A hardboiled crime story about revenge and getting even, at any cost, even while on a yoga retreat.

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She was tired of her stalled life and meaningless job––a dishwasher at the Greasy Plate Café in Santa Cruz. And her sex life was nearly nonexistent: there were a few lovers, but after the sex it was always the same in the morning, a note left on the bed: It was fun. I’ll call you––her phone never rang.

Katie had been at the Greasy Plate for two years washing the same sloppy dishes and listening to the same tired stories day in and day out from her boss and coworkers. Nothing ever changed, until she saw a flyer on the café’s community board: Gain Material Wealth Through Chanting and Meditation. Come and Join Guru Bicroom Slyme for a night of material wisdom. Your bank account depends on it. Thursday, 8pm. San Jose Spiritual World. $5.00 Donation. Nobody will be turned away.

When she arrived, the small room was crowded with mostly hippie-looking and new age-looking women in their fifties and sixties, along with a few middle-aged men. Katie sat next to a skinny, weathered-looking man is his thirties. He had short-cropped orange hair, a rutted, oily face, and small yellow eyes that were perpetually moist, as were the corners of his tight mouth. And he couldn’t stop staring at her––Katie was nondescript-looking, and to most men she was invisible, with her long, mouse-brown hair that she wore in a braid down to the middle of her back, and her complexion was like a colorless dawn, and her brown eyes lacked sparkle. Her clothes were plain, and she wore old Birkenstocks with rainbow socks. The orange-haired man smiled through crooked brown teeth and thin chapped lips, and said, “Hi, I’m Archie.” Katie smiled politely, then moved to another chair.

Throughout the room a gong sounded. The place went silent, still. Guru Bicroom Slyme entered quickly from a side door and sat in an overly large, white and gold throne at the front of the room. He closed his eyes and chanted, Nee Mee Wun Tun Ta Tu Ta, for fifteen seconds––Slyme was adorned in the stereotypical white Indian guru rags with the standard long dark hair and grubby-looking chest-length beard. He was fifty-eight-years-old and, ironically, from Bandera, Texas: the cowboy capitol of the world. His birth name was Chet Russell.

After chanting, Slyme looked around the room. He smiled, and, with a pronounced Texan drawl, said, “Welcome, to your material wealth and riches. Tonight, I will introduce you to a path of happiness that will lead you to your rightful share of the material world. With this new enlightenment you will be happy. Yes, money is happiness.” He paused, smiled and continued,

“This is only an introduction. And to stay on this healthy path of financial happiness you must come to my ashram in the Santa Cruz mountains to learn about the inherent value of meditation, along with this potent chant, Nee Mee Wun Tun Ta Tu Ta, to gain access to your inner-power, to let this power-surge come forth as your spiritual guide, so that you may truly own your rightful share of the material world. Yes, money is happiness.”

After listening to Guru Slyme speak for an hour on material wealth and your rightful share, two-dozen people signed up for the $2000.00 per person, month-long instructional at Slyme’s Ashram. Katie had $2500.00 in her bank account. She was ready to gamble on gaining control over her share of material wealth. She quit her job at the Greasy Plate. A month later she was at Guru Bicroom Slyme’s Santa Cruz mountain ashram seeking financial freedom through spiritual enlightenment.

A plain-Jane from the Midwest twenty-one-year-old Katie Luge appeared as dull as a dustmop until she was seen naked with her hair down at the hot spring. Her breasts were as full and firm as any harvest moon and bordered by a waist of tight curves that led to a magnificent ass and dazzlingly legs that could pull your eyes from your head and leave you happily blind. Katie was seen in a new light of succulence, while the group waited for Guru Slyme to come and lead the first meditation. Sitting in the warm water, a man in his late-thirties slid over to Katie and whispered hello. Katie smiled. He had a British accent along with that odd combination of attractiveness and homeliness that many male Brit’s have. He had thin, wiry, blond hair, with thick, bushy eyebrows that appeared as two caterpillars sleeping above his eyes. His bleached skin was nearly translucent, as if it weren’t there, but he had nice full lips and penetrating dark-blue eyes. He slid closer to Katie so that their thighs touched, and her heart raced like a hot engine. She hadn’t been naked with a man, nor had had any sex, in a few of months. She was aroused by this stranger’s closeness, and thought, how exciting it would be to get laid by an older, European man. The Brit sensed her excitement and slid even closer. Their shoulders touched and Katie’s heart pounded like a fist taking her rib cage apart. The Brit leaned in and whispered,

“Are you here with somebody?”

“I’m alone.” with a soft gasp.

“Let’s walk through the woods after meditation.”

“I’d love that.”

“I’m Finley Scott, from Bristol, U.K.”

“Katie Luge, from Lecompton, Kansas.”

From the redwood forest Guru Slyme viewed the hot spring with binoculars. He had especially watched Katie undress, which hardened him like a boy with a first erection, and then, to his dismay, Finley Scott had moved in on her. He had noticed Katie’s excitement when Scott whispered in her ear––Scott had followed Slyme to the ashram after attending his lecture in Bristol, and there was an unresolved issue between the two men––it was at that moment of seeing Katie naked that the guru decided she would be one of his intimates. He had many, but none as young and succulent as Katie.

When Scott noticed Slyme approaching the hot spring, he moved closer to Katie and put his arm around her waist. She placed her hand on the inside of his thigh near his sex. Scott became aroused.

When a few of the disciples stood up and bowed to the guru, it caused everyone to stand. The guru then noticed Scott’s erection and was irritated over his contact with Katie––Slyme was a short, thin man with dense body hair, who resembled a dwarfed gorilla. At seeing him naked, Katie was put-off by his appearance.

The guru sat in the water, looked at Scott, and said,

“Hello, Finley. Thank you for making the long journey.”

“Guru Slyme, thank you for having me.”

“Tell me Finely, how’s your young wife? Is she here with you?”

Katie’s expression soured, and Scott’s face turned somber, “She killed herself, a year ago. Shortly after we attended your lecture in Bristol.” Katie sighed with relief.

Slyme nodded, and then lowered his head and said, “Let us meditate on the immaculate energy that had brought us together for a month of spiritually infused financial wisdom, which only brings true happiness to your lives. Yes, money is happiness.”

There was silence all around the hot spring.

After a ten-minute meditation, the guru slid over to Katie and whispered in her ear. She said no thank you, and that she was going on a hike with Finley Scott. It was then Katie noticed that Slyme had a rancid body odor. She pulled back and slid closer to Scott. The guru was flattened by her reply: he was not accustomed to rejection from women.

After they dressed, Katie and Scott walked into the woods, leaving the guru’s thoughts to boil and fester like blisters of a skin disease. He did not handle competition well, and he thought: I will bring an end to this infatuation.

When the couple were out of sight the guru left the spring and headed for the binoculars he kept hidden in a tree. He located the couple in a patch of moss a hundred yards into the forest. They were naked. Scott was lying on his back and Katie was on top of him. They had fluid sex in several positions for a half-hour, and Katie had had several orgasms, until they collapsed onto the luscious green moss and fell asleep. Slyme watched the entire time while jerking himself off. Then his bitter thoughts went to work: he would get Scott out of the ashram, no matter what it took.

Later that day everyone was sitting at the outside tables having lunch. Katie and Scott sat closely together, like lovers do, while Guru Slyme was surrounded by a few of the older women who fawned over him, especially one good-looking woman in her fifties. She was more flirtatious than the others. But he was distracted by the display of affection between the new lovers. At that moment the guru had decided that he was going to tell Scott that he was uncomfortable with having him here with the unresolved issue between them. He would say that he truly regrets what had happened and it would be best for both of them if Scott were to leave the ashram.

Katie was living in bliss. She and Scott had sex multiple times that day, even to the point of others complaining to Guru Slyme about having to listen to her moans of pleasure coming from Scotts cabin. Katie had never experienced sex so many times with the same man before. She had transformed: her eyes sparkled with delight and she wore her hair down, and had cut it several inches, and she bought new clothes from the ashram’s boutique that were exotic and sensual. Her life had truly uplifted.

Katie asked Scott about his deceased wife. He told her that Slyme had seduced her, and that her suicide note had said: I had a moment of weakness with Guru Slyme. I failed you and I can’t live with myself.

Katie asked him why he was here, in the wake of betrayal, and with the tragic ending for his wife.

He told her that he needed to let it go. That he needed to move on. And this was the only way to resolve the negativity between him and Slyme, to come here and to forgive him. Scott also said that he didn’t believe in anything that Slyme taught. That it was his thirty-year-old wife who had been taken by his force of personality and promises. Scott confessed that meeting Katie was a bright, new beginning. She was a reviving light-source in his life––he had not expected intimacy with another woman so quickly after his wife’s death.

Later that day, Katie had moved into Scott’s cabin where, in between the guru’s lectures, they had spent most of their free-time fucking to the complaints of the other attendees.

In the early evening, while Finely Scott was alone relaxing in the meadow, and Katie Luge was on a hike with some other women, the guru approached him. Scott sensed Slyme’s negativity even before he spoke: the guru had demanded that Finely Scott should leave the ashram as early as possible tomorrow, because Slyme felt physically threatened by his presence.

Scott refused to accept Slyme’s demand. They had a loud, heated exchange of threats toward each other. Slyme gave him an ultimatum: “Either you leave or, starting tomorrow, I will separate the men from the women for the duration of this retreat. I will make sure that you and Katie will have no contact with each other what-so-ever for the rest of the month.”

“If you do anything to stand in the way of my relationship with her, I’ll make sure that you will never seduce another woman again.” Scott was livid. He was shaking. His hands had closed tightly into fists, and as he spoke saliva formed around of his mouth like a Rabid animal. He raised one fist to the level of Slyme’s eyes, and said, “I will bust your head open. You despicable pile of crap.”

Seeing that Scott was about to lose control Slyme backed away from him. But before he slithered off, Slyme replied through clenched teeth, “You are a nut-case out for revenge. I will make sure that you are removed from my ashram as soon as possible. You, Mr. Scott, are a dangerous man.” Slyme spat at his feet and walked away.

Standing in the woods, at the edge of the meadow, unnoticed by the two men, the fifty-year-old woman, who had fawned over Slyme earlier on, had witnessed the hostile exchange––she then ran after the guru and caught up with him on the path.

“Guru––Guru Slyme, wait, please wait.” She was slightly out of breath.

Slyme turned to look at her and then turned away and continued to walk.

“Please, wait.” the woman asked again. “I heard Finley Scott’s threats. Let me help you.”

Slyme stopped walking and turned to face the woman again. He was breathing heavily.

“Let me write a statement for you. I have the conversation in my head. He’s a horrible

man, full of anger and revenge. Let me help you in getting him legally off of the ashram.”

Looking at the woman, Slyme noticed for the first time how seductive she appeared dressed in sheer gypsy clothing that revealed much of her body. He noticed that, for her age, she had sexually stimulating energy. Though her face showed wear and she had deeply sad eyes, her body was well maintained. He stood close to her so that his breath was hot on her face. Her nipples became erect, pushing through the silk fabric.

“What is your name, again?”

“Kara–Kara Springs.”

Slyme was silent. Though his arousal was obvious. He stepped closer to her, and Kara shuttered. Slyme could feel the heat from her body against his. He remained silent. Breathing deeply.

“I want to study with you––privately.” said Kara, with a seductive tone. “I want to learn the power of the Chakras. I want to learn the positions of Kundalini. Please, I want you to take me ––to take me to the next level.” Kara was breathing heavily, and as she pressed her body against Slyme’s she felt his erection push into her stomach. She gasped.

“Yes, you are ready for the next level, and I will take you there.” Slyme pushed harder into Kara’s body. She gasped again, and her mouth was open and wet.

“Meet me tomorrow at the hot spring during my private time, at four-a.m. There, we shall begin.”

Then Slyme thought: there was something familiar about her––the structure of her face, her long, luscious dark hair. When he stepped back from her and began to walk away, he turned and asked, “Have I seen you somewhere? You seem familiar.”

“I had attended a few of your lectures in Los Angeles. I am sure that was where you had seen me.” Kara spoke seductively, while looking into his eyes.

“Tomorrow at four-a.m.” said Slyme. Then he walked away.

It was late evening. Katie had noticed that Scott was irritated over something, and she couldn’t help thinking: Was it toward her? Did she do something wrong?

That night they had loud and aggressive sex, and Scott was using macho language that she had not heard from him before and he fucked her harder than she had experienced with him, and he went on for longer than usual with anger-like energy––until they both passed out.

Around four-a.m. Katie woke up from a horrific dream about somebody holding her head under water. She was sweating, gasping for air, and then she noticed that Scott was not in bed. She had figured he was in one of the outside bathrooms. She forced herself to bypass the dream and to go back to sleep––today was an important day: Guru Slyme would reveal the coded mystery to Power Chanting Nee Mee Wun Tun Ta Tu Ta, and how to combine it with energizing Prana Yam and electrifying Meditation for gaining control of one’s material life––but in Scott’s eyes, Slyme was a charlatan who preyed on the emotions of women, and he needed to be dealt with. Scott was not, as he had told Katie, at the ashram to peacefully resolve the disharmony between he and Slyme.

In Bristol, Scott was a phycologist who had worked with children. He had a respectable and successful business, and was a pillar of strength in his community. His life had always been a fine balance of work and adventure, until his wife's suicide. When the note was found in her pocket saying that she had had sex with Slyme, Scott's mind twisted and bent like steel girders in an explosion. He started to drink heavily day and night, and his anger had festered and boiled all over his thoughts. His sharp-hate toward Slyme gathered and accumulated until it crawled under his skin and cut his heart open, and he would sob uncontrollably from the emotional pain of missing his wife. Scott had warned her that Slyme was an impostor and a filthy womanizer, but his wife laughed it off. She told Scott to loosen up, and to get out of your tight, academic mind, and let the universe guide you away from your baseless claims about Slyme, and to let go of your ugly resistance to this beautifully wise guru––Slyme seduced and fucked Scott’s wife and after that he had the audacity to tell Scott that he held the highest respect for him.

At five-thirty-five Katie was jolted awake by a woman screaming, and then she noticed that Scott was asleep in bed again. The screaming got louder and then Scott woke up. They both dressed and ran outside. The screams had come from the hot spring. When they arrived a dozen others were standing around the water. There, in the semi-darkness of dawn, a body lay face down in the rocky, shallow creek that fed the hot spring. Blood spilled from where the forehead was caved in, as if a melon bashed with a hammer, and then they realized it was Guru Slyme––apparently, he had slipped and struck his head on a rock.

A couple of hours later the ashram had turned into an investigation scene by the County Sherriff’s Department. No one was allowed to leave. All fifty attendees would need to be questioned before they could go home. Then, the investigation took an unexpected turn. Forensics had determined that the rock lying under Slyme’s forehead was brought there from another part of the creek along the bank. The alleged accident was now a possible homicide. When investigators had found the spot from where the rock had been removed, the rock had become a possible murder weapon.

After hours of interviewing the other attendees, the police finally brought Finley Scott into the ashram’s office for questioning. He was anxious. More so than the others. The police had run a background check on him through the authorities in Bristol, which led to information on the suicide of his wife and to the note that revealed her affair with Guru Slyme. Along with Kara Spring’s statement that she had heard Scott threaten Slyme with wanting to bust his head open, Scott was now the prime suspect. He had motive. But it was Katie’s statement saying that he was not in bed at four-a.m. that led to his arrest. Katie was distraught, she only wanted to tell the truth.

When the police finally handcuffed Finely Scott and had put him in the squad car for transporting to Santa Cruz county jail, Kara Springs fell to her knees and sobbed uncontrollably, while she called out a name over and over again, “Ashely. Oh, Ashely. Ashely. My darling, Ashely”––five years ago, at one of his Los Angeles retreats, Guru Slyme had raped Kara’s twenty-three-year-old daughter, Ashley. But there were no hard facts to charge Slyme with rape, with his lawyers calling it consensual sex between two adults. The judge dismissed the case before it went to trail. Slyme had walked out of the judge’s chambers with his head held high and a smirk from ear to ear.

As the years went on Ashley Spring decayed into alcohol abuse and depression, and then killed herself two-years ago.

All at once, while still on her knees sobbing, Kara Springs openly confessed to the premeditated murder of Guru Bicroom Slyme, “for what he did to my daughter.” She said that she had no remorse for taking his life and would, “happily do it again for all of the sexually abused women in the world”, and that she could have lived in peace for the rest of her days for killing “that depraved guru”, but said that she couldn’t live with having an innocent man sent to prison for her crime.

While sitting handcuffed in a squad car a sharp darkness emanated from Kara Springs eyes, like black razors protruding from them, and she was over-heard saying, in an eerie, dry, and ragged voice, “He’s a good guru. A good guru now.”

By D.A. Helmer

From: United States

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