Read Online The Second Rule of Ten: A Tenzing Norbu Mystery (Dharma Detective: Tenzing Norbu Mystery) by Gay Hendricks - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Gay Hendricks
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I kept running, closer and closer, focusing my eyes on the damp sand in front of me. At the last minute, I looked as I passed her, passed the perfectly pleasant-looking blonde woman who was not Heather, not even close to being Heather, unless you were me, once again distorting reality so it would fit a negative mindset.
I don’t need any outside enemies. I have a perfectly good one residing right between my ears.
I ran another mile or so. Stripping off my T-shirt and shoes, I ploughed into the icy ocean and windmilled through the waves like a maniac. For the next ten minutes I churned back and forth, parallel to the beach. One good thing about swimming in ice water is you don’t spend much time thinking about anything else. I charged back out, gasping from the frigid bite of saltwater on my skin. A lone surfer in a full wetsuit, bobbing on his board, hooted at my lunacy. The shock of cold was bracing. As I pulled on my shirt and shoes, a wind kicked up and I broke into a sprint, feeling its welcome force helping from behind. I poured it on, exhilarating in the feeling of lungs and heart working together at high speed. I came to rest, panting, on the sand near the parking lot, and stretched out my thrumming muscles.
I strolled back to my car a new man.
I exchanged wet clothes for dry ones, using the Mustang’s passenger door for cover. I felt so much better as I drove up Topanga Canyon that I decided to practice changing my mental channel as well, to one that played more positive tunes. I envisioned myself with a ridiculously high-paying PI job, working for someone I respected. I pictured myself doing such good work that my phone started ringing off the hook with clients. Then I pictured myself enjoying a really good meal at a romantic restaurant with the lovely Heather, wine and dessert included, and nary a blink at the tab.
I pulled my Mustang into the carport, gave its marigold coat a quick once-over with a chamois to remove any sea salt, and strolled up the path to my house.
Tank was on his favorite cushion, busily licking his fur, the perfect self-cleaning oven.
“Hello, my friend. Miss me?” I said. “I missed you.” Tank’s green eyes narrowed with pleasure, as he got to work on his paws.
I grabbed an apple and moved onto the deck. A warm furry body, soft and alive, rubbed up against my ankles, and I felt a wave of happiness as I stood and munched. Soon I would step back inside, fill Tank’s bowl, treat myself to a nice long meditation, cook up some brown rice and stir-fry, and settle into bed with my Kindle and my cat. I allowed myself one more thought. Maybe, just maybe, everything was pretty fine, just the way it was.
Tank lived that way. Why not me?
C HAPTER 7
Mike’s text had come in around 6 A.M. I try not to look at my phone until I’ve stretched and meditated, and it was almost two hours later when I checked my messages and called him back.
“Dude. You’re insane.” Mike’s voice was more of a croak. “I said I was going to bed, to call me late this afternoon.”
“If you slept at night like a normal person I wouldn’t have to wake you up,” I said. “So what did you find?”
I heard groans, and a lighter, female voice murmuring in the background. Mike and his girlfriend were still co-habiting happily together, after almost a year. Tricia was a graduate student, and quite the night owl as well. I’d recently asked him what their secret was. “She’s the only person I’ve ever met who’s smarter than me,” he’d admitted. “No offense, boss. Plus, she’s hot, and she laughs at my jokes.” I’d filed the conversation away for future consideration.
Mike finally started talking. “Right, so I looked into Marv Rudolph, like you asked. Interesting story. He came out of nowhere in the early seventies and was making a fortune within ten years. His business model was pure genius. Find little gems at foreign film festivals, get them for a song, turn around and remake them for
I don’t need any outside enemies. I have a perfectly good one residing right between my ears.
I ran another mile or so. Stripping off my T-shirt and shoes, I ploughed into the icy ocean and windmilled through the waves like a maniac. For the next ten minutes I churned back and forth, parallel to the beach. One good thing about swimming in ice water is you don’t spend much time thinking about anything else. I charged back out, gasping from the frigid bite of saltwater on my skin. A lone surfer in a full wetsuit, bobbing on his board, hooted at my lunacy. The shock of cold was bracing. As I pulled on my shirt and shoes, a wind kicked up and I broke into a sprint, feeling its welcome force helping from behind. I poured it on, exhilarating in the feeling of lungs and heart working together at high speed. I came to rest, panting, on the sand near the parking lot, and stretched out my thrumming muscles.
I strolled back to my car a new man.
I exchanged wet clothes for dry ones, using the Mustang’s passenger door for cover. I felt so much better as I drove up Topanga Canyon that I decided to practice changing my mental channel as well, to one that played more positive tunes. I envisioned myself with a ridiculously high-paying PI job, working for someone I respected. I pictured myself doing such good work that my phone started ringing off the hook with clients. Then I pictured myself enjoying a really good meal at a romantic restaurant with the lovely Heather, wine and dessert included, and nary a blink at the tab.
I pulled my Mustang into the carport, gave its marigold coat a quick once-over with a chamois to remove any sea salt, and strolled up the path to my house.
Tank was on his favorite cushion, busily licking his fur, the perfect self-cleaning oven.
“Hello, my friend. Miss me?” I said. “I missed you.” Tank’s green eyes narrowed with pleasure, as he got to work on his paws.
I grabbed an apple and moved onto the deck. A warm furry body, soft and alive, rubbed up against my ankles, and I felt a wave of happiness as I stood and munched. Soon I would step back inside, fill Tank’s bowl, treat myself to a nice long meditation, cook up some brown rice and stir-fry, and settle into bed with my Kindle and my cat. I allowed myself one more thought. Maybe, just maybe, everything was pretty fine, just the way it was.
Tank lived that way. Why not me?
C HAPTER 7
Mike’s text had come in around 6 A.M. I try not to look at my phone until I’ve stretched and meditated, and it was almost two hours later when I checked my messages and called him back.
“Dude. You’re insane.” Mike’s voice was more of a croak. “I said I was going to bed, to call me late this afternoon.”
“If you slept at night like a normal person I wouldn’t have to wake you up,” I said. “So what did you find?”
I heard groans, and a lighter, female voice murmuring in the background. Mike and his girlfriend were still co-habiting happily together, after almost a year. Tricia was a graduate student, and quite the night owl as well. I’d recently asked him what their secret was. “She’s the only person I’ve ever met who’s smarter than me,” he’d admitted. “No offense, boss. Plus, she’s hot, and she laughs at my jokes.” I’d filed the conversation away for future consideration.
Mike finally started talking. “Right, so I looked into Marv Rudolph, like you asked. Interesting story. He came out of nowhere in the early seventies and was making a fortune within ten years. His business model was pure genius. Find little gems at foreign film festivals, get them for a song, turn around and remake them for
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