Death Finds The Hippy Hunter

Fest Day One, Morning

A cool Canadian breeze wafted through the dark, forested hills. Tethered by Lake Prabodhan’s shore, giant balloons bobbed and swayed in the wind, sinuous purple, green polka dotted dragons, bearded mermen and long tressed mermaids, tails intertwined, and the finest specimen, larger and grander than the others, a huge, canary yellow sun with calm, smiling features.  Beyond the lake, a rust colored temple built from sheaves of reeds towered in the distance.

A red corner of sun crested a notch between two peaks. Light dispelled the gray false dawn. Birds wildly chirped, stirred to frenzy by the excitement of a new day.  The first rays hit the lake. Dull, dark waters gleamed with countless golden flashes. Wisps of mist flitted just above the surface, turned gossamer by sunlight. The tents and pavilions that dotted the hills grew distinct and colorful, scarlet, magenta, and psychedelic lime green.

Worn out by their prior revels, the festgoers slept on, indifferent to the glories of sunrise in the Pocoskill Mountains. The outdoors was left to the wildlife until a tall, thin young man stepped out from a tent just below the crest of a low hill near the lake. Kurt unrolled an exercise mat, laid down, and began his daily calisthenics. A mockingbird sang from nearby. He stretched out, legs splayed, arms straight before him, torso bent forward at the waist. A deer fly landed on his bare left ankle. He swatted it away.

There was a splash from below followed by loud grunts and gasps. Kurt stood up and looked.  Despite the early hour and poor visibility, someone was in the misty lake, alone. A naked man swam with sharp, quick strokes toward the large circular raft at the lake’s center. Pale and wan, he heaved himself onto the raft. He lay on his side and convulsively gasped for air with great, racking sobs. Once he recovered his breath, the swimmer pulled a towel from a waterproof chest mounted to the raft and wrapped it tightly around himself. The sun climbed higher and steadily grew warmer. The swimmer took a long, careful look around. Apparently satisfied no one witnessed his moment of weakness, he dropped the towel, sat down, and assumed the lotus position, hands palm together before his chest.

Kurt raised a quizzical eyebrow, shrugged, and went back to calisthenics. He’d finished his situps and was doing pushups when Flora came out. She stretched and yawned. Kurt hit a hundred and leaped to his feet.

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

Flora shook her head. She sat down in a camp chair and brushed her thick black hair.

“It’s not like the apartment where you make the floor shake. Are we the only ones up so far?”

“Us and Iron Mike out there.”

He pointed to the lake. Flora looked and smiled.

“A lot of very spiritual people come here. That must be part of his devotional regimen. He’s punishing his body to escape the web of Maya.”

“He almost drowned, Flora. I thought I’d have to go after him. If that’s how you escape this world of illusion, I think I’ll just stay delusional.”

Flora shook out her perfectly straight hair and shot Kurt an exasperated look from beneath her bangs.

“Honestly, Kurt, you’re hopeless. I just can’t do anything with you.”

“That’s what the first sergeant always said too. But I never did this to him.”

He leaned over and kissed Flora. She kissed back only to pull away.

“Wait, I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”

“Like I care.”

Kurt pulled Flora close and kissed her again. They embraced, held each other tight.

“You want to go back in the tent?”

“I want to brush my teeth. Where’s my toothbrush?”

Kurt sighed.

“In my shaving kit inside the tent. There’s a full canteen too.”

“OK, sweetie. Let me get myself together and we can decide what we’ll do. There’s a lot going on and it’s just the first day.”

“Bring the kit out and I can shave, look respectable.”

“As if you were ever respectable for one day in your life, Kurt Malaparte.”

He’d just finished shaving when a man’s voice rang out from the trail below.

“Hello the camp. OK to come visit?”

“Sure,” Kurt said. “Glad to have company.”

An older man walked out of the brush and up the dirt trail, footsteps silent on rope soled sandals. He was dressed in green hose, breeches, doublet, and peaked cap, all covered with rows of wedge shaped fabric leaves. A long gray ponytail reached down his back. A black beard heavily shot through with white parted to reveal nicotine stained teeth bared in a well practiced smile.

“Howdy. Glad to have you with us at the Sol Sun Fest. I’m Forest, Fest Facilitator along with Eitain, my lady friend.”

“Oh, Forest,” Flora said. “I’ve heard so much about you. It’s an honor and a real pleasure to be here at the Fest.”

“This your first time here?”

“Yes and we’re both looking forward to it so much. But I’m forgetting my manners. I’m Flora Windsor and this is my boyfriend, Kurt Malaparte.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

Forest shook hands hippy style. Accustomed to Flora’s friends, Kurt locked thumbs with him. His grip was strong. The back of Forest’s right hand and the knuckles were scarred, as if burned by acid long ago.

“You guys must have gotten here after I turned in. Sorry I wasn’t up to guide you.”

“That’s all right. We got a late start out of Queens,” Kurt said.

Forest chuckled. “Been years since I set foot in New York City. Glad I don’t have that hassle anymore. Still, looks like you didn’t have any trouble making camp. You picked out a nice spot, got everything set up.”

“I’ve had practice setting up camp in the dark.”

Forest gave Kurt a puzzled look.
“Kurt was an Eagle Scout.”

“Oh. OK. Just wanted to say hello and let you know we’ll be serving breakfast soon as the horns play. That’s when the Fest officially starts too so you don’t want to miss it.”

“You won’t ever catch me missing breakfast.”

Forest laughed, waved, and walked off, headed for the other campsites that fringed the lake. Flora waited until he was gone to speak.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to let folks know you were a Marine, Kurt.”

He shrugged. “Why? It’s the truth. Not like I got any love for the Crotch.”

“I just don’t want people getting the wrong idea about you. They don’t know you like I do. If they hear you were a Marine, they’ll figure you’re some violent jerk. And you’re not.”

Kurt smiled. “You’re the nicest person I ever met. It was crazy good luck finding you, Flora.”

Flora smiled. “My good luck. I probably wouldn’t be around if you hadn’t shown up. You’re the one, Kurt.”

They kissed.

“Come on. Let’s get breakfast. I’m hungry.”

Kurt and Flora walked past birches and firs, down the winding path that led to the fairgrounds, the lodge house, and the lake. Morning was well along. In the distance, one green peak succeeded another, long rows of round shouldered giants on the march northward.

“So Forest is the guy who gets our two thousand bucks?”
“No, Kurt. Why must you be so cynical? He’s the Fest Facilitator and an enlightened person.”

“Hey, Flora, any guy who’s pals with the Jolly Green Giant is OK with me.”

“Would you stop being such a smart aleck? Forest makes this whole thing possible. Just think for four days, we get to live with nature, meet cool people, eat all the food we want and alcohol too. I  know how much that means to you.”

“Damn straight, Flora.”

“And he and Eitain work very hard together, all year round every year so people can enjoy this Festival every summer and the good vibes it brings. You should feel privileged to be here, Kurt.”

“I do, honey. It’s just I could be making serious money in Manhattan right now. The clubs are hopping this time of year.”

Flora frowned.

“I wish you didn’t have to do that. Being a bouncer’s not much better than a Marine.”

Kurt shrugged. “It pays the rent. What are the alternatives? Ask your folks for money? You know that’s out.”

A devilish light flashed in his black eyes.

“Of course, I could always go back to what I used to do, before we met.”

Flora gave Kurt a reproachful look.

“That’s not funny, Kurt. Don’t ever say anything like that, not even as a joke. I can’t stand the thought of something happening to you.”

Kurt took Flora’s hand.

“Don’t worry, babe. Just me talking smack as usual. You know I promised.”

Flora smiled and drew closer to him as they walked down the trail.

They’d met unusually. Kurt spent several summers in upstate New York at outdoor music festivals disguised as a park policeman so he could roust hippy kids and steal their drugs. At the Moose Horn Fest, Kurt had just shaken down some college stoners when he overheard two bikers in the woods about to rape a woman and intervened. After one biker shot at him and barely missed, Kurt clubbed them both senseless with a nightstick. The terrified, grateful hippy chick who’d run into his arms was Flora.

Things developed from there. Flora moved into Kurt’s apartment in Queens, which she kept immaculately clean although scented with patchouli. Friends, his and hers, simply couldn’t figure out their relationship. What on earth drew hippy, trippy, willowy, long haired Flora Windsor to the intense, tightly leashed, close cropped punk Kurt Malaparte?  Despite others’ doubts, they continued together, happy with each other’s company, intensely focused on one another as only young lovers can.

They reached the fairgrounds. A few other hardy festgoers headed toward the lodge house in a desultory manner, many hungover, but still scantily attired in fanciful costumes, periwinkle vests, multifaceted monocles, and aubergine busbies adorned with feathers and scarves. Horns sounded, long, gleaming brass tubes played by gifted musicians with leather lungs, a sweet musical summons with artful ruffles and flourishes. A ragged cheer went up.

“Hooray. Hooray. We’re all here for the Sol Sun Fest and it all begins today,” they chanted, arms stretched out toward the sun balloon that loomed above them.

Flora joined in the chant. Kurt slipped an arm around her waist and they walked to the lodge. Breakfast was served on the patio, a large terrace built of gray stone and bordered by a low wall. There was a large garden next to the patio behind tall box hedges with white wooden trellises where blue green Concord grapes dangled in fat bunches. Lines formed to be served from steaming, spirit lamp heated trays by waitstaff clad in enormous green toques and full aprons. Kurt was disappointed to learn there was no meat, but consoled to some extent by an artisanal cheese and free range egg omelet along with fresh biscuits and country butter.

They sat opposite one another at a table. Kurt smothered his omelet in hot sauce and black pepper. Flora shook her head.

“Couldn’t you just try the omelet by itself? It’s probably delicious and you won’t burn a hole in your stomach lining.”

“It is delicious this way.”

“And what would you cosmic cowboys like this glorious morning by way of a libation?”    A young woman looked at them expectantly, naked but for a wide brimmed hat and extensive tattoos, e-pad and stylus at the ready.

“I’m Freebird, your server gentleperson. Would you like organic Hunanese lapsang oolong or maybe some machine free Columbian coffee? Or how about a real eye opener, one of Forest’s patented, New Orleans style Bloody Marys, authentic right down to the pickled pepper?”

“I think we’ll pass on cocktails for now. I’d like tea, please.”

“All right, sister woman. And what can I get for you, young, strong brother?”

“Coffee sounds good, thanks.”

“Would you like some triple strained fresh goat cream and a dab of honey with that?”

“Uh, black’s fine.”

“But I’d like that with my tea.”

Freebird jotted on the e-pad with her stylus. She smiled radiantly with a flash of jade and emerald insets.

“The drone should fetch your order any second. Good vibes, coz who doesn’t love the sun?”

She flitted off to another table. Moments later a small, black, four rotor drone buzzed in, hovered over the table, and slowly descended. Kurt and Flora removed their steaming mugs and the drone flew away. Gifted with a hearty appetite, Kurt tucked into his food and was lost to the world until Flora nudged him. She pointed with her head to the buffet. A tall, fair skinned woman with thick, flame red hair that hung to her waist spoke to the staff. She wore a long, ocean green gown trimmed with exquisite white lace. With crisp, efficient gestures, she gave instructions in a low, level tone as trays were refilled to feed the festgoers who came in steadily increasing numbers.

“That’s Eitain, the other Facilitator.”

“She and Forest live here in the lodge house?”

Flora nodded. The lodge house was as fanciful as everything else at Lake Prabhodan. Originally a hotel for visiting executives of a lumber company that had despoiled the surrounding area of every tree standing at the turn of the 20th century, the building had been extensively remodeled and renovated. Ivy covered walls were decorated with elaborately carved wooden demi-columns and pilasters. The tall, high sloped roof was studded with gargoyle topped gables. Each arched window was a stunning, stained glass masterpiece with a medieval fantasy theme.

“Hi. Mind if we sit with you?”

A young couple beamed at them, trays heaped high with fruit and pastries. Identical golden headbands held back wavy, long blond locks, each headband adorned with a smiling sun face.

“Oh, please do. I’m Flora and this is Kurt.”

“Namaste,” the man said as they sat down, bodies yoga supple and lithe. Freebird sailed over and took their orders (pumpkin cranberry chai for both).

“I’m Jason Starchild and this is my constellation, Ariadne.”

Jason wore a dinky turquoise top hat and matching vests and pants. Ariadne was in green, a skin tight vest and a short, flounced skirt.

“Nice to meet you,” Kurt said.

Ariadne held her right hand perpendicular to her face and bowed.

“I offer you peace. I offer you love. I offer you friendship. I see your beauty. I hear your need. I feel your feelings. My wisdom flows from the highest Source. I salute that Source in you.
Let us work together. For unity and peace.”

Painful silence.

“OK. Thanks a lot.”

“This your first Fest? Yeah, I figured. It’s going to blow you completely away, dude.  I mean just totally destroy your mind. You’re going to see and hear some really heavy stuff, learn things you never knew-”

Jason talked while he ate pastry, one after another. Ariadne earnestly nodded as she toyed with a cantaloupe cube at the end of her fork.

“Sylvian the Shamaness is here. She’s an authentic shamaness, lived in Siberia for four years with nomad herders. She knows the spirit ritual, how to raise the dead.”

“And you’ve seen her do this?”

Ariadne started, taken aback by Kurt’s question.

“Well, no, but-”

“There’s no doubt she can, dude,” Jason interjected. “Things have to be just right. She sets up a leather yurt and there have to be true believers. You can’t come in being skeptical or you’ll just drive the spirits away or make them angry. And trust me, you don’t want that.”

He put down his Danish and studied Kurt, opened his mouth to say something, and then thought better of it. Jason smiled again.

“Like I said, dude, you’ll see some really enlightened people at the Fest this year. Jinse Fenghuang is going to be here.”

“Who’s that?”

Now both Jason and Ariadne stared dumbfounded at Kurt.

“Jinse Fenghuang. The Golden Phoenix.”

“Still drawing a blank. Guess I should get around more.”

“He’s a martial arts expert, the greatest in the world,” Ariadne said.

“Jinse Fenghuang’s a lot more than that, Ari. He’s a philosopher, a true Zen seeker. A man like that helps people, teaches them to see past themselves and achieve enlightenment, satori. There’s no end to his discipline. Every morning, even if it rains, he swims out to the raft to meditate.”

“Wait a second. You’re talking about that guy we saw.”

Kurt laughed. He cut himself short, but the damage was already done. Jason flatly glared at him.

“Like I said, dude, there’s a lot of deep spiritual truths you can learn at the Fest. But you got to approach things with a free spirit. Like they say, may the Baby Jesus shut your mouth and open your mind.”

He stood and picked up his tray with a superior smile.

“That’s meant as a blessing, dude. Be cool or at least try to be, as much as you can.”

Jason left, followed by Ariadne.

“Well, that’s one jerk to avoid.”

“You could have just smiled and been polite, Kurt. You only have yourself to blame that things didn’t go well.”

“Didn’t go well? I thought things went great. You’ll notice I didn’t kill either one of those idiots so you can’t say I lost my cool. Come on, let’s go see the rest of the circus.”

They went to the fairgrounds. Most festgoers were up by now. Soon two thousand people crowded the broad green plain. Vendors opened booths to display their wares, a hippy’s ultimate dream of material possessions, an almost infinite variety of psychedelic bric-a-brac; lava lamps, prayer wheels, and multifarious bongs, pipes, and rolling papers; Indonesian sarongs, crude leather halters, and purple suede fringed buskins; even household implements like crooked salt and pepper shakers indifferently turned on a lathe covered in bright, swirling patterns. A clown troupe strolled among the crowd on ten foot stilts, each one in identical, sad faced Emmett Kelly drag. Nude male and female unicyclists expertly weaved in and out through the crowd, each a magnificent physical specimen. Others juggled sticks while hackysack rings spontaneously formed.

“Isn’t this terrific, Kurt?”

“If you’re happy, honey, I’m happy.”

“Good day to you, Big Folks. A fine, sunny day on Middle Earth, t’isnt it?”

A four foot tall man with flame red hair grinned broadly. He wore a scarlet waistcoat with brass buttons, a white collarless shirt with flounced sleeves, a green, hooded cloak, and ankle length, red and white striped, nankeen trousers. His feet were bare except for tufts of thick, dark red hair glued on top. He puffed on a long stemmed pipe. In his other hand, he held a stout blackthorn stick tipped with a brass knob.

“Oh, how nice to meet you. I’m Flora and this is Kurt and I guess you’re a hobbit?”

He nodded sagely. “Frodo Proudfoot is the name and a proud, old one it is too. Of course, you’re probably by way of being more familiar with me famous cousin, Frodo Baggins.”

Frodo affected a thick Irish brogue. Flora smiled and bent low to shake hands with him. Kurt followed suit. Frodo pointed with his pipe toward the parking lot at the fairground’s southern end.

“Now we’ve entered into the bonds of friendship, be sure to be dropping by me house for a nice cup of tea or perhaps a wee dram of mead if you’re in the mood for summat a bit stronger.”

A fifty foot long, corrugated aluminum pipe was set up in the parking lot. Painted dark green and fitted with a round wooden door and windows, it was covered with strips of artificial turf and plastic bonsai trees on top. A long trailer was parked alongside, hitched to a dark green Ford F-350 truck. Curious people walked around the house and peered into the windows to marvel.

“Methinks I see some cust-, eh, good folks interested in learning a bit more about me house. I’ll be bidding you good day in the fond hope of seeing you soon. Me door’s always open.”

“Goodbye, Frodo. We’ll be sure to visit you soon.”

Frodo hustled off, a bright gleam in his eyes.

“You’re not serious, right, Flora?”

“Oh, why not? It looks like fun. I bet he has cute, tiny furniture just his size.”

“Oy. I have no interest in visiting a sewer pipe, no matter how fancy it’s fixed up. Honey, can’t you see that guy’s just trying to grift us just like all these schmucks in the booths selling us junk we don’t need? He just wants us to buy something.”

“Kurt, must you always be so cynical? You’ve lived in New York City too long. Can’t you just try to get in the spirit of the Fest? You know, relax and go with the flow?”

“I don’t have any problem relaxing; I just don’t want to spend any more money than I have to. Oh, wow, that guy’s selling hot dogs. Great.”

“I thought you didn’t want to spend money. And you just had breakfast.”

“Yes, but I haven’t had any meat so I’m still hungry.”

Kurt ran over to the stand with Flora only to learn that, although served with all the fixings, the dogs were only tofu. Bitterly disappointed to Flora’s thinly veiled amusement, Kurt walked away.

“You’re not going to sulk, are you?”

“No, Flora. It’s too nice a day. I’ll try to relax like you said.”

A wild cheer went up from the crowd. They frantically pointed to a small gleaming dot on the western horizon. Jubilant voices shouted.

“It’s him.”

“It must be.”

“Martin Covington. He came to the Fest. Where’s my phone?”

The dot grew into a silver sliver that steadily loomed larger in the sky.

“Huh. That must be an Aeroscraft.”

“What’s that, Kurt?”

“A British airship. Now, that’s something. I’ll admit it.”

A lighter than air, rigid aluminum airship headed toward Lake Prabodhan at a stately sixty kilometers an hour. Long as a football field, repeated images flashed on the hull, a young man’s face, teeth bared in a smirk. The airship’s shadow blotted out the sun from the fairground. It smoothly halted and vertically descended. Long haired men in yellow jumpsuits waved orange paddles on a broad grassy strip at the fairground’s northern end. Everyone ran like mad to watch the landing, Kurt as eager as the rest.

The airship settled to earth with a quiet hiss. A wheeled staircase was pushed up to the main hatch. The hatch swung upward. With a blast of loud, pulsing techno music, six young women ran down the staircase. Scantily clad in black leather loincloths and  tops, wild, long hair adorned with feathers, beads, and gems, they jerked and twerked as the music grew louder only to suddenly stop. The women ceased dancing, flanked the staircase, and smartly saluted. The music resumed, now playing With A Little Help From My Friends.

A young man strode out of the airship onto the staircase. He wore an ankle length coat of pristine whiteness, a shirt of multiple, swirling psychedelic hues (both Nehru collared), and bright yellow trousers. Thick brown hair was swept up into a leonine mane, crowned by a sun faced, solid gold diadem. He held his arms high as if to bless the crowd. One of his women handed him a cordless microphone.

“Hello. Damn glad to be here. You guys know I’m Martin Covington, right? Like it’s so hard to figure out, ha ha ha. Sol bless you all. Cristal champagne for everyone tonight on the patio. Get as wild and crazy as you can. Major shout outs to Forest, Eitain, and my main man, Jinse Fenghuang, the Golden Phoenix. We’re going to have so much fun together.”

There was wild cheering and prolonged applause. Covington went down the staircase and was instantly thronged by fawning admirers. He happily posed for pictures and yukked it up for those recording him. Kurt nudged Flora. They left the crowd.

“I thought you liked the airship.”

“I do. The owner’s another story.”

“Oh, he’s a little full of himself, sure. Who wouldn’t be at twenty-six with half a billion dollars? But Covington gives money to a lot of good causes, including this festival. Now that he’s here, the Fest will really get started.”

They went to see the Temple of the Invincible Sun on the other side of the lake. It was a massive structure topped by a high spire, ingeniously assembled from available materials by graduate students from the Rhode Island School of Design. Laced by sunbeams filled with dancing dust motes, the shadowy, lofty nave and apse inspired as much awe as any stone cathedral.

“Now this I like too.”

The horns squalled again, a piercing, peremptory summons.

“Let’s go to the stage. I don’t want to miss anything.”

“Sure, Flora.”

A short wooden stage stood just off the fairgrounds near the lake. The backdrop was an expressionistic, smearily daubed canvas of the sun and planets with human, laughing faces, done from a strangely tilted perspective. Flora and Kurt joined the rapidly forming crowd. The day was genuinely warm by now, bright sun only occasionally shadowed by a passing, fuzzy cloud. Dressed in gaudy Renaissance attire with burgundy satin bonnets and doublets, the heralds formed one rank on the stage. Last blat played, they right faced and marched off. A glimmering, multi-hued curtain was drawn across the stage. Forest walked on, cap in one hand, mike in the other. He waved his cap at the crowd.

“How you doing, kids? Everybody feeling the groove, getting your chakras recharged, taking that good buzz to a higher plane of consciousness? I sure hope so. This is the seventh Sol Sun Fest and as you can see, the guest of honor is shining down on us with a big old grin on his face. How you doing, you old rascal? Give the sun a big Fest hello.”

The crowd waved and blew kisses toward the sun, Covington and his harem prominent among the well wishers.

“Yeah, you guys are the right kind for the Fest. Some real heads, you know? Now here’s the sister woman who can put things a whole lot better than this old hippy can, my fellow Fest Facilitator and more importantly, my companion, the lovely Eitain.”

Eitain came out to prolonged applause from the crowd, particularly from the women, Flora no exception. Charismatic and vital, she smiled and waved, teeth dazzlingly white, green eyes bright. Forest handed her the mike and left the stage.

“Welcome back, darlings, and hello to all you newcomers. Every single one of you is welcome. We have a lovely Fest prepared for you this equinox, something Forest and I hope will remain one of your most cherished memories for decades to come. Delights for the body, solace for the soul, and enlightenment for the mind. These are all available here for those who have an open mind and heart and are ready to seek.”

“How about if I just keep my eyes open?” Kurt whispered to Flora.

“Hush.”

“And to do just that, to enlighten you, to read your auras, and foretell your path in life, I give you Sylvian the Shamaness.”

Eitain left the stage. Strange, wailing music played, something only massed, oddly vibrating human throats could emit. The curtain parted to reveal a young woman in an ankle length leather cloak. Festooned with iron plates, small bells, and rings, the cloak clanked and jingled as she moved. Long red tassels hung from her tufted headdress. Stuffed minks dangled from a chain suspended below the cloak’s hood. She had a large, shallow drum in one hand, a stick in the other.

Sylvian bent low in  an old woman’s crouch. She tapped slowly, gently on the drum with the stick and shuffled back and forth in an odd little dance. The crowd clapped along. The beat steadily grew louder, the tempo faster. The dance grew frenzied, a wild series of runs across the stage with frequent pauses to cataleptically quiver, throw her head back, and roll her eyes so only the whites showed.

“Eakcnvoowdoivbodavoiwocvoinapoiv,” she screamed.

This provoked wild cheers and applause from the crowd.

“What are they worked up about now?”

“She’s gone into a full trance, Kurt. Now she’ll prophesy, if we’re lucky. Keep quiet.”

Eyes back in place, Sylvian stalked along the stage’s edge. She tapped her drum as she went, head cocked upward as if listening to some whispered voice from above.

She pointed her stick at a young, blond woman in front. “Why don’t you go to Hawaii? Are you afraid?”

The woman gasped, put her hands to her head, and burst into tears.  “Oh, my God. Kieran just texted me. How did you know? How did you know?”

Sylvian ignored her and passed on. The stick indicated a young, scruffy man dressed in greasy black.

“You’re on the wrong path. You need to return the way you came.”

The young man’s eyebrows went wide and his jaw slack. “So I should go back to Yale.”

Sylvian resumed her frenetic pace about the stage. Unnoticed by her, a man walked onto the stage’s left wing. While he kept to the edge, he was still hard to miss, dressed in a gold lamé martial arts costume with giant red Chinese characters emblazoned on the chest.

“Hey, look. That’s the guy from the lake,” Kurt said.

“You. You and your woman.”

The stick pointed directly at Kurt and Flora. Sylvian made eye contact, rolled her eyes back, and uttered a dreadful groan.

“You are yin and yang, Ares and Aphrodite, fire and water. Together you balance each other. Cleave to one another.”

“Sure thing. Thanks for the good advice,” Kurt replied.

Flora and Kurt put their arms around each other and lightly kissed to scattered applause from the crowd. Stooped over and clanking, Sylvian hopped and shuffled, ready to further prophesy until she saw the man in the left wing. She frowned and stood up straight.

“You’re not supposed to come on yet. You were specifically told. Eitain said she told you.”

“Yeah, I know, but I just wanted to see you commune with the spirits, Sylvia.” He smiled insouciantly. “What’s the harm in that?”

“That’s not my name, Donnie.”

Sylvian slung the drum at Golden Phoenix. He easily ducked. Sylvian stomped off via the opposite wing. Golden Phoenix laughed and left the stage also. The curtain was pulled shut. There were indistinct sounds of a heated confrontation from backstage, Sylvian’s piercing, indignant soprano tones, occasionally interspersed with Forest’s low, conciliatory rumble.

“Boo,” a large, extremely hairy man yelled. “I didn’t pay a lot of money just to watch an empty stage. Bring on the next act.”

“Yeah,” a short, naked woman bellowed. “Let’s see some action.”

Eitain walked onstage, face stretched back in a wide open, forced smile.

“I just wanted to say, we all need to understand that Jinse Fenghuang is a Zen master, a teacher. Sometimes a teacher can try to impart a lesson and it may seem harsh or even wrong. That is, until you try to see just what it is the teacher wants  you to learn. That’s what we have to remember. Now let’s have a big Sol Sun Fest round of applause for Sylvian the Shamaness. Wasn’t she just amazing?”

Lulled by her soothing manner and words, the crowd readily clapped, whistled, and cheered.

“Thank you, fellow festgoers. And now, the man himself, master of karate, jujitsu, ninjitsu, and the wuxia martial arts and so very much, much more. An artist, a teacher, and a philosopher, the Zen master. Jinse Fenghuang, the Golden Phoenix.”

The applause and cheering was much louder than for Sylvian. The curtain drew back to display a large wooden stand with a black cloth over it. Golden Phoenix cartwheeled onto the stage where he executed a creditable back flip. The crowd went nuts. Some were even extreme enough to get on their hands and knees and kowtow to him. Golden Phoenix smiled, drinking in the adulation. He gestured for those lying prostrate to rise.

“Come on, guys. I’m a sifu, a teacher, not some god. We’re all seekers together. Some are just further along than others, including those of you who are more enlightened than me.”

Further applause.

“Enlightenment. That’s what Prabodhan means, you know. My dear friends Forest and Eitain chose wisely when they picked that name. And I hope to offer you some small degree of enlightenment, my friends. Through my words. And through my actions.”

Golden Phoenix ran to the stand. He snatched the cloth away to reveal an array of martial arts weapons, matched, curved swords, a red tasseled spear, a Shaolin pole, and other deadly implements. He snatched up the pole about and vaulted with it into a fighting stance. Golden Phoenix thrust and waved the pole as he executed several forms with fair speed. The crowd raptly watched.

“He’s sloppy,” Kurt whispered.

“Shhh.”

Golden Phoenix returned the pole to the stand and picked up the swords. He vigorously waved them around his head and shoulders, running back and forth as he did. The crowd clapped long and hard. Golden Phoenix replaced the swords and took off his tunic. Women oohed and ahhed at his muscular torso.

“Weapons like these have twin kinds of energy, physical and spiritual. Some weapons have more power than others. What I’ve used before are the best of their kind, but still ordinary, with no chi, no spiritual power. Only a few weapons, handed down over generations and the centuries from one master to another, have true spiritual power. And I’m about to show you one of the most powerful.”

He reached into the weapon stand and removed a long object covered by a red satin cloth. Golden Phoenix walked to the stage’s edge, the veiled object held high over his head. All eyes were upon him, the crowd expectant, hushed. Golden Phoenix smiled. He had them in the palm of his hand.

“Behold the Golden Sword of Huo Yuanjia.”

He snatched the cloth away to reveal a sword in a white scabbard. The gem studded hilt and scabbard tip were chased with gold. A long red tassel hung from the hilt.

“For the uninitiated among you, Huo Yuanjia was the greatest practitioner of martial arts that ever lived. In fact, it’s no exaggeration to say that he’s the founder of modern Chinese martial arts. To practice such good kung fu, his spiritual values had to be the highest. And all of that chi, that spiritual power, is embodied in this sword, handed to me personally by his own disciple, Ip Man.”

“Dude, you’re so full of it.”

Kurt’s parade ground voice carried loud and clear. Everyone turned to look in shock and horror at the grinning young man. Golden Phoenix affected a smile himself.

“So, it appears we have a disbeliever among us.”

“That’s not it at all. Yip Man died over forty years ago. You can’t be much over thirty. So did he leave it to you in his will? The Golden Sword of Huo Yuanjia? Even from here I can see the jewels are plastic. You can get a sword like that in Taipei or Hong Kong for fifty or sixty bucks, tops. I thought I saw some real experts in the Crotch, but you sling bull like a champ.”

“Well then, you know so much, maybe you’d like to come up on stage and spar a little bit, share some of your martial arts skills with me and the crowd.”

“Gladly. I’ve been bored stiff until now. That’s the first interesting thing I’ve heard today.”

Flora tried to restrain Kurt, but he slipped away and passed through the crowd to the stage.

“Just a little friendly sparring, folks. Nothing aggro,” Golden Phoenix said.

Kurt hopped onto the stage and removed his black t-shirt. He was leaner than Golden Phoenix, but sharply defined. A silhouette of a grinning, gap toothed skull was tattooed on his left shoulder. Rather than draw wolf whistles, women appraised him guardedly, as if concerned he was simply too much man to handle. Kurt went into a fighting stance and beckoned Golden Phoenix with his open right hand.

“Go ahead and start.”

Golden Phoenix threw himself at Kurt, dealt kicks and blows with all his strength, plainly bent on injury. Kurt ducked, sidestepped, and blocked. Golden Phoenix made a sumo wrestler’s rush, tried to use his bulk and height to crowd Kurt to the edge and push him over. Kurt balanced on the edge on his left foot, pivoted, and caught him from behind with the ball of his right. Golden Phoenix tumbled into the crowd. Kurt back flipped twice to the center of the stage. He balanced on his right leg, left leg held head high. Kurt beckoned with his left foot for Golden Phoenix to attack again.

“Mind if I call you Goldie for short?”

Golden Phoenix leaped onto the stage, any pretense of Zen calm obliterated by flaming rage. He snatched up the sword, pulled it from the scabbard, and lunged at Kurt. He nimbly dodged, jumped to the weapon stand, and grabbed the Shaolin pole. Golden Phoenix slashed at Kurt’s head, but he dodged again and swung the pole low to the floor. Golden Phoenix jumped. The pole missed, but before Golden Phoenix could react, Kurt brought the pole back and up. He knocked the sword away and neatly pinned Golden Phoenix, his arms trapped by the pole. Kurt grinned, not even out of breath.

“Had enough?”

Golden Phoenix nodded between pants. Kurt released him, returned the pole to the stand, and picked up his shirt.

“Sifu, maybe you need to spend more time in the wu kwan and not so much running your mouth. See you around.”

Kurt turned and walked away only to hear footsteps clatter behind him. He dropped flat. Golden Phoenix sailed over him. His extended right foot completely missed the target. Golden Phoenix crashed hard onto the ground. He lay motionless in a sprawled heap.

“Some guys never learn.”

Kurt stepped over him. Several people booed and hissed. Jason stood in Kurt’s path, suntanned face set, angry.

“Dude, that was just a totally uncool move. What are you trying to do, ruin the Fest for all of us? You just beat up a Zen Master.”

Kurt looked back. Several people were helping Golden Phoenix onto his feet.

“No I didn’t. He kicked his own ass when he tried to sucker punch me. Now get out of my way before I enlighten you too.”

Jason flinched and stood aside.

“What you did still wasn’t cool,” he muttered.

As expected, Flora was furious, but was careful not to express herself until they returned to their campsite, in keeping with her well bred upbringing.

“Kurt, how could you? You promised you’d behave. You gave your word you were going to act like a gentleman and not act up. And what do you do on the first day? You beat up the most popular artist in the festival.”

“He’s an obvious scam. These hippies must be really dumb if they can’t spot a phony like that. You know I hate phonies. You know I hate bullshit.”

“Yes, but can’t you just bottle it up for a while? For me? Please?”

Kurt was about to argue further, but the imploring look in Flora’s eyes melted him. He smiled, a rare, sincere, open one.

“OK, baby. I’m sorry. You know I am. I’ll even admit I was wrong, to you. Not anybody else. Like I said, guys like that Golden Phoenix loser just give me a swift pain-”

Flora hushed him with a kiss. She held him while she regretfully shook her head and smiled.

“You’re hopeless. Just what am I going to do with you?”

“How about you make a ham and cheese sandwich, please? Pretty please.”

Flora broke away.

“I didn’t bring any meat. I told you that already.”

“OK, so can I have a cheese sandwich instead?”

Flora nodded.

“That and some tomato soup too. You need to eat. That’s probably why you got so angry with Golden Phoenix.”

“I wasn’t angry.”

They bickered while Flora fixed lunch and Kurt cleaned up the campsite. Other festgoers retired to their tents as well, already pretty smashed and ready to nap to be fresh for the evening when everybody really got their freak on. Near the lake, pink, green, white, and blue phallic  towers slowly rose, Covington’s multi-room, disposable, nylon, inflatable pleasure dome. Covington and his harem lazed naked on the Om Meditation Raft while servants hurried to add the finishing touches to his latest temporary residence. The great, blazing sun, the festival’s ostensible purpose and object of devotion, sailed on overhead to eventual, inevitable twilight, serenely indifferent to any tribute rendered, however fervent, and the personal plots and schemes of devotees below.

Fest Day One, Evening

Flora and Kurt went to the lodge for dinner. They went through the serving line and got buffalo mozzarella pizzas cooked in individual clay ovens and Basque salads.

“Let’s take that table.”

“Why sit over there?”

“To keep you out of trouble, Kurt.”

“Jeez. Noodge noodge noodge.”

Kurt nonetheless sat with Flora at a table on the patio’s far edge, away from other guests. Torches burned along the patio’s low wall. Between the torches, young, scantily clad women gyrated with wild abandon as they swung blazing, fiery ropes about themselves.  A band on the fairground stage played a long, loud, looping instrumental tune with frequent synthesizer and guitar squawks.

“Isn’t this wild?”
“Oh, it’s something all right.”

“Kurt, could you please try to do a little more than just humor me? I mean, look at this crazy spectacle. Don’t you see anything you like, just a little?”

“Some of the girls dancing are pretty hot.”

Flora reached over and smacked him on the wrist with her open hand. Kurt laughed.

“Do you think maybe I can get some beer if I ask real nice? Uh oh, somebody’s coming.”

Forest and Eitain headed toward them, all smiles. Forest still had his elf outfit on, but Eitain wore a short red dress with large tinsel wings on the back. She leaned down and kissed both of them lightly on the lips.

“Hello, loves. I’m Eitain Eireborn. I understand you’ve already met my companion Forest.”

“Yeah, this morning,” Kurt said.

“Look, Kurt, is it? We understand you were just trying to defend yourself, which you absolutely have a right to do, but the whole purpose of the festival is to promote love and understanding, not violence. The plain fact of it is, Kurt, if you hadn’t taken such a confrontational stance in the first place, the whole incident wouldn’t have happened. I hope you understand and acknowledge that.”

Kurt nodded and smiled.

“Flora’s been making the same  point these past few hours. I’ll admit I’ve got a big mouth. It’s a bad habit. I promise to keep quiet and behave for the rest of the Festival.”

“Thank you for your humility, Kurt. I’m in gratitude to you. Now I’ve already spoken with Jinse Fenghuang and he wants you to know he holds no hard feelings and hopes you soon dispel the bad karma you accumulated. That’s my hope too. Enjoy the festival.”

Eitain smiled perfunctorily and turned to leave. Forest bent low over Kurt. His breath reeked of whiskey.

“Like my old lady said, man, we’re not cool with violence and all, but, Lordy, what a sweet beat down you laid on that clown. When Donnie sailed over you and went splat, bro, I just about wet my-”

“Forrie.”

Eitain’s sharp, peremptory tone permitted no refusal. Forest gave Kurt and Flora a sheepish look and followed Eitain. Kurt finally flagged a waitperson. They ordered chamomile tea for Flora and a pitcher of Libertine Lager for Kurt.

“You handled that pretty well, but do you have to drink so much beer?”

“I worked up a big thirst keeping a straight face while Eitain chewed me out. I wish they didn’t put so many hops in these craft beers.”

The atmosphere grew steadily more frenzied. As the festgoers heavily drank, lively conversation steadily amplified into an intoxicated roar. They were obviously fueled by something more than alcohol. Cannabis mixed with cloves’ reek as great clouds of purple, green, and yellow smoke vaped into the night air. Some festgoers were blissful and beatific, but many more were pumped up, eyes lively and ready to raise hell, fueled by previously ingested, powerful stimulants.

The loudest, most turbulent table in the whole chaotic mix was occupied by Covington and his entourage. Mercifully, they were on the patio’s opposite side. Covington screamed with joy as he hosed the others down with spray from a freshly opened Cristal bottle. A blonde woman squealed indignantly and patted her drenched blouse with a linen napkin only to have the man next to her snatch it away.

“Don’t be no fun. Anything goes at a festival,” he bellowed.

“Hey, isn’t that Goldie? It makes sense. He’s being an asshole.”

Golden Phoenix was dressed like Covington, only with a bright red British officer’s tunic. He was quite drunk, but no more than Covington and everyone else in the group.

“Oh, it is. Come on, Kurt. I don’t want any trouble. You promised Eitain you’d behave. Let’s go before he notices us and something starts.”

“He can’t see us. His back’s to us. Let’s stick around. It’s getting interesting. Look, he’s hitting on her again.”

Muscular arms wrapped around the blonde. Golden Phoenix smothered her face with kisses. She turned her head away, tried to wriggle from his grasp, but he held on octopus like.

“Cavalry to the rescue, Flora.”

Covington strode over, weak face red with anger, champagne bottle clenched in one hand. He grabbed Golden Phoenix and pulled him from his chair with his free hand. Golden Phoenix fell hard onto the flagstones.

“Cool down, Fido.”

He dumped champagne on Golden Phoenix. He tried to wriggle away, but still got the brunt of it. Covington pointed to a servant and snapped his fingers.

“Clean him up.”

The lackey pulled Golden Phoenix to his feet and ineffectually wiped at his now soaked coat. Covington put his face close to Golden Phoenix, but still shouted, easily heard over the music and crowd noise.

“Now understand, GP. Sure, it’s fun partying with you and yeah, maybe we can do business. But you want your own show on my Zen Channel, you’re not going to get it trying to boink any of my wives. No toucha da private property, huh? Kapeesh?”

Golden Phoenix nodded and said something inaudible.

“Good. Glad to hear it. Maybe you’re smart after all. Now, for the time being, GP, you better go to my crib and rest a while. Get in some sort of shape to talk cable business. You know, real money? OK, so go on back.”

Golden Phoenix did as Covington said. He weaved unsteadily toward an exit, but halted when he saw Kurt and Flora.

“Oh, God, he’s seen us.”

Golden Phoenix staggered toward them. He stood by their table, coat covered in dark blotches, reeking of champagne. With a slack mouthed sneer, he pointed his right index finger like a pistol at Kurt.

“You. I’ll settle with you later.”

Kurt silently looked him in the eye. Golden Phoenix sniggered.

“Yeah, that’s right, pussy. Don’t say anything. Like I said, I’ll fix you.”

He shambled away. Flora smiled, leaned over, and kissed Kurt tenderly.

“There. You absolutely did the right thing. I’ve never been so proud of you as I am now, Kurt.”

Kurt shrugged and poured more beer from the pitcher.

“You know I just want to make you happy, Flora, but I don’t much like backing down, especially from a hump like Goldie.”

“You didn’t back down. You just ignored him like he deserved. Golden Phoenix already made a complete public fool of himself. You would have just lowered yourself to his level if you’d fought with him again.”

Kurt was silent as the party wore on and the debauchery became wilder. Clad only in swirls of fluorescent body paint, men and women writhed on the patio, the fairgrounds, and by the lake. Myriad glitter dots that clung to their bodies flashed and glistened under roving, tinted spotlights until the dancers seemed like actual  shimmering creatures of light. Things really kicked into overdrive when fireworks screeched and rocketed into the sky all around the lake. Flora clapped her hands with joy. Kurt put his hand on hers.

“Look, honey. I can see you’re enjoying yourself. Stick around and watch the fireworks. I’m going back.”

Flora sighed. “You’re not going because you want to sulk by yourself, right? You’re miserable when you get like that.”

Kurt patted her hand and smiled reassuringly.

“No. It’s just been kind of a long day in a way. I figure I’ll turn in early.”

“OK. I understand. I shouldn’t be too long.”

They kissed and Kurt left. He walked down a path that paralleled the garden box hedge. Kurt automatically kept his footsteps quiet by force of militarily ingrained habit. The air was heavy with grapes’ sweet scent. Low voices from the hedge’s opposite side suddenly erupted into clamorous argument, audible even over the fireworks.

“I know what’s going on. That little rat Donnie’s still ripping us off and you’re covering up for him,” Forest said, voice slurred from drink.

“No, I’m not,” Eitain snarled. “I’m just as angry about Jinse as you are. The question is, what are we going to-”

“You still want him. That’s what it is. You lied to me-”
“No, Forrie, no. That’s all over. He means nothing to me. I wish I’d never met him. Please listen.”

Kurt quietly left. He walked back to the camp, drank a beer while he watched the fireworks, and went to sleep. Flora joined him shortly afterward. Dressed in a blue nightie, she crawled into the twin sleeping bag, and cuddled up next to Kurt. She nibbled at his ear.

“Still sulky?”

Kurt rolled over and kissed her fervently.

“I got better things to do.”

Fest Day Two, Morning

Sunrise proceeded as before. The red sun peeped between two black mountains. Kurt got out of the tent with his exercise pad. He yawned and stretched. There was mist on the lake and the raft was a dark, shadowy bulk, but a red dot in the water caught Kurt’s eye. He went to the tent and stuck his head inside.

“Flora. Honey, wake up. Wake up now.”

“Huh? What is it, sweetie?”

“Get up and get dressed, quick. Somebody’s in the lake. I think it’s Goldie. Call 911 on your phone while I go after him. You better go to the lodge after that and tell Forest and Eitain. Hurry, babe.”

Kurt ran from the camp without waiting for Flora’s response. He raced down the hill, heedless of undergrowth and branches that tore at his arms and legs. Tall trees covered the lake in dark shadow. The red coat was the only spot of color in the lake’s black waters. Golden Phoenix floated about fifty yards from shore. His back protruded from the water; the rest was submerged. Kurt stripped off his shirt, ran into the shallows, and dove into the cold water.

Head out of the water, Kurt freestyled straight for Golden Phoenix, eyes fixed on the victim. He put his right arm around Golden Phoenix’s chest, and swam back with him. Despite the water’s buoyancy, the dead weight pressed heavily on Kurt as he did an inverted sidekick.

Flora ran up from the lodge with Eitain and Forest behind her. Forest wore a dirty white wifebeater and cutoff jean shorts. Eitain was draped in a purple cloak. When Kurt neared shallow water, Forest jumped in and thrashed over. Each man took Golden Phoenix by a shoulder and pulled him onto the shore.

They stretched out his muddy body, face deathly white, yellow hair bedraggled, eyes blank. Kurt knelt down, put two fingers to his throat, and an ear close to his nose and mouth.

“Is he-” Eitain asked.

Kurt looked up and nodded.

“But how?” Eitain wailed, her usual calm, cool demeanor shattered.

“Maybe he went swimming again,” Flora said. “He did it yesterday morning. Maybe he went again last night while he was so drunk.”

“I don’t think so, honey.”

Kurt turned Golden Phoenix’s head. The golden hair was marred by a large, open wound. Kurt stood up.

“Somebody killed him.”

“Maybe it was an accident,” Forest said. “He could have jumped off the raft and cracked his skull. You saw how drunk he was last night.”

Forest scratched his considerable beer belly. He had a large, faded tattoo on his right shoulder, covered with burn scars like his hands, but still recognizable as a grinning vulture in a top hat.

“Doubtful. This is a crime scene. We need to leave the body here.”

“Just leave him out like this, all dirty and bloody? For God’s sake, have you no heart, man?” Eitain said.

Kurt shrugged. “We have to. Get something to cover him until the cops get here. That’s really all we can do for right now.”

“I’ll go get one,” Forest said, “but I still think it was probably an accident. Nothing bad like that could happen at the Festival.”

Kurt and Flora kept watch over Golden Phoenix’s body with Eitain. Shadows receded as the morning sun lofted itself skyward. The lake went from indigo to deep blue. A few festgoers staggered out from their tents and tepees, prompted to arise at an ungodly hour by hangover or possibly continuing drugged edginess. Even a stoned out gaze couldn’t miss the tableau by the lake’s edge, a prone, red coated body with three attendants, anxiety evident from their tense postures.

Forest hurried over with a frayed canvas tarp that was quickly draped over the body, but word of the sensational development had already spread like wildfire. Festgoers rushed to the lake in various states of dress and undress. Fascinated, they gawked at the tarp and tried to push closer. Forest held up meaty arms to ward them off. Eitain stood by his side, her composure recovered.

“Everybody be cool now, OK? There’s been a bad accident.”

“Oh, bummer.”

“Was it Golden Phoenix? That’s what Saphir said she saw, but she’s been on molly all night-”

“That’s really all we can say at this moment,” Eitain said. “Later on, when we have more information, we’ll be sure everyone knows exactly what we know, the very moment we learn it. The authorities are already on their way. I’m sure they’ll find out what happened.”

“What kind of festival is this, where somebody dies? And now the cops are coming?” an irate young man in a Viking outfit said.

“Look, we’ve all suffered a terrible tragedy. We have to deal with that, to grieve and mourn. Yet that doesn’t mean that the festival still can’t go on. We can live and enjoy ourselves and those who’ve passed into the beyond will live and enjoy through us.”

A faint, distant wail grew steadily louder, police sirens on the way from Fenimore, the county seat twenty miles away.

“Here they come,” the Viking said.

He left. Most others also departed. Only hard core, morbid spectators stayed. Kurt went to Forest.

“I’m going back with Flora.”

“OK, but the cops will probably want to talk to you, Kurt.”

“Whatever. I’ll be at our camp.”

Flora quietly wept. Kurt put his arms around her and kissed her on the forehead.

“Yeah, I know. It’s bad. Sorry about this. Let’s go back to the camp.”

They left the lake.

Fest Day Two, Later That Morning

Kurt changed clothes and went back to sleep in the tent. He was gently roused by Flora.

“Wake up, baby. Forest’s here with the sheriff. He wants to talk about the accident.”

Kurt unzipped the sleeping bag and sat up.

“It wasn’t an accident.”

He went outside with Flora. Forest and a large, heavy set, older man in a tan uniform and a white cowboy hat were outside.

“Kurt, this is Ed Rinton. He’s Fishkill County Sheriff. Ed, Kurt Malaparte.”

Forest had put on a heavily stained blue jersey. He was clearly nervous about being around Rinton. Kurt and Rinton shook hands. Rinton’s grip was incredibly strong. He showed broad teeth in a professional smile, but his light brown eyes were cool and appraising.

“Nice to meet you, son. I understand you found the body.”

“I fished him from the lake. I thought he was drowning.”

Rinton nodded.

“We would have had to do that ourselves so you saved us some trouble there. I also understand you had an argument with the victim yesterday, one that even got physical. Is that true also?”

Kurt shrugged. “No point denying it since about two thousand people saw us. Yeah, we sparred some, but I  didn’t think anything about it afterward. Hell, I’m the one that won the fight. Why would I care about a wanker like Goldie? Anyway, Flora can tell you. She was  with me last night.”

“That’s right, Sheriff. He didn’t go anywhere.”

“Please, call me Ed. No need to get anxious, Kurt. I don’t have my eye on you or anyone else for that matter, come to that. No, I won’t name a suspect until I get real, substantial evidence in my hands.”

“How about this, Sheriff?”
They all turned to see who spoke. Jason emerged from the tent, an unbearably smug smirk on his face and Golden Phoenix’s gold tipped sword in one hand. Kurt’s face screwed up in a horrible grimace.

“Jason, you little maggot, what are you doing in our tent?”

“Looking for the evidence I knew I’d find. And I did. Sheriff, this is the Golden Sword of Huo Yuanjia, Jinse Fenghuang’s most valuable possession. That’s why he fought with Jinse Fenghuang. They fought over the sword. And now I found it in his tent. He killed Jinse Fenghuang for his sword.”

“You rotten, little maggot,” Kurt said. “I don’t know just what your major malfunction is, but I’m going to tear you in half.”

Kurt lunged toward Jason, but Rinton restrained him with a massive arm.

“Hold on, son. You’ve got a right to be angry, but don’t go adding assault and battery to your troubles, at least not in front of me. And as for you, just what might your name be?”

“Jason Starchild.”

Rinton sighed. “I mean your real name, son, not some hippy nonsense you thought up. You’re starting to irritate me.”

“Jason Pevsner, sir.”

“That’s better. From now on, Jason, leave investigating to the law. That would be me and most definitely not you. For all I know, you brought that sword along with you.”

“That’s just what he did. He planted it.”

“Quiet, Kurt. Maybe you really do want to help or maybe you’re just the spiteful type, Jason, but either way all you’ve done is bring suspicion on yourself. Frankly, I don’t know whether to arrest you or have a psychiatric evaluation done. While I’m making up my mind, maybe you better take advantage and get out of here. You interrupted a witness interview.”

“Yes, sir, Sheriff. I will.”

“Leave that sword and don’t you even think of going anywhere.”

Jason gave the sword to Rinton. He left, crestfallen, shamefaced. Rinton shook his head.

“You just don’t believe the kind of folks you meet in this line of work. Where was I anyway? Oh, yeah, like I said, I don’t have any reason at present to suspect you or anyone else, Kurt, but I am going to find out who did this. Maybe I’ll know more after the autopsy’s done in Fenimore. I need to go there now with the body, but I’ll be back this evening at the latest. In the meantime, a deputy will be posted on the only road out of here. If anyone tries to leave, he’ll arrest them.”

“I hear you loud and clear, Ed.”

“Good. I figured you for a smart young man. You and Flora try to make the best of this.  Enjoy yourselves at this hippy party. That’s my advice for everyone else too.”

Rinton left with Forest. Flora and Kurt went inside the tent. Jason had slit one side open. Kurt looked at the gaping rent and cursed.

“I swear I’ll skin that Jason alive.”

“Kurt, that’s all his bad karma. You saw how he only got himself in trouble, not you. I can sew it back together. Just don’t get angry. It doesn’t help.”

Kurt was about to hotly reply, but then ruefully grinned.

“You’re right. I do need to keep my head especially since that Rinton guy’s probably planning to arrest me.”

“He said he didn’t suspect you any more than anyone else.”

“So what? Cops lie, constantly, always.”

“You’ve got me as a witness that you never left the tent last night.”

“If he wants to pin it on me, he will. Unless -”

“Unless what?”

“We find out for sure who killed Goldie.”

Flora sighed and put her hands on her narrow hips.

“And how are we supposed to do that?”

“I may already have an idea who did it.”

“What? How do you know?”

“Last night while I was walking back to the camp, I overheard Forest and Eitain arguing about Goldie. I left, but I still heard enough to know Forest didn’t like Goldie, like really hated his guts. He claimed Goldie was ripping them both off and Eitain let him get away with it. I got the idea he thought Eitain and Goldie used to be bed buddies and maybe still were.”

“You certainly heard enough, Kurt, considering you left right away.”
“He was going a mile a minute. Worked up, you know? Getting ripped off is a real good motive to kill a guy, especially if he’s also doing your wife.”

“Forest was probably just letting off steam. How would we find out if he actually did kill Goldie, I mean, Golden Phoenix? Darn it, now you’ve got me saying it.”

“It’s quicker. That’s another thing. Forest didn’t call him Golden Youknowwhat or Jinse Fenghuang. He called him Donnie. And so did that shaman lady he made so mad, the one that read our auras, Sillyass.”

“It’s Sylvian, Kurt.”

“Roger that. Look, Mr. Charm Goldie wasn’t. He had a history I bet, a long, nasty one. Let’s talk to folks that knew him, find out just how dirty he was. Maybe we can figure out from there who killed him.”

“You saw what happened to Jason when he interfered. Why do you want to get us in trouble the same way?”

“We’re not idiots like Jason. I’m not saying we should sneak into people’s tents and search for evidence. We just ask people about Goldie. I’ll start with Covington. He was with Goldie last night. Remember he wasn’t too happy with him either.”

“And you want me to talk to Sylvian.”

Kurt smiled. “Smart, Flora. Somebody like you, a hippy soul sister, she’ll open right up. Me, I’d just scare her.”

“Is that what you plan to do to Covington?”

“Only if I have to. I think I’ll talk to Frodo too when I’m done with Covington.  He must tour the same festival circuit Goldie did so he probably knows something about him.”

Flora shrugged. “OK, Kurt, if you think it will do any good.”

“It beats sitting around waiting to see what happens. C’mon, let’s eat. We can start after that.”

Fest Day Two, Afternoon

Eitain had the heralds summon festgoers to the stage. She tearfully told them what everyone already knew, that the dead man was Golden Phoenix.

“He was called to a higher plane, long before his time, but I know, I absolutely know that a born fighter, a struggler for truth and higher consciousness like Jinse Fenghuang, would want us to carry on, to keep up the good work he started. Let’s work to make this the greatest Sol Sun Fest ever.”

Pleased by Eitain’s emotional rationalization of hedonism as a solemn duty, festgoers cheered. Eitain smiled through her tears and flashed the peace sign with both hands.

“Thank you. I love you all.”

The festival resumed as before. Young and heedless, the festgoers collectively decided it was too fine a summer day to spend in mourning and gave themselves over to their usual narcissistic pursuits. A new jam band dressed in gray alien ET costumes fired up yet another endless groove. Young women uncoiled ropes and set them aflame. Festgoers danced, drank, drugged, and dallied indiscriminately. Covington and his harem lay naked on the Om Meditation Raft as before, drinking Harvey Wallbangers in tall glasses.

Kurt took his shirt off, got into the lake, and swam to the raft. He pushed himself from the water and onto the raft with one smooth, effortless surge of muscle.

“Whoa, watch it there,” Covington said. “You’ll splash us.”

“Don’t worry; it’s only water.”

Kurt dried himself with a towel. Naked and unashamed, Covington’s harem eyed Kurt silently, appraisingly. Covington took a long pull from his straw, tipped his sunglasses onto his forehead, and looked Kurt over.

“You’re the dude that pulled GP from the water. And the one that kicked his ass before.”

“Yeah, that’s me, more or less. I’m Kurt Malaparte and I want to talk with you.”

“What about?”

“About Goldie. You told him to go to your place last night. Was he there when you got back? Did he leave?”

Covington sighed.

“And here I was hoping you might be interesting. Look, I already went through this with that hick sheriff Rinton. And you’re no cop. So I really don’t see any reason to talk to you about that or anything else. This is called the Om Meditation Raft for a reason. You know, good vibes, good times, not a lot of annoying questions from some asshole. Now if you’ll just jump in the lake and swim back to shore. You’re blocking the sun.”

Several women giggled. Kurt smiled.

“You saw what happened to Goldie. I learned how to make things unpleasant for people in the Crotch. Answer a few questions and I’ll leave. Just that easy.”

Covington tried to give Kurt a dismissive sneer, but quailed in the face of Kurt’s determined, steady stare.

“OK, OK. Anything to get rid of you. Yeah, GP was there when we got back to the crib and even drunker than when he left. We tried to settle down and get a home party groove going, you know, me and the girls, but GP was just into a really bad head trip.”

“Was he still hitting on her?”
Kurt looked at the buxom woman Golden Phoenix bothered last night. She turned her head away.

“Who, Thalia? Yeah, he did seem to have some kind of lech for her last night. Finally, I just got tired of GP and told him to go, you know, head back to his mancave and chill out there until he felt like being human again. Then he left. That’s it. End of story. No more to tell. You know just as much as Rinton does now.”

“What time did he leave?”

“Hell if I know. I was really wasted myself. Girls, any of you remember when GP took off?”

“Sure,” a slender, copper haired nymph replied. “A little after two. I remember because I was so glad to see him go. He was such a tool when he got really drunk.”

“Thanks, Aglaia. You satisfied now, Mala-, whatever your damn name is?”

“So he got even more drunk at your place and bothered your woman and you threw him out? You must have been pretty angry, Covington.”

Covington sighed and shook his head.

“You’re even less subtle than Rinton. If you’re trying to dream up a motive for me to kill GP, you really are even stupider than I thought. I was going to give him his own show on my cable channel, Nomad Zen Master. I planned on making money off GP. Why would I want to kill him? So he drank too much and acted like a clown. My friends do that every night.”

He gestured with both hands toward his harem.

“Look around you. This alone ought to show you I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

“No. You’re just another rich asshole, Covington. Thanks for answering my questions.”

He did a graceful, arcing sideways dive into the lake. Covington was about to shout something at Kurt, but thought better of it. He held out his empty glass.

“Euphrosyne, baby, get me a refill.”

***

Sylvian’s domed yurt was set up on the lake’s opposite shore, close to the Fire Dance Drum Circle. Flora walked around the shallow embankment. The yurt’s white cloth sides were elaborately embroidered with swirling patterns in blue thread. Sylvian sat outside on a lawn chair by a small fire. An ornately wrought brass teapot dangled just above the flames by a chain hung from a metal bar. She’d doffed her shamaness outfit and wore a simple black dress that complemented her raven’s wing hair. Sylvian waved and smiled.

“Hi. I was expecting you. Take a seat.”

Flora sat on another lawn chair opposite Sylvian and introduced herself. A small bird on the teapot’s top flapped its wings, threw back its head, and chirped.

“You timed it perfectly. Tea’s ready.”

Sylvian took a hooked metal rod and expertly poured strong, black tea into two porcelain cups. She carefully set down the cups on a folding table, opened a small jar, and scooped out white yellow goo with a spoon into each one.

“Yak butter. Stir it so it melts.”

The tea slid down, a viscous, heavy caffeine dose.

“This is your first Fest.”

“Yes, it is. Gosh, Sylvian, how do you know so much?”

Sylvian smiled and sipped her tea.

“I spent a long time with the Kalmyks and Chukchi. I learned their languages and their ways. Gradually, the spirits came to me. They tell me many things, but only as long as I honor them and never do wrong.”

“What do you know about Golden Phoenix?”

Sylvian visibly stiffened. She frowned.

“I hope you’re not asking from morbid curiosity, Flora. I thought much better of you than that.”

Flora vigorously shook her head. “No, it’s not that at all. It’s just that after Kurt had that fight with him and then found the body this morning, the sheriff seems to think he’s suspicious. I’m just trying to find out what I can about Golden Phoenix so I can help Kurt.”

“Kurt’s all yang; isn’t he?”

Flora laughed. “You noticed. Sometimes he’s so full of testosterone, I think he’ll explode. Still, I like him the way he is. I always know where I am with Kurt. He’s honest.”

“I can see why you go for him. That’s what I thought about Donnie too, at least when we first met.”

“So that’s Golden Phoenix’s real name? Donnie?”

Sylvian nodded and drank tea. “Donald Stutzmann. He never even changed it, like I did mine. Sylvia Scarparella doesn’t exist anymore. I’m a real shamaness, Flora. I live my lifestyle in earnest. Donnie was nothing but a rotten, insincere, phony bastard. I know it’s bad karma to speak evil about those who’ve been translated into another stage of incarnation and the Buddha doesn’t approve, but it’s the truth.”

“It sounds like he did something to you personally.”

Sylvian leaned forward, eyes locked with Flora’s, face intense, animated.

“He left me in Tangier with no money and a two thousand dollar hotel bill. I almost went to prison.”

Flora tut-tutted. “What did you do?”

Sylvian scowled. “I had to ask my parents for the money. They gave me a really hard time about it too, all the usual stuff, when am I coming home, when will I get married, blah, blah, blah.”

“Parents can be difficult. Heaven knows mine certainly are. But it’s only because they love you. So, you and Golden Phoenix were together for a while until he ran out on you.”

“We were more than that. We were business partners too. He robbed me blind, swore up and down we were barely getting by. All the time, Donnie just spent the money on coke, every dollar he could get his hands on. I found out about that after Tangier.”

“Did Forest and Eitain know about all this stuff?”

“They knew we were in disharmony. I gave them strict instructions I wouldn’t have anything to do with Donnie, but what does he do? Comes on stage and ruins my séance. I was about to seriously prophesize.”

“You have to forgive him, for the sake of your own karma. He’s gone now, called to a higher plane for reincarnation. He’ll pay for any mistakes he made in the next life.”

Sylvian nodded and smiled. “You’re right. In a way, he actually did me a favor. It was a struggle, but I’m back on my feet again. I paid the folks off last year and I now I own this yurt. Would you like to see inside? It’s bigger than it looks from outside.”

“Oh, yes. Delightful.”

They went inside the yurt with bright, chirruping laughter, enthralled by each other’s company.

***

Kurt walked up the short metal staircase and knocked on the circular wooden door. Frodo opened it and broadly smiled.

“So, curiosity finally overcame you. Come on in.”

Kurt stooped inside to avoid the low curved roof.

“Please to be having a seat. Tis easier for big folk.”

The long, narrow parlor was luxuriously furnished with antiques built to Frodo’s scale except for a regular sized armchair that Kurt occupied. Frodo sat opposite him on an elegant blue chaise lounge.

“And are you enjoying the Fest, me lad? Ah, you should have been seeing the revels the elves used to put on in Riverdell. There were some rare days.”

“Oh, give me a break, Frodo. Why not give that Lord Of The Rings shtick a rest? You don’t have to put on that act for me. I never even read the books.”

Instead of becoming angry, Frodo laughed long and hard.

“Oh, man. This is really excellent. I’ve been wondering for years if anybody would ever come along and just tell me how full of it I am to my face, but no one ever did, no matter how thick I laid it on. You’re the first guy ever with the balls to call bullshit on me. Say, you want a beer?”

Kurt was about to readily assent, but then warily asked, “What kind?”

“Genny Cream, of course.”

“My man. Yes, please, very much so.”

“Hold tight.”

Frodo went in back and returned with a glass of cold beer and a ham sandwich on a plate. He handed them to Kurt.

“I thought you might be hungry after that hippy junk.”

“Dude, you’re like water in the desert. Thanks so much.”

Kurt quickly ate the sandwich and washed it down with the beer. Frodo got a beer for himself.

“What do you think of the Fest, Kurt? You don’t really strike me as the kind of guy who enjoys stuff like this.”

Kurt laughed. “I’m not, but my girlfriend is. You know, you got to be obliging.”

Frodo smiled. “You must really be into her.”

“I’d walk through fire for Flora. Tell me about this furniture. These look like real antiques.”

“They are. These were the furnishings for a house in Midget City.”

“You mean the place in Dreamland in Coney Island?”

“Exactly. You must like old New York history. I bought them at an auction. Cost me some, but worth it. Everything’s beautiful and exactly my size.”

“It was worth it. So what brings you to the Fest? Seems like you’re not any more into this stuff than I am.”

“For me, this is just a business. It’s way better than being tossed at office parties or working as an extra in music videos. This way I get to see the world and be my own boss. I’ve been everywhere. Australia, Indonesia, Easter Island. They don’t consider Burning Man started until I show up.”

“So you must know about Golden Phoenix.”

“I was wondering when you’d bring him up. That’s all anybody’s talking about right now. Yeah, I knew the phony, old Golden Pain In The Ass. Everyone did. Pretty much everyone got burned by him too, one time or another. He talked all this New Age stuff, had the rap down cold, but he was just another user, you know, a leech.”

Kurt finished his beer. “Why did Forest and Eitain have him come to the Fest if he had such a bad reputation?”

“That’s something folks wondered about for years. It’s not just because he was a parasite. He used their logo and other trademarks, claimed he was affiliated with the Fest. Made a nice piece of change selling Fest merchandise at other venues and a lot of other stuff he had no legal right to. Forrie and Eitain never saw any of that money.”

“Why didn’t they take him to court, get an injunction?”

“Good question. They never did. Instead, they just invited him back every year. Lots of people think it’s because Golden was tapping Eitain.”

“Forest must be as laid back as he claims.”

Frodo laughed. “Forrie can get angry, especially after he’s had a few. He’s had plenty of scraps one time or another. That’s why Eitain keeps him on such a tight leash. She calls the shots around here. So if she wanted Golden for the Fest, that’s what happened. Who else wanted that scumbag around besides her and dumb young hippies that don’t know any better?”

“Sounds like you had some bad experiences with him yourself.”

Frodo shook his head. “He tried to scam me once, but I had the sense to say no. I told him I work alone and always have. Golden never bothered me after that. I can’t really say I’m sorry he’s gone, even though I know that’s not cool, but it really doesn’t make any difference to me, you know. You have to deal with all sorts of folks at festivals, some good, some bad.”

“Yeah, I hear you.”

“You want another beer?”

“Thanks, I think I better get back to the camp and check up on Flora.”

“Hey, Kurt. You’re not pussy whipped, are you?”

“Yeah, and I love it.”

Both men laughed.

“Listen, Kurt, before you go. Like you said, this is a drag for a guy like you, somebody used to the mosh pit and punk rock and excitement. We’ll probably be stuck here a while until the Sheriff pulls that deputy. If you want a good buzz, you know, some crystal, I got a friend who can help you out.”

Kurt smiled and shook his head. “Thanks, but nowadays I stick strictly to beer.”

“OK. Absolutely no problem. Speaking of beer, you want to take a few with you?”

“If you don’t mind, that’d be great. Thanks, Frodo. Thanks for everything.”

Frodo gave Kurt a mesh bag with three bottles in it.

“Be careful with the caps. If they find one lying on the ground, they damn near crucify you. That’s another thing that gets me, the constant, better than you nit picking, you know?”

“You’re preaching to the choir. I’ll see you around, Frodo.”

“Come back again soon. Nice to talk to somebody sane.”

Fest Day Two, Evening

Rather than eat at the lodge, Kurt cooked supper that night at the campsite. He baked bread in a dutch oven and heated mac and cheese and coffee over the fire with fruit cocktail for dessert. They told each other what they’d learned over the course of their frugal meal.

“Can you believe it, Frodo thought I was a tweaker. Offered to score me some meth.”

“But you told him no, right?”

“Of course I did. If I copped some, do you think I’d tell you?”

“OK. You’ve got a point there.”

Flora tore a piece from the loaf.

“This is good. It makes sense that Frodo sells party favors. How else could he afford to haul that hobbit house around?”
“Yeah, you’re definitely right, come to think of it. I wonder if Eitain and Forest know about it.”

“If they do, they’d never let on. They have to stay squeaky clean themselves if they want to keep doing the Fest.”

“According to Frodo, Forest isn’t all that clean. He says he’s got a bad temper, especially when he drinks. Forest sounded good and pissed to me last night.”

“So do you think Forest did it, Kurt?”

“He seems to have the strongest motive. What I thought I heard Eitain and Forest arguing about was right. Frodo confirmed it. Goldie was stealing from Forest and Eitain. But they just let him.”

“Look Eitain’s an advanced soul, almost a bodhisattva, but she’s nobody’s victim either. She wouldn’t let Golden Phoenix just steal from her and Forest if he didn’t have some kind of hold on them. But what could it have been?”

Kurt finished his coffee. “Your guess is as good as mine. Something he could blackmail them with.”

“Maybe we’re looking at this too narrowly. What about the others? Why not Jason? After all, he planted the sword and then accused you. He’s the one who tried to get you in trouble. Sounds pretty suspicious to me.”

Kurt scowled. “He’s a cheese eater and a maggot, all right, but he doesn’t seem likely to me. Why would Jason kill Goldie when the schmuck’s his biggest fan? He probably just decided on his own that I did it and stole that stupid sword from Goldie’s crib so he could plant it. It was my good luck he went about it like an idiot. I’ll deal with him later once I take care of this.”

“What about Covington? You said Covington threw Golden Phoenix out. Maybe they got angry and had a fight.”

“Possible, but I doubt it. Goldie didn’t die in a fight. Somebody hit him in the back of the head with a blunt instrument and then dragged him into the lake. Covington wouldn’t have the balls to do that. As big a hump as he is, I’m inclined to believe his story. Goldie left his place sometime after two and somebody ambushed him by the lake after that.”

“Well, I don’t think Sylvian had anything to do with it. Golden Phoenix did her wrong, but she’s evolved enough to forgive him.”

“Yeah, plus she just doesn’t look like she’s got the upper body strength. No, for that it would have to be somebody like Forest or maybe even Eitain. She looks strong enough. Still, according to Frodo, everybody had a good reason to hate Goldie.”

“We don’t have much time.”

“No, we don’t. Look out, someone’s coming.”

Kurt’s keen ears picked up footsteps on the trail long before Eitain appeared in the campfire’s circle of light. Kurt and Flora smiled widely, friendly and hospitable, no hint on their faces of their previous discussion.

“Hello, Eitain. How nice to see you. Please have a seat. Would  you like something to eat? We haven’t got much, but you’re welcome to it.”

“Oh, thanks so much, Flora, but what I really wanted to do was ask how you two have been faring. This morning’s tragedy has been traumatic for all of us. I’m sure you must feel it particularly, Kurt, after that violent encounter with Golden Phoenix so soon before his abrupt transmutation from the sublunary sphere. Now the only way you can ever reconcile with Golden Phoenix will be when your spirits meet on the astral plane. I want you to know that there are grief counselors available at the lodge ready to encounter with you to corroborate your feelings.”

“That’s OK. Thanks.”

“Yes, the strong, silent type. There’s something else I wanted to ask you about. Forest and the other Fest men are preparing the Temple of the Invincible Sun for immolation tonight. It’s sort of a tradition for all the men to pitch in. I was wondering if  you wouldn’t mind helping.”

“Just the men? Isn’t that kind of sexist?”
Eitain frowned. “I suppose that could be said, but it’s traditionally fallen to the men. It’s fairly hard, dirty work. If you don’t want to, of course-”

Kurt laughed. “Relax, Eitain. I’m just talking smack, like always. I’ll help get that huge barn set up to burn. Sure. I love burning things.”

Eitain laughed. “You are just a boy at heart. Once again, I’m in gratitude to you. You’ll find Forest with the others at the Temple. I’ll probably see you there. Bye for now, loves.”

Long legs swiftly carried her away. Kurt waited until she was well out of earshot.

“Great. I pay a thousand bucks to come upstate and work.”

“Well, why did you agree? You didn’t have to.”

“Hey, I’m not really mad, Flora. This is an opportunity. I can get Forest alone, brace him, you know, see how he reacts. But before I go, I remember. There’s one thing I want to check.”

He took out his phone, tapped it on, and texted in the search New York biker gang logos. Several thumbnails popped up. He expanded one, a grotesque caricature of a buzzard in a top hat.

“Just like I figured. I should be back soon.”

***

“Pile those up against the walls. Stack them high as you can.”

Forest stood in the apse and gave orders through a bullhorn. All around him, men placed burlap bags filled with charcoal, wood chips, and straw all along the cathedral’s interior, preparatory to being put to the torch later that night. Practically every man at the Fest did his bit with Covington a notable exception. Even Frodo was working, diminutive form burdened by two heavy bags. Kurt approached Forest.

“Hello, Kurt. Glad you came to help out. Real good of you.”

“Thanks. Look, could we go somewhere and talk?”

Forest gestured around him with the bullhorn. “I’m kind of busy right now.”

“We need to talk. About Donnie. Donnie Stutzmann. The guy I call Goldie?”

Forest’s eyes went wide. The bullhorn dropped to his waist.

“OK. Let’s go outside.”

They left the apse through a side exit. Forest faced Kurt, a scowl on his face.

“So what the hell do you want to talk about, Malaparte?”

“Like what was up with you and Goldie? He was blackmailing you, right? That’s why you let him rob you blind. He had you over a barrel.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, man. Yeah, Donnie acted up a lot, but that doesn’t mean I let him get away with it just because he had some kind of hold over me.”

“Forest, I heard you and Eitain arguing about it last night. You said he was ripping you off.”

“So you’re just a little sneak. So what. Big deal. I was just drunk and talking shit. Just what exactly would Donnie blackmail me about anyway?”
“How about the fact you used to be a Road Vulture?”

Forest’s face went gray. “How did you find that out, you little weasel?”

“The tat on your shoulder. You burned that yourself, didn’t you? You should have just gone to a tattooist and had him do something else over it. Bet there’s still an outstanding warrant on you, huh? Judging by how old you are, whatever you did was a while ago, so that means probably murder.”

“God damn you, Malaparte, if you tell anybody-”

“Whoa. Hang on there, Forest. I haven’t told anyone. And if you’re worried about me ratting you out, I don’t ever talk to cops. Never.”

He gave Forest a hard, mean look. “Not unless I absolutely have to. So that’s what he was blackmailing you about, right?”

Forest frowned, but nodded. “Yeah, I was a Vulture and I got a sheet on me, but I didn’t kill him. Eitain and I were in the lodge. She can tell you. I was with her all night.”

Kurt shrugged. “From what I heard her say, she didn’t like Goldie much either.”

“So what, man? Everybody who knew him hated Donnie sooner or later. He ripped people off right and left all the time he talked this spiritual bullshit. Lots of other people could have killed Donnie. Why don’t you go bother them and leave me alone? You’re seriously bringing me down.”

“I’ll talk to whoever I have to, Forest. I’m not going to let anybody pin Goldie on me.”

“Jesus. You’re such a-”

Forest raised his meaty fists. Kurt wagged an admonitory index finger at him.

“Remember what happened when Goldie tried.”

“Look, man. Just get out of here, OK? We don’t need your help, all right?”

“Sure thing. See you around.”

Kurt left, but kept a close, sidelong watch on Forest until he went back inside the Temple. He took the trail that wound around the lake back to the camp. Impromptu fireworks erupted from the lake’s other side to cheers and screams. The sudden burst of light destroyed his night vision. When darkness resumed, he waited for his vision to adjust again.

A swish through the air, something heavy headed his way. Kurt ducked, but was still caught on the temple. The glancing blow knocked him cold. He hit the ground heavily.

***

Kurt came to, brought round by intense heat, trussed hand and foot and stuffed into a burlap sack. There was a loud, awful, steady roar, the sound only raging flames made.

Kurt felt other bags beneath him. He rocked back and forth until the sack fell from the pile. Kurt hit the ground. The burlap sack tore open and he wriggled out.

Kurt found himself inside a blazing inferno, the Temple of the Invincible Sun apotheosized into a shimmering cathedral of fire. His bonds were too tight and strong to escape. Dimly in the distance, heavily obscured by smoke and flames, there was a black gap, the main exit.

Rather than crawl like a worm, Kurt rolled. He turned himself over and over, heedless of sharp stones and hot embers, fast as he could in a desperate bid to escape the fiery tomb.

A huge joist cracked at one end and fell, headed directly for him. Kurt rolled on toward the opening. Tears and blood streamed down his face as he gasped in superheated air.

Kurt rolled outside scant seconds before the joist crashed to the ground. He lay a few feet from the blazing structure, exhausted, unable to go further.

“Hey, look. A dude just came out.”

“Must be some kind of performance art piece, bro.”

“Don’t stand there, you idiots. Can’t you see he’s in trouble? Go help him,” a woman cried.

Several people ran up and dragged Kurt to safety. A man cut him loose with a buck knife. A medic hastened over. He bandaged Kurt’s head, stretched him out, and checked him for shock and concussion.

“You don’t look in too bad shape for somebody who pulled a stunt like that. What kind of drugs are you on, dude? They must be amazing. You don’t have to worry anymore though. You’re in good hands now. Soon as we get a stretcher up here, we’ll carry you to the Detox Tent where you can get some real treatment.”

Kurt stood up.

“Whatever, man. I got business.”

He pushed the medic aside and briskly ran around the lake. The Fest was in full swing. A towering bonfire raged in the Fire Dance Drum Circle’s center. Men and women energetically banged and thumped on every percussion instrument imaginable, from congas, timbales, and snares to tin pots, pans, and wooden sticks. Cacophonous, rhythmless pounding buffeted Kurt’s ears as he ran past. Butt naked, psychedelically painted young women whipped flaming ropes while festgoers staggered and lurched about the circle in a shambolic rondelay. Naked and deliriously high, Ariadne and Jason stumbled laughing out of the crowd, straight into Kurt’s path. Jason froze with fear.

“Now hold on, man. The Fest is all about nonviolence.”

Kurt ignored him and hurried on.  He spotted Flora by the pier, face distraught with worry.  Eitain and Forest were with her. So was Rinton.

“Where’s Kurt? You have to find him, Ed. This man did something to him.”

“Don’t go accusing me of something I didn’t do, bitch.”

“Hold on there. No cussing, Forest. I don’t like that. Now, Flora, don’t you worry. I’ve got my deputies out looking for your boyfriend right now-”

A rush of running feet. They turned to see Kurt swiftly approach, face grim, implacable.

“Kurt, what happened?” Flora cried.

Terrified, Forest shrunk back, hands held out defensively.

“Now hold on, Malaparte.”

Rinton instinctively put his right hand on his pistol.

Kurt dashed past. He charged into the darkness. A small, shadowy figure fled from him like prey from a predator. Rinton shined his flashlight on them.

Frodo’s green cloak fluttered behind him as he ran. He turned and swung his staff at Kurt in a vicious, wild circle. Kurt dodged and sprang.  His right foot landed on Frodo’s chin. The blow knocked him flat.

“Malaparte, I warned you about assaulting people. Now I’ll arrest you sure.”

Kurt ignored Rinton. He put Frodo over his back in a fireman’s carry, picked up his staff, and walked over to the others. He laid Frodo on the ground.

“Take me in if you want, Ed, but be sure to take this hump along too. He’s the one that killed Goldie. Plus he tried to burn me alive, the rotten maggot. I guess that’ll teach me. Never trust a hobbit.”

“So now you’re the one accusing folks, huh, Kurt,” Rinton said. “I’d think you’d have  learned your lesson after that other fellow accused you. He was lying. Why on earth should I believe you now?”

“Because I’m not and I’ve got some evidence to back it up.”

He handed the staff to Rinton. “That’s what he cracked Goldie’s skull with.”

Rinton looked at the staff and smirked. “See, now you’re making the same kind of accusation that Jason fellow did. Why should I believe you instead of him?”

Kurt took the bandage off his head and pointed to the bloody gash in his temple. Flora gasped and sobbed.

“See that, Ed? Think I’m faking this? The dent matches the tip of Frodo’s staff exactly. That’s what this maggot did to me. Frodo must have spied on us while I was talking to Forest about Goldie earlier tonight, just like he was eavesdropping on you now when I caught him. He got scared I suspected him and set up an ambush, hit me while I was night blind, then stuck me in a sack and put me in the temple to burn. Good thing I got a thick Italian skull and came to in time. Take that stick to the morgue and put the brass tip to Goldie’s head. You’ll find another exact match.”

Grudging doubt suffused Rinton’s florid face. Kurt clapped the bandage to his bleeding wound.

“There’s more. Tell your deputies to go to Frodo’s hobbit house at the parking lot and toss the place. If you don’t find a good sized stash of meth and coke, you can indict me for killing Goldie and I’ll plead guilty. I ain’t lying, Ed. That’s why he killed Goldie.”

“How’s that? Say that again, Kurt.”

“Frodo offered to sell me speed. Flora figures he’s probably the hard drug connection for the Fest. Goldie must have known and tried to blackmail him. Goldie was a huge scumbag.”

“He wasn’t an appealing victim; that’s for sure. We ran a search once we got a positive ID on him and turned up a misdemeanor conviction for running bad checks on his own parents. He did two years in Bare Hill.”

Kurt scowled. “What a skeeve. See, Ed, it all makes sense. Goldie put the squeeze on Frodo so he decided to kill him. He cracked his skull while he was walking back from Covington’s crib and floated him out in the lake hoping people would think he had an accident and drowned.”

Forest broke in. “What Kurt says is true. Frodo’s the go to guy for party favors.”

Rinton gave Forest a hard, unforgiving look.

“And how long has this been going on, Forest?”

Forest hung his head and sputtered. “Well, I just found out about it myself, Ed. I would have told you just as soon as I could, but with the murder and all the trouble-”

“We believe in privacy and freedom of expression as absolute rights, Sheriff,” Eitain said.

“Even when people break the law? Maybe this should be the last festival you folks are allowed to have.”

“So, Ed,” Kurt interjected. “Are you going to have your deputies search Frodo’s place?”

“Persistent, aren’t you, Kurt? Yeah, guess I’ll have to now Forest here has put his trash right out in the street.”

Rinton bent his head and spoke a few, curt orders into a tiny commo mike suspended from his neck. The mike flashed green in acknowledgement. Frodo came around. He groaned and tentatively shifted his lower jaw around. Rinton helped him to his feet.

“Jesus, Malaparte, why did you kick me?”

Kurt laughed. “I’ll answer that when you tell me why I have this gash in my head. You hit me from behind and left me to burn, Frodo, so I can’t say I sympathize. And here I thought you were the only cool bro in this silly zoo. You killed Goldie all right. Sure you did.”

“Like hell. Sheriff, this is the man that killed Golden Phoenix. The two of them fought yesterday. That proves they hated each other. I was trying to defend myself just now.”

Kurt smiled. “You tried to clock me like before only this time I saw you coming. Look, Frodo, or whatever your real name is, you know you killed Goldie. You tipped your hand when you tried to sell me speed. You figured I was just some dumb punk you could bullshit and sell me drugs into the bargain. Now you’re stuck with the rap, like it or not.”

Frodo snorted derisively. “How’s somebody like me supposed to drag or carry people big as you or Golden Phoenix far as you claim? It just doesn’t make sense. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Dude, I saw you carry two sacks of kindling at the temple when normal guys could barely handle one. You’re strong as a horse, Frodo. Why not be a mensch and confess? Man up, you know?”

“Malaparte, you hump, why don’t you just go f-”

There was a beep and red flash from Rinton’s neck mike.

“Go ahead.”

“Hicks here, Ed. You sure got a sharp nose, about as good as Pointer’s. We had to about crawl on our hands and knees to get around inside, but Pointer dragged us over to a tiny antique desk, barking his head off. We found a big stash. We’re just starting to run field tests, but it looks like a pound of cocaine and methedrine apiece. This guy came loaded for bear.”

“Good work, Dan. Make sure you’re super careful about the chain of custody on this one. I don’t want any slipups that might hurt us later on in court.”

“Copy that, Ed.”

Rinton fixed his steady gaze on Frodo. There was no judgment or malice in his eyes, only the certainty of what he must do.

“Frodo, a lot of what Kurt said has turned out true. I don’t have any choice but to put you under arrest for possession of narcotics with intention to distribute. There’s also the assault against Kurt here and the alleged attempted murder. There are probably more charges to come.”

Frodo protested, but Rinton held up a meaty hand.

“Please keep quiet, Frodo, for your own sake. I need to read you your rights, so just bear with me.”

After he’d finished the Miranda warning, Rinton took handcuffs from his utility belt and cuffed Frodo’s hands behind his back.

Flora went to Kurt and embraced him, tears streaming from her eyes.

“Honey, what’s the matter? I’m OK.”

“No, you’re not. You’re injured. That little bastard hurt you. I hate him. Hate him.”

“Hey, hold on there. What kind of talk is that? What happened to my sweet, loving, hippy chick?”
“I hate anyone who tries to hurt you, Kurt. You need to go to the hospital. That needs attention.”

“It looks worse than it is.”

Two deputies took charge of Frodo and escorted him to the parking lot where patrol cars’ blue lights flashed. Rinton went over to Kurt.

“Kurt, you’ve surprised me. I have to admit that. I’d appreciate it if you ‘d step over here for a minute so we could have a chat.”

“Ed, my boyfriend needs medical attention and he needs it right now, this second.”

“I understand that, Flora. I’ll take him to the hospital. This will only take a moment.”

“It’s no problem, Flora. Come on, Ed.”

The two men drew aside from the others.

“Thanks, Kurt, for speaking with me. I never saw a case quite like this. That was some good work on your part tracking down who killed Stutzmann. I have to say I owe you one. You did as good a job putting the finger on the perp as any detective with twenty years experience.”

He paused and gave Kurt a searching look. “That’s what got me to thinking.  I recall hearing some tales a year or so back about a young man posing as a law enforcement officer at local music festivals who pretended to arrest hippies so he could steal their drugs and then let them go. You wouldn’t know anything about that fellow, Kurt, would you?”

Kurt smiled and shook his head. “Oh, hell no, Ed. I got enough of the woods in the Crotch, believe you me. And all I ever do is drink beer. Why would I want drugs?”

The two men looked each other in the eye. A flash of understanding passed between them.

“Glad to hear that, Kurt. Let’s head out. I need to question Frodo and you need medical attention.”

“I won’t argue, Ed.”

Rinton and Kurt went to the others. Flora draped one of Kurt’s arms around her thin shoulders. Kurt smiled and held her tight.

“You’re going to the hospital right now. And don’t give me any snake eater nonsense about putting in the stitches yourself. You need to see a doctor.”

“Babe, I’m with you. Ed’s taking me.”

“And I’m coming along.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Flora.”

She smiled and Kurt kissed her. They headed with Rinton toward the parking lot. As they passed, Forest flashed a sidelong grateful look and muttered, “Thanks, bro.”

Eitain said, “You’re a real warrior, Kurt. You brought Jinse Fenghuang’s killer to justice. And you suffered a grievous wound in the bargain. Cuchulainn himself could have done no finer. We are in gratitude to you, Kurt Malaparte.”

Kurt gave Eitain his most wicked smile. “Thanks, Eitain. Let’s do it again next year.”

 

Bio: Mark Mellon is a novelist who supports his family by working as an attorney. His short fiction has recently appeared in Deadman’s Tome, Hinnom, and Thuglit.  Four novels and over fifty short stories have been published in the USA, UK, and Ireland.  A novella, Escape From Byzantium, won the 2010 Independent Publisher Silver Medal for F/SF.  A website featuring his writing is at www.mellonwritesagain.com.