A Trace of Gold: Murder Chicago Style

A Trace of Gold (chapters 16, 17, 18)

SIXTEEN

McKinney stood at his kitchen window, sipping coffee from a mug with "C8H10N4O2," the molecular formula for caffeine, printed on it. Unlike the rest of the apartment, the kitchen walls weren't decorated with Lucite-encased insects. Angelina wouldn't allow it. Instead, there was a poster covered with pictures of pies and cakes—"Periodic Table of the Desserts." Down in the yard, Carla, on her hands and knees, crawled up and down the rows of vegetables. "Probably killing off every beetle she finds," McKinney muttered. He slid in between the window and the kitchen table to get a better view, wishing she'd look at him with her dark, playful eyes again. The thought depressed him. It seemed like he hadn't minded his loneliness quite so much before. It had taken almost two years to get used to it but, once he did, it was kind of a solace. There's a safety in loneliness, McKinney thought, that's comforting, no pressure to be anything other than what you are. If you spill soup on your shirt, or blow your nose on your napkin, nobody will look at you disapprovingly. There's no one for whom you're a diminished expectation, no one to disappoint.

He looked up at the summer sky and saw a single cloud, meandering its way to the horizon, painted gold by the late afternoon sun. He envied it. That kind of loneliness seemed almost attractive. Certainly it was bearable. He lowered his gaze, and there was Carla, looking up in his direction. He jumped back from the window, stepped in the dog's food bowl, and slammed his hip into the table. The sugar bowl rolled to the opposite edge of the table and, before he could catch it, plunged to the floor. He was kneeling on the tile, cleaning up sugar, kibble, and glass, when Angelina came in, holding their gym bags.

"Time for tai chi, Dad. Let's go."

With Carla avoiding him, it seemed like tai chi class was the only time McKinney was able to concentrate on something else, without the Phillips case trespassing on his thoughts. It was like putting his car on cruise control; years of training came into play as he focused his attention. Tonight he was doing some light sparring with one of the senior students. On the other side of the school, Angelina was practicing forms with the rest of the class in front of a mirror that covered all of one wall. The school had been an auto repair shop in a previous incarnation, so there was plenty of floor space. The high ceilings, exposed brick walls, and skylights were atmospheric but made the school expensive to heat or cool, consequently there was no air conditioning. McKinney's shirt was plastered to his back with sweat.

Master Kuo, the instructor, was about McKinney's age but several inches shorter and believed that tai chi should be taught as a martial art, not just as an exercise. He was fond of telling his students, "If you just want to learn to dance, why not take dancing lessons?" Instead of a traditional tai chi uniform he wore track pants and a sweatshirt. He'd been a top competitor in China, and an instructor and coach of the Hubei Province professional martial arts team before moving to the United States. Now, he wandered up and down the long room, correcting postures and giving advice to the eighteen students. He grabbed McKinney's arm and shook it. "Loosen up. You're too tight. You need peng jin, expanding energy, not stiffness. Pretend that you are a balloon and the inside air is pressing on all sides, trying to get out."

"Yes, sir."

"And lead the movement with your dan tien. The energy should move like a chain, from dan tien, up through torso, shoulder, arm, forearm, wrist, and palm."

"Yes, sir."

The dan tien, McKinney knew, was about two inches below his belly button, a central point for chi or energy development and, in most people, the center of gravity. McKinney was conscious of being too stiff, using muscle instead of proper technique to control his opponent. He and the other student stopped sparring to give Master Kuo their attention. The small man pulled up his sleeves, placed one hand on each of their chests and said, "Watch my body." Then he gave a little shake. To McKinney it looked as though Master Kuo barely moved, but he was thrown back two feet and had to struggle to maintain his balance. The other student slammed into the wall four feet behind him. "Watch a wet dog shaking off water," Master Kuo said. "It moves its body parts in sequence, not all at once."