Erik came up behind me and gestured to the hand. “Touch it.”
I made a sour face. “Why?” I was not one to go touching things I knew nothing about. Especially another’s art.
He shrugged and went up to the three-foot statue that was on the side of the concrete bridge and ran his large hand over the baby’s. “It’s supposed to bring good luck.” He lifted his hand and made a come-hither gesture.
I rolled my eyes and bumbled over to him, then gamely reached out and rested my palm over the tiny bronze hand. It was surprisingly warm to the touch, as though each person who touched it had left a piece of their energy behind, connecting us all by this tiny thread in the giant matrix of our world.
Erik led me farther down the bridge and to the top of a rise where a giant monolith stood. There were many sculptures surrounding it, all in granite. What was astonishing was that each sculpture was one solid piece of granite from which the artist had carved an image. And if my vision was correct, they were damn near perfect in scale. There were lovers, children, and even aged individuals with saggy skin and tired faces.
“All of these show the circle of life. Each stage.” Erik pointed to one section at a time, so I’d see how the art advanced.
“Incredible. And the monolith? Why is it made of bodies?” Probably the most astonishing yet frightening piece of art in the entire park. So many bodies were lying one on top of the other. Creating this massive structure that rose into the sky.
“There are a total of 121 human figures. Men, women, at different ages of life, with children at the top. It’s been interpreted by scholars as Vigeland’s vision of resurrection and striving and longing for something more. Maybe even a higher power.”
“Spirituality,” I murmured. “It feels like people trying to find their connection to God.”
He smiled. “Possibly. To me, art is meant to be whatever you feel when you look at it.”
“And what do you feel right now?” I looked at the sculpture and turned to find him looking only at me.
In that moment, his eyes were a transcendent portal directly to his soul.
“Blessed.”
Episode 34
Trust in Me
JOEL
“Watch her closely,” I warned Alan, one of my top security guards.
“Like a hawk, boss,” he promised.
I tilted my head. “She’s going to try and escape to trade herself for the child. Anything happens to her, I hold you and the rest of your team responsible.”
Alan crossed his arms over his chest, planted his feet hip distance apart, and nodded.
“Good man.” I patted him on the shoulder.
As I walked down the corridor of the hospital, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I never thought I’d use in this lifetime.
“Castellanos, long time no talk, amigo. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?” Diego Salazar, the regional head of the Latin mafia of the entire West Coast, answered as though we were actual friends. It was an unlikely pairing to be sure, but we’d met a few years ago when I inadvertently helped him out of a bind. A bind that constituted me saving his life.
The story was outlandish and truly a situation where I had been in the right place at the right time. Still, other motorists had not stopped. My limo had been headed to the Las Vegas airport when we saw a pristine Hummer crash into a blacked-out SUV. Shots were being fired into the vehicle through the window and then the Hummer battle-rammed the SUV repeatedly, going maximum speed until it hit the SUV so hard, the vehicle ended up spinning, crashing into another car, and rolling onto the shoulder of the freeway. The Hummer raced off, leaving the burning, bullet-riddled car in its dust. I instructed my driver and security team to pull over, and together we ended up saving Diego and his beloved “Baby Mama,” as he phrased it, as well as his brother. Unfortunately, the driver had sustained too much damage, but because we’d saved three lives, Diego made it very clear that he owed me three favors. None of which I’d collected on.
Until today.
“I have a situation, and I need immediate assistance.” I spoke intently into the phone.
“Whatever your wish, it is my command,” Diego asserted instantly.
My heartbeat settled to a normal rhythm at his response. “Do you know Aiden Bradford?” I growled, not capable of leaving the violence out of my phrasing.
“El cabrón who owns El Diablo Hotel and thinks he’s king of Las Vegas?” He chuckled wryly.
“That would be the one. He has taken something that I’m claiming as my own, and I want it back. Immediately. Time is of the essence.” I infused my words with the frustration I felt deep in my bones.