Читать книгу Siberian Hearts - James Anderson - Страница 10

Mike’s advanced karate class, five men and two women, was lined up. They were all either recently promoted black belts or very close to testing. The students had their feet apart and their fists held down and in front of them.

Mike came in from the dojo’s office. He had on black gee pants, the instructor’s black tee shirt with the Ashan Tao logo over the left breast, and his black belt correctly tied around his waist. Mike walked in front of the line and nodded to the senior student.

“Keeyup,” yelled the senior, and all students brought their feet together, dropped their hands to their sides, and bowed to Mike. He returned the bow. He assumed the class had already stretched out - that was the senior student’s job. Mike began taking them through a series of drills.

“Right leg back fighting stance. Move.”

“KEEYUP,” yelled the class in unison as they moved into the position.

“Front thrust kick, back leg round house, spinning back kick, and hop-in side kick. Keeyup on the last technique. Ready, move.”

The class moved in unison, transitioning from one technique to the next. That was the point of this exercise: to teach them to put multiple techniques together while still maintaining the effectiveness of each technique. The united keeyup resounded on the last technique.

He saw some mistakes.

“Opposite direction, same series. Ready, move.”

The class executed the techniques again. With patience and expertise, he made spot corrections for a few students. The rest of the class waited in a fighting stance until Mike told them what to do next.

“Reverse direction. Same techniques. Ready, move.”

He had the class repeat the series about ten times. Then he gave them a new series and started the same process again. Mike believed in repetition and correct execution. When the students got that, the real power of the technique would come.

After about twenty minutes of continual practice, Mike began working them on one of his favorite and most effective techniques. He had the senior student hold the heavy bag while he demonstrated.

“This is a jump spinning back kick. Some of you have done this before. It can be executed at very close range and is a powerful technique.” He faced the bag and jumped up. At the apex of his jump, he spun around, lifting his right knee as he turned. Before he completed his spin, his foot came up and kicked the bag. It was strong enough to knock the person holding it backward. Each of them had already been taught this kick, but Mike wanted to be sure they had it cold.

He broke down the technique into its parts, carefully explaining each detail. He paired up the class and had half of them grab large, hand-held rectangular Redman bags and the other half perform the technique. He watched and made corrections. When he was reasonably sure they had the basics, he added a twist.

He walked over to the heavy bag, motioning for the senior to hold it again. He explained how to throw punches, getting your opponent to think everything was coming from your hands, chamber, or prepare the kick while the punches were being thrown, and quickly execute the spinning back kick before the opponent knew what was coming. He demonstrated. Then he had the pairs practice.

When there was about fifteen minutes left in the class, he announced, “Round Robins.”

Round Robins where when the class paired up and free-sparred with each other. After one minute, they would stop and everyone would move to the right and free-spar the person he or she faced for one minute. During each round, they could use any combination of techniques they wanted. They would move to a new partner every minute until the instructor told them to stop. It was grueling for someone who wasn’t accustomed to it. Mike had them go for thirty-five minutes, twenty minutes past the normal stopping time, but they expected that – Mr. Valentine was known for his grueling workouts.

When he finally stopped it, the students were drenched with sweat and breathing heavily. But this was what they wanted and expected. He nodded to the senior to line them up and formally ended the class by bowing out. After his students left, Mike stayed and worked on the jump spinning back kick for another hour because it felt a little weak to him when he demonstrated it. He always obsessed over the details, forcing his mind away from his family’s death by concentrating on each part of the technique. The more it hurt him physically to perform techniques, the harder he pushed himself. As he practiced, his mind kept returning to Natalya, and he imagined performing this technique to protect her.

When he finally got home, it was almost ten at night. He checked his cell phone to see if he had any messages. He did. There was one from his mother checking to see if he was OK. She was always worried when he didn’t call her for a couple of days. There was one from his brother who had found someone to build the retaining wall Mike wanted in the back yard. And there was one from Donna. Mike was surprised, especially when he listened to it.

“Hi, baby, this is Donna. Where have you been? I’ve missed you. Call me when you get this. I’ll be up. Bye, bye.”

“What’s up with that?” he said out loud.

He didn’t want to call her back but he wanted to end whatever she thought was going on. As far as he was concerned, he had a woman. He looked up her number and dialed it.

“Hello.”

“Hi. It’s Mike.”

“Hi, baby. I’ve been waiting for you to call. You just get in from your class?”

“Yeah. Just walked in the door.”

“Why haven’t you called?”

“As I remember it, you were pretty mad at me the last time I saw you.”

“Oh, baby, that’s over. I forgive you.” She followed that with a laugh.

Mike took a deep breath. “Donna. Listen. I just don’t think this is going to work between us.”

“You don’t think what will work?”

“Any relationship between us. It’s just not going to happen.”

“Don’t say that. You don’t know what you’re saying. Besides, I don’t want to talk about this over the phone. Can we meet?”

“I don’t see why. Let’s just say we tried and it didn’t work.”

“Michael, please, meet with me. Come by and take me to lunch tomorrow. That’s safe for you. I can’t do anything in a restaurant, can I? Well, I could if you’d let me.”

“Donna…”

“Please, Mike. Just meet me. Please.”

Mike sighed. “OK. What time tomorrow?”

“Meet me in front of the DMV building at eleven thirty.”

“OK. Eleven thirty.”

Mike hung up and knew this was a bad idea. He should call her back and tell her no. Well, what can happen in public? He’ll meet her and tell her face to face.

After she hung up, Donna stared at the phone. She had dialed his phone number every fifteen seconds for the last two hours and finally just left a message. She cursed herself over and over for the way she acted on their last date. She knew she even made mistakes during her initial damage control. She should have made up some excuse like she just found out her grandfather was dying or some crap like that to explain her erratic actions. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! She knew better than to push a man like Mike Valentine. What was she thinking? This dumb Irishman wasn’t like other men; he didn’t roll over and want his belly scratched just because she bounced her boobs at him. He would take careful planning and thought, like the D-Day invasion. She had to patch up her stupid mistakes before it was too late. She couldn’t believe she had acted like such a dumb kid. This was the big leagues now and she couldn’t afford to make mistakes like that.

There was a pad of paper in front of her with the name Michael traced over and over again. It was a new pad but the tracing had worn through to the last sheet. Still she traced.

The next day, Donna got up early because she wanted to take special care getting ready. She had been beside herself since their last date because of the idiotic mistakes she made. Still, the stupid Irish Mick was hers and nobody else’s. The sooner he realized it, the better. Unable to sleep, she thought most of the night about what to do and had decided on a course of action.

He wasn’t like other men; she should have seen that immediately. Every other man she had ever known she’d been able to manipulate with sex. It was easy. Bat your eyes and flick your tongue and they were like putty. But this idiot was different. She’d never met anyone like him before. He required careful planning and step by step execution.

For right now, she had to concentrate on damage control. She made a huge mistake; she knew it, but she thought she knew how to fix it. She’d just be his friend. No pressure. No hard sell. Just be his good buddy. Get him accustomed to her. Get him to relax and enjoy being with her - that was the first phase.

He had to be used to women coming on to him. Thinking about his body sent moister between her legs, and she could only image what it did to normal women. He must be on constant guard against aggressive women and she should never have treated him like a normal man. What in the hell had she been thinking?

She thought about the twenty-six million dollars from Ranko Oil resulting from the death of his wife and daughter and became ever wetter. Well, too bad for you and your little brat, bitch. He’s mine now - him and that anaconda between his legs and all that money. Mine.

Donna carefully picked out what she wanted to wear. She knew she had a body. She worked at it hard enough. Two hours every day at the gym and eating the right food. That was OK. Now it was going to pay off big time. It was all going to come together for her with this big, dumb Irishman.

She’d used her body before to get what she wanted. She was a stripper when she was eighteen and always liked men looking at her. She was older now but still had the body. She’d wormed her way to a second level supervisor position by seducing people and then blackmailing them. She was good at it. She’d land this Irish hunk and still get what she wanted on the side.

She picked out a pair of light tan slacks that she knew showed off her great ass. Then she laid a tailored silk blouse and a paisley vest out on her bed, and finally picked out some high-heeled pumps that matched the slacks. She showered, washed her hair, and shaved her legs just in case - you never know, she told herself. Then she touched up her nails with the bright red polish that showed off her hands and finished her make up. She looked at herself in the mirror. “How can that bastard resist me?” she said. “I’m everybody’s wet dream.”

That morning, Mike got up an hour early and worked out extra hard. He decided it was time to increase his push-ups and pull-ups to five repetitions instead of four. He struggled at the end, feeling his muscles burn and strain. That was good. He liked to push himself.

As he got ready to pick up Donna, he was thinking this was a bad idea. He’d just have to end it. That’s all. No excuses; no concessions. Quick, fast, and in a hurry - end it.

When he drove downtown and parked in the DMV parking lot, it was twenty-five after. He walked around and stood in front of the building. He wasn’t there five seconds when a pretty Black girl opened the door and said, “Come in, Mike.”

Mike walked in and saw Donna on the phone. She motioned to wait a second. He looked around at the lines going everywhere. He’d been here before to take care of business and it was never a pleasant experience. There had to be a hundred people in line and everybody looked in a bad mood.

Donna finished her call and hung up. The girl who let Mike in leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Ummmm um. Girlfriend, where did you find him?”

Donna picked up her purse and coat. “He can’t live without me. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

The girl laughed and Donna wiggled her fingers bye. “I may be late.”

“I understand,” said the girl.

Donna opened the counter gate and walked through. He had to admit: she was a sexy woman. She smiled and he caught a whiff of perfume that put him off his guard.

“Hi,” she said. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

“Just got here.”

She smiled at him. “There’s an Italian restaurant right down the street. Would you mind going there?”

“Sounds good.”

“Good, because I already made reservations.” He opened the door for her and followed her out.

“Um,” she said. “It’s cold.”

She put her arm through his and felt him pull back a little.

“Come on, Mike. I’m cold, that’s all. Just relax. I promise: no more pressure. I just want to talk. That’s all. If I can’t be your lover, then I want to be your friend.” She stopped walking and looked at him. “OK, big guy?”

“OK,” he said, “But I’m telling you right now we ain’t getting married.”

She started walking again. “Agreed. I just said that to make you think I was really just an old fashioned girl at heart.”

They reached the restaurant and Mike opened the door for her. “What the hell does that mean?”

She waited until the hostess seated them in a booth in the corner. She put her hands flat on the table and leaned forward. “Let me lay it on the line for you, Mike. I will not deny that I think you’re a babe. Nor will I deny that I want to screw your brains out. But I really have no intention of getting married.” She held up her hands in a calming motion. “I know - I said the ‘M’ word, but it was in a moment of weakness. Temporary insanity. Seeing that huge totem pole between your legs just got me all a-fluttery.”

Mike laughed. “A-fluttery?”

“A-fluttery. It’s a very technical term meaning horny.”

Mike laughed. “Well, don’t do that again. You scared the crap out of me.”

She held up her right hand as if she were taking an oath in court. “I swear on my mama’s brazier: I will never do that again.” She leaned forward again. “Listen. Just relax, man. I like you. I think you’re hot. I like being around you. It’s fun to watch other women look at me and think, what’s so damn special about you, bitch.” When she said that, she put her hands on her hips and moved her neck from side to side. That made him laugh again.

She leaned forward again. “And, you’ve got to admit, I’m pretty cute, too.” She put her arms on the table and leaned forward even farther. “Come on, admit it. I’m cute.”

He caught the game. “No. I don’t want to.”

She motioned with her hands like she was coaxing something out of him. “Come on. You can do it. Say I’m cute.”

He smiled. “OK. You’re cute.” He held up his thumb and forefinger to indicate a small measurement. “A little bit.”

“There. Was that so hard?”

“So we’re both cute. What now?

The waiter came and Donna said, “I’m Italian. Let me order.” She ordered some veal and salads. When the waiter left, she said, “So we hang out. We have fun. We go places and do things. I become your social worker and you become my only caseload.”

He made a face at her.

She leaned forward again. “Mike, look at yourself. You think I’m crazy. You’ve got all the money you will ever need, you’re thirty-one, you can have any woman you want, and all you do it beat up things. You could go anywhere in the world and do anything you wanted to do, and all you do is stay home and beat the holy shit out of everything around you. You tell me, baby. Who’s crazy here?”

He laughed again. He had to admit it, what she said made sense. “OK,” he said. “I’m crazy. And you want to save me from myself?”

She leaned back and slapped the table. “Exactly. And I’m just the girl who can do it. So, what do you say, cowboy? You want to have some fun?

He squinted his eyes like he couldn’t make up his mind. “What did you have in mind?”

“We’ll be buddies. We’ll hang out. I’ll help you drive the girls crazy and you help me drive the boys insane. We’ll be the emotional Bonnie and Clyde of the new millennium. We’ll drive everybody nuts.”

“There’s enough crazy people in this world.”

“I disagree. There’s not nearly enough craziness around here. If there’s one thing this messed-up world needs, it’s more craziness.”

“And you won’t get serious and you won’t try to have sex with me?”

“Oh, hell no. Far be it from me to force my shapely ass on you, although you have no idea what you’re missing. You just need to relax, man; all you do is hit things. You could do anything you want to do anytime you want to do it and all you do is get sweaty. You’ve got to know there’s something very wrong with that, something seriously wrong with that,” imitating Bill Murray in Stripes. He laughed; he loved that movie. “Wouldn’t you say?” she continued. “I mean, really, Mike, there’s something really shitty about that whole setup.”

He almost howled with laughter.

“There,” she said. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. When’s the last time you laughed like that? You dumb Irish Mick. You big hunk of man meat. When’s the last time?”

He shook his head, laughing. “A long time.”

She leaned back. “OK,” she said, like she was a physiatrist who had just made a breakthrough with her patient. “Now, let’s eat. I’m hungry.”

The food had come and they ate. It tasted good. He had to admit it; he hadn’t felt this relaxed in a long time. She was actually very funny. She was a natural con. She was like a chameleon: she could adapt to anything and anywhere, and all of her considerable talents and energy were pointed straight at Mike Valentine.

After lunch, they walked back to her work. She put her arm through his and this time he didn’t mind. The last thing she said was, “Mikey, I’m going to lay this out to you, and no strings attached. If you ever want some unencumbered, uninvolved, meaningless sex, I’m your girl. Just say the word, and I’ll wrinkle your prune like you wouldn’t believe.” He looked at her. “Relax, big boy. I just like sex. Now, Friday night, you’re picking me up and we’re going to eat some pizza and then go to the movies. You’re going to buy me some popcorn and a coke and we’re going to see something really stupid. Am I right, you muscle-bound Mick, you fat-headed Irish bastard?”

He laughed again. He couldn’t help it. “Deal. Call me and tell me what time.”

She extended her hand and he shook it. “Deal,” she said, laughing inside. She went back to work thinking, Damn, I’m good.