This Too Shall Pass

 246.

We talk well past midnight. VJ surprises me with a depth of understanding rare for a sixteen year old kid. We have exchanged ideas on music; Marc Knopfler's masterful use of the D-minor, C, B-flat, A rundown in Sultans of Swing, religion; That Buddhism is more a philosophy than a non-secular ecclesiastical belief doctrine, and English grammar, featuring a rather inspiring opinion exchange on ablaut reduplication theory. I intentionally avoid the topic of law, justice and our current national political bias as long as possible, but the inevitable eventually wins out and I am forced to pry open the box named for a Greek gal by the name of Pandora and look inside.

"I am still confused about why Dad is being held, I assume against his will. What did he do to deserve such a fate? Guitar George, Siddhartha, Zeus, and I, inquiring minds all, want to know," VJ says in a topsy-turvy philosophical paraphrasing of musical art history and mythology.  

As much as I would have preferred to keep the reality from him until certain factual aspects of the case are resolved, I feel he has passed the test of character and deserves to know the truth. Or, I compromise with my inner analytical observer, some of the truth. Not the whole enchilada of truth, but a small sampling of tasty morsels. I owe him that. DESPITE THE FACT THAT THE ANSWER TO HIS QUESTION IS THAT HIS DAD PUT THREE NINE MILLIMETER SLUGS IN MY BACK FROM POINT BLANK RANGE!

"What is your understanding of your Fathers line of work?" I redirect, shaking myself from the shout.

"He is a Private Investigator." VJ promptly answers.

"Does he ever share information with you regarding his clientele?"

"No, he says that is confidential. I asked him once and learned that lesson the hard way."

"OK," I sympathize seeing the ice ahead as rice-paper thin. I slow the pacing of conversation to avoid a mental freeze, "Your Dad took on some customers that deal in, how should I say it? Nefarious ways and means to achieve their desired results."

He lowers his head to eliminate any outside distraction and considers the implications of my tap-dance. After the pause, he looks back to me with cloudy eyes about to unload a river of rain, and asks, "Mafia guys?"

"Maybe. But the important part is that he got himself involved in some pretty nasty stuff and they, the clients, asked him to do a few things that put both his feet in very hot legal water. Now, they want him out of the way to keep him from spilling the beans back on them."

Again VJ is silent as he reflects on the breaking news.

"So that was the intent of the kidnappers, to leverage us with Dad to keep him quiet?" He asks having already accepted the unfortunate answer to his own question as a pawn might suddenly becoming self-aware of the pending trade of minor pieces.

"Yes."

"So, if you've arrested the kidnappers and Dad refuses to talk, keeps omerta, is this over?" He asks, again cognizant of the inevitable negative response and wanting nothing more than a return to the normality of football practice and his homeroom peers.

"Not yet," I say, "We have a lot of work left to do, but we're on it 24/7 as you have seen, so let's leave it at that for today and get some rest. You'll have to trust us to do our jobs."

"And this too shall pass?"

"And this too shall pass."