Steven Thomas - Criminal Carma

“What’s up?” I said.

“Just saying goodbye to the Lady.” He nodded his head toward the statue. His eyes were red.

“Goodbye?”

“Yeah, I’m through with this place.”

“What happened?”

“Baba and Ganesha got in a big fight. It was pretty ugly.”

“What were they fighting about?”

“Baba had that girl Gopi up in his room doing something to her and she started screaming and Ganesha went in there to see what was wrong. Then him and Baba started yelling at each other and Gopi ran out crying.”

“Which one is Gopi?”

“She is that tall skinny chick who wears her hair in a long braid that hangs down to her butt. She has black hair.”

“What did Ganesha say to Baba?”

“I couldn’t hear everything. I was fixing a leak in the bathroom sink down the hall and the bedroom door was closed part of the time, but from what I heard, Baba was bawling Ganesha out for coming into his room while he was doing tantra with Gopi and Ganesha said that it wasn’t tantra, it was sadism. Baba went nuts then. It was scary. He was snarling like an animal. He threatened to expel Ganesha from the ashram and said he would use his siddhis to destroy him spiritually, some shit like that. It was a real mess.”

He looked around at the garden. “I love this place. It’s kind of like I found God here. When Swami Sankarananda was alive, it was a little bit of heaven on earth. But that shit today was too much for me. There is something wrong with Baba. He sounded crazy. He scares me. I don’t want to tell you what to do, but if I was you, I’d find some other place to learn yoga.”

How’d it end up?”

“Ganesha sounded pretty shaken up, but he stood his ground. He told Baba that unless he stopped his left-handed practices and returned to true Vedanta he was going to call the swamis in New York and tell them what was going on out here.”

“What did Baba say to that?”

“That took the wind out his sails. He quit yelling and started trying to convince Ganesha that nothing wrong was going on and that he was going to get himself in trouble if he called New York. He said that he was an enlightened master and that Ganesha was supposed to obey him and something about Gopi’s ego consciousness and attachment to her body, that it had to be reduced for her to advance spiritually. Sounded like a crock to me. One of them shut the door after that and I didn’t hear anything else.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I guess I’ll try the Ramakrishnas. They have a pretty nice place in Hollywood, right by the freeway.”

“Good luck.” We shook hands. “Thanks for filling me in.”

“Take care, man.”

As he disappeared around the corner of the house, the backdoor opened and one of the flower girls came down the steps. She was wearing tight black stretch pants, a red blouse, and red high heels, clothes more suitable for clubbing than meditation. She gave me an empty look as she went along the flagstone path into the side yard. Her pupils were huge.

I waited a few moments, then went to the corner and peeked around in time to see her walking up to a gleaming XJ16, the most expensive Jaguar on the road. The tough guy I’d met the night before was leaning against the red car with his back toward me, talking to the driver through his open window. The driver was wearing a real estate salesman’s blue blazer and a black toupee. He handed some cash out the window. While Namo counted the money, the driver stared at the girl getting into his car with a look of lust so naked that his face took on the raw lividity of a skinned animal.

So the girls did outcalls as well as in-calls in the little rooms upstairs. I was surprised to see the operation so out in the open. Either Baba was getting reckless or he had police protection. Even if he had protection, his world was starting to wobble. His patroness was losing patience with him, his aide-de-camp was threatening to turn him over to the spiritual authorities, and I was closing in on his two most valuable possessions.

I could hear Candyman and Pete arguing as I went up the front steps. When I pushed the door open, they were squared off in the middle of the shabby living room, on the verge of physical violence. Budge was standing to one side with a grim look on his face.

“I want my goddamn money I worked for!” Candyman shouted.

“Negative!” Pete shouted back, belligerent, looking up at his taller housemate. “I told you we haven’t been paid for that particular job yet.”

“Then where you get the money for them new boots, huh?”

“An old shipmate came into port and paid me back some money he owed me.”

“Bullshit! No old shipmate of yours would have anything to do with your sneaky ass. Where’d you get the money to eat in Antonio’s?”

“All that dope you did must of eat up your brain,” Pete said. “How many times I got to tell you? I wasn’t eating in there. I was talking business with Gianni, trying to find some work for you two swabbies so you don’t end up on the streets.”

“No you wasn’t,” Budge said.

Pete and Candyman swiveled their heads to look at him.

“I asked Gianni if he had any work for us. Said I was following up for you. He didn’t know what I was talking about, Pete. He said his cousin Carmen does all his work.”

“The old wop must be getting senile,” Pete said. “He told me he was taking bids for a new patio.”

Candyman took a half step toward Pete and leaned down, nose to nose. His coffee-colored hands were balled up at his sides.

“Gimme my goddamn money,” he said.

“Take it easy, guys,” I said. I didn’t want a blood-spattering brawl.

Pete gnawed on his lower lip, looking into Candyman’s bloodshot eyes for several tense seconds, then flinched.

“You want your money? I’ll give you your money, all right.” His face was red and furious. He yanked his wallet out and pulled out a thick sheaf of bills. Candyman’s eyes bulged. Pete peeled off five fifties and slapped them into the ex-junkie’s hand. Candy counted them quickly and shook his head.

“Thirty more,” he said. “Budge and me both worked thirty-five hours at eight. That’s two-eighty apiece.”

“I don’t pay for beer breaks,” Pete said.

“Where’d you get all that money?” Budge said, awed. From where I stood it looked like the compact ex-sailor had a couple of thousand dollars in his hand.

“I’m moving up in the world,” he said. “Too bad you won’t be going with me.”

“Don’t be mad, Pete,” Budge pleaded. “We just want our money. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there? We got bills to pay, too.”

“Here’s your money, you big corked-up bastard,” Pete said viciously, handing Budge some bills. “It’s the last you’ll get from me. You like talking to people so much, you can find your own work from here on out. The both of you are off my crew.”

“Don’t be calling me names, man,” Budge said, thrusting out his big chest. “Um not gonna be a bastard, now.” His macho football player self had overcome his economic fear.

“I don’t give a shit what you are,” Pete said. “I’m through with you. I’m moving out of this dump on the fifteenth. You sink or swim on your own.”

“Where you moving?” Budge said, surprised.

“That particular information ain’t your business,” Pete said. “But you better be looking for a new place, too.”

“Why?” Budge asked.

“Take my word for it,” Pete said, maliciously. “You’re all going to be in the street.” He looked at me. “That includes you and your smart-ass sidekick.”

“How do you know?” I said.

He sneered. “I got my sources. You aren’t the only smart guy around here.”