Free Stone Shadow by Rex Miller

constantly shifting, complex sucession of optical effects and fluctuating scenes, seen or imagined, is to the vision? Eh? Then by the yellowed yarmulke of Yahweh, by the turquoise turnips of the Tetragrammaton, by the crimson chronology of the Anti-Christ, by the dirty dipstick of the Dionysiacs, then we must reexamine and reevaluate our sources of power.
    “Now you must deal with a source of force. A wellspring. A centering so deep within the core that it cannot be reached by ordinary means. It is to concentration what brain surgery is to a headache. It is to focus what a shish-kebab skewer in the cortex is to a toothpick in the canapes. It would be to t'ai chi ch'uan, moo duk kwan tang soo do, hapkido, tae kwon do, wushu, and Shaolin kung fu, and any of that other chop-suey bullshit like hwa rang do, dim mak, and dim ching, what nuclear devastation is to a firecracker.
    “I call it the Way of the Viper and I would explain it to you as a nonmystical secret martial philosophy that impinges upon what you would wrongly label the Satanic. It draws on the rarest of all the secret combat ryus, exemplified in the mythological parable of a knight in quest of a great dragon; he confronts the beast, knowing it can easily incinerate him, and as the dragon laughs, a tiny viper slithers out of the shadow of the dragon and delivers his poisonous bite of death. The Way of the Viper takes as his power source the unending, black, limitless energy core of eternity. The dark, surging, mindless, insatiable, voracious, deadly, all-vanquishing force that has been here since before the universe began."
    And for the next five or six minutes, what seemed like an hour to Eichord, Jack patiently listened as Ukie took him on another of his little mind-fuck airplane rides, Jack thinking as he listened to the animated tones and the sureness of the rhythms listening with a tenth of his concentration to “—this formidable power source of magnified chi or—” snatches of the monologue in case he would need to interject a brief response. Ukie's fantasy was populated by real dragons and vipers, but the question was, first, was he sane? Eichord would leave that to the experts to determine the range and quality of his psychopathia/psychoses.
    Second, or perhaps first, was the question of how he did it. This was no martial-arts expert. This was a Texas liar and a wienie-wagger and a con artist who saw a chance for something—but what? Publicity? Notoriety? There was a reason why the con job. The same guy who was so afraid of the truth now had openly copped. No question that Ukie had offed those people. He was a murderer, clearly. Why not simply tell how he did it? Was somebody else involved? It was a strong possibility. It would explain how a nonmuscle dude might make the transition. It would explain the conning, to some extent. And how was Noel Collier and Company involved? Why not ask?
    “—through the focus of intensity which is called the Secret Gate of—"
    “Uh, whoa, there, Ukie. Hey. Listen, Jones, Seleska, Foy, Biegelman, and Guthrie?"
    “Hmmmm?"
    “I understand this is the law firm representing you, zat right?"
    “Maybe. Could be,” he said coyly.
    “Noel Collier. That's one famous lady."
    “Nice-lookin’ quiff too, there, Jack. I'll have the bitch begging for some of Sly before I'm through with her delicious ass."
    “Uh huh. I'll be talking to her later today. I'll be sure and tell her you said that, okay? I'm sure that will be an added incentive for her to take the case."
    Ukie chuckled mirthlessly. “Hey, Tex, I don't give a fat fuck what you tell her. She'd take me on as a ‘case,’ as you put it, if I tell her to and it's that simple.” Jack had reached him.
    “The Way of the Viper and the Dragon, huh? That's some line bullshit, Mr. Hackabee. Thing I'm wondering is—why? We nailed you with shovel in hand at a crime scene. You give us the bodies. You just don't tell us why. So let's say we never figure it all out and you're