Three - The Street

WARNING: violence, mature theme

I made my way to the exit of the Brussels International Airport very late the next evening. There were no line ups for the taxis, and I was jetlagged. Most of the local travelers and tourists must have arrived earlier in the day. I only had a hoodie to shield me from the November weather so I hopped into the taxi at the front of the line. "English?" I inquired.

"Non." The driver spat. "Français!" Crap, I never actually learned the French language, so much for the Canadian side of me. I searched my memory for any exposure to French. Okay, here goes, "en ville." I guess it was enough, for now, the grumpy driver drove on towards the city.

Only one way to learn the language. Read! I pulled a sightseeing pamphlet from the cracked rack hanging from the passenger seat. I read it, then I grabbed more to read one by one until I grasped the grammar well enough to communicate with this driver. "Monsieur. Train hostel Schaerbeek." That was lame! Take me to the hostel?

The driver raised his nose and shook his head. I could hear him speak under his breath as he muttered, "les Américains." He raised his nose for he knew the sordid area of the city I requested. Well, it was all I could afford after this trip in his cab.

I heard nothing from dad since his initial phone call over thirty hours ago. Every call I made went directly to his voicemail. I guess I will have to find you. I wonder if grumpy would have any ideas? Dad has some pretty noticeable features. He's old.

I leaned forward and in the best French I could manage, which was very rudimentary, I asked. "Puis-je demander?" (May I ask?)

"Peu importe." (If you must) The driver seemed disinterested in any conversation this late at night. I wonder what the French words for cranky pants would be.

"Voir Américain?" (See American?) I asked knowing Jimmy would appear like an American.

"Non, fou Canadien!" He laughed.

Did I hear buster crab right? A 'crazy Canadian'? That had to be my dad. "Vieux?" (Old?) Hey it was the best I had for the moment. It wasn't as if I was studying the French language in China.

"Il se battait, saignait!" (Crazy, fighting) The driver raised his fist then pointed to his head. "Fou!" (Crazy)

I caught Fighting and crazy. That's a good chance it was dad. The I asked. "Où?" (Where)

"Rue d'aerschot! Gare du Nord." He spoke in a racy suggestive tone. (Red light district)

I caught red and light. Not too difficult to figure the rest out. I would say definitely, dad. Red light district'. "Là. Emmène là!" (Take me there!) I felt the adrenaline begin to build inside.

"Et maintenant?!"(now!) The cabbie began to fly off the deep end, even swearing at no one in particular.

"Oui!" Yes, you idiot, now! "Et maintenant?!"

We arrived in the red light district with a hundred and five euro flashing on his meter. Crap! He pointed to the meter and held his hand out. Nothing but the best customer service! I ripped a hundred and twenty euros from my meager collection, jammed it into his open hand and exited his taxi. He took off like the carriage driver in the movie, Dracula.

Okay where are you, Dad? Trying to be a hero! Right? "I guess I have to do this the old fashion way. Knock on doors and talk to the ladies. I bet you would do the same thing, Dad.

Here goes...hey ladies, looking for a crazy Canadian, about this tall, likes to smile. Probably trying to be your hero. Ally says he is pretty funny but then again she's married to him. Me? He tries too hard. He may be spouting bad dad jokes. Anyone? Crickets. Thought so.

There was no interest in opening a door to me. Maybe they thought I would be competition or they wanted no part in starting another on the rocky road to drug and physical abuse. No ladies, just looking for my dad...again, only took three years this time. Dude, I am always looking for you!

Apparently my knocking did gather some type of attention. Three idiots led the way straight to me trying not to appear too menacing. Of course I was wary, like my spidey senses kicked in warning me of impending stupidity. I hate being right about crap like this.

"Hallo. Bonjour." One spoke in a tone he thought was friendly but to me it just sounded condescending and creepy.

"See ya, guys." I turned to avoid the group by crossing the street. It did not work, my creep-o-meter was going crazy!

"Oh, wait, wait, wait. No need to leave!" The first creep spoke again. He just doesn't get how creepy that was.

No turning from these guys now. So creepy meet sarcasm-y. "Anything intelligent to say, garçons!"

"Oh ho ho! Boys. I like that. But my boss really wants to know...are you looking for work?" The lead man spoke, smiled then revealed a shiny set of teeth.

"Really?" My sarcasm was thick. "Can he speak for himself?" I was poking the sleeping bear and I knew it. More money in his mouth than in his bank account.

The three men parted and made way for their boss. A well dressed man in his forties stepped forward. I am certain this doushebag had many ladies under his control. While prostitution was legal, pimping was illegal, but still happened in pockets of the district. "Looking for work?" He asked confidently knowing his status on this street.

I couldn't wipe the stench of sleaziness from the air fast enough. So I answered best dressed pimp. "Yeah. Kicking you frickin ass down the street. Have a position open, Douche?" Fuck, I was pissed. I am just looking for my dad and four idiots slithered onto the street.

Three bodyguards turned and wiggled their skinny asses trying to antagonize me. The boss smacked two of the asses and laughed as he spoke with disrespect. "This little woman needs to know who owns the street. Garçons!"

The three men stood, turned and rushed me all at once. I quickly jabbed the front man just to distract him from my lightning fast kick that met his chin with an unbelievable force. His knees were weak and his mind was in a fog, I don't think he could focus. Before the lead scuzzy man hit the asphalt I landed the fastest six punches since Bruce Lee unleashed Wing Chun style of Chinese Kungfu to the world. I believe the saying is, 'biting off more than they will be able to chew tomorrow morning' or something like that.

The second joker was dazed and confused but uninjured. That was until the I jumped into the air, twisted 180 degrees just to provide an extra touch of power. It was time to rearrange his face, as I slammed the sole of my sneaker downward shattering his nose. With blood streaming profusely from his face, unconscious, he was unable to protect himself while falling against the first man now kneeling.

The third bodyguard pulled his gun. But before he could squeeze the trigger I used the shoulder of my first victim to rise quickly kicking the gun high into the air. My elbow landed atop his head crumpling him into a heap at my feet. I caught the handgun while staring directly at the Boss. I do not think he was expecting me to do what I just did. But two years of Tony helping me master Kungfu came in very handy this night.

The Boss spoke nervously to me knowing his situation looked bleak, at best. "You're hired." He spoke through a twitchy laugh. I hated weasels like this guy.

"Garçon drôle." (Funny boy) The sarcastic tone rippled from my mouth. Then I posed a question. "How about some answers?"

"About?" The Boss had a sheepish look on his face.

"I have a gut feeling you already know what I am about to ask since you own the street." I think my death stare made the man wet himself in the middle of the street. "Really?"

"Weak bla...aaa...der." The Boss sputtered at me. Yeah, no kidding, genius! "You are asking about an American. This tall." He held his hand slightly below his eye level. "A little gray, right here." He pointed to his temple area. "Hands like a bear!" He looked frightened just describing the man.

It certainly seemed like it was my dad but he was missing the goods, "keep going, Bossman!" I waited then punched his arm. "The punchline! Where the hell is he?" Maybe it was lost in translation, I don't know.

The aqua man pointed to the far end of the street. "Beyond this street there is a place where men go for...for a taste of the sun." Taste of the sun must have been a local term for a particular lady. The Boss offered one last piece of information. "Looking for the Trader."

"Hmmmm." I looked down at the puddle of urine at his feet. The Trader. That fits with the neighborhood. 'The underbelly'.

The Boss twitched his elbow releasing a knife into his hand. His demeanor changed believing he had an advantage on me. I was totally oblivious because he was so giving of information. He made a quick move driving forward looking to bury his knife into my stomach. Crap!

I was not ready but I noticed that odd movement from the Boss. My reflexes had me step back quickly and my quick hands attempted to block whatever was moving towards me. We both looked to the ground where blood was pooling then we looked at each other.

The knife was pulsating. It moved with each twitch of the Boss man's thigh muscle. I suggested. "Better call an ambulance." I ripped a strip of material from his expensive jacket to make a tourniquet. "Sit!" Yet another obvious suggestion.

I tied the tourniquet loosely on purpose and doe head yells at me. "Hey! Hey, hey that won't help!" Really? You're kidding me! I bet no one ever mixed this guy up with Einstein.

"Relax!" I grabbed the gun that was pointed at me earlier, took the clip and emptied the chamber. Then placed the handgun at the knot and began turning. "Does this hurt?" The moron didn't answer.

He finally responded. "Ahhhh, no." I cranked it more until the knife stopped pulsing and Boss screamed. "Okaaaay!"

"Hold the gun there." I placed his hand on the gun. The first man turned and looked at me. I quickly kicked his face, knocking him from his fog to a much better state of unconsciousness. "Oh, and don't bother looking for me, Boss. This was me playing." Then I quickly disappeared down the street to where my father was last seen by the pimp.

I felt a range of emotions as I closed in on a different part of the Red Light district of Brussels. It was now time for me to block it all out and ready myself for my challenge of finding, Dad. This part of the district was very different than where I ran from. I slowed my run to a cautious jog then to a paced walk. Something eerie was in the air.

There were no windows featuring women but it was still a place for sex. The smell lingered in the air. I was so freaking tired, jetlagged and my senses were in overdrive. I found a darkened doorway, sat and began to unclutter my mind. Meditating was very important for me to keep my mind from going full blown coo coo.

A deep breath and I was quickly into a mindful meditation. I cleared my thoughts and my body relaxed with my breathing technique. The stress of the long flight and the fight slid away as my mind settled into the present. Being in this state helped me toss all old thoughts and emotions aside leaving peace for my mind.

Just a short time later I opened my eyes, my body refreshed and my mind refocused on the task at hand. There it was, as it was all along, only my mind was not clear enough to pick up the tiny nodes of bacteria. The same bacteria that live on my father's skin. When those bacteria interact with his sweat it gives him his own unique odor. "Okay Dad, you're here. I can actually smell you."

This technically is not a super power but it could be. It was just that my freakish mind remembered the way my father smelled during the father-daughter dance at his wedding reception. Now, at least, I had a chance of finding him in a city I had never been.

The scent became more concentrated as I walked down the very dimly lit block and crossed the street. There were stairs that led to a run down, battered wooden door. Looking up I saw the windows in this part of the district were painted over. "What have you gotten yourself into, old man?" I cautiously ascended the stairs searching over both shoulders with each step for anymore pimps.

The door above me slowly opened as I looked up. Oh my!