slight bow. 'I hope that won't be necessary. I think: I'll be heading home now.'
'Yes. You look tired.'
But as Kusum studied him, he sensed more than mere physical fatigue. There was an inner pain that hadn't been present this morning...a spiritual exhaustion. Was something fragmenting this man? He hoped not. That would be tragic. He wished he could ask, but did not feel he had the right.
'Rest well.'
He watched until the American had been swallowed by the elevator, then he returned to the room. The private duty nurse met him at the door.
'She seems to be rallying, Mr. Bahkti! Respirations are deeper, and her blood pressure's up!'
'Excellent!' Nearly twenty-four hours of constant tension began to unravel within him. She would live. He was sure of it now. 'Have you a safety pin?'
The nurse looked at him quizzically but went to her purse on the windowsill and produced one. Kusum used it as a clasp for the necklace, then turned to the nurse.
'This necklace is not to be removed for any reason whatsoever. Is that clear?'
The nurse nodded timidly. 'Yes, sir. Quite clear.'
'I will be elsewhere in the hospital for a while,' he said, starting for the door. 'If you should need me, have me paged.”
Kusum took the elevator down to the first floor and followed signs to the emergency room. He had learned that this was the only hospital serving the midtown West Side. Jack had hinted that he had injured the mugger's hands. If he should seek medical care, it would be here.
He took a seat in the crowded waiting area of the emergency department. People of all sizes and colors brushed against him on their way in and out of the examining rooms, back and forth to the receptionist counter. He found the odors and the company distasteful, but intended to wait a few hours here. He was vaguely aware of the attention he drew but was used to it. A one-armed man dressing as he did in the company of westerners soon became immune to curious stares. He ignored them. They were not worthy of his concern.
Less than half an hour later an injured man entered and grabbed Kusum's attention. His left eye was patched and both his hands were swollen to twice their normal size.
No doubt. This was the one! Kusum barely restrained himself from leaping up and attacking the man. He seethed as he sat and watched a secretary in the reception booth begin to help him fill out the standard questionaire his useless hands could not.
A man who broke people with his hands had had his hands broken. Kusum relished the poetry of it.
He walked over and stood next to the man. As he leaned against the counter, looking as if he wished to ask the secretary a question, he glanced down at the form.
Kusum stared at Ronald Daniels, who was too intent on hurrying the completion of the form to notice him.
