Saturday March 27 2004
La Jolla California
Eddie rolled and was back on his feet facing his opponent before the pain of his fall could register. Dang. I know I didn't telegraph that move. He resolutely pushed frustration from his mind, took a breath, and resumed his stance, sidestepping warily as the L-man stepped closer.
"That looked like it hurt," Kat said. She was talking to Sarah, but Kat's voice carried whenever she raised it even a little, and he was sure everyone in the little side yard heard her. "Are you sure you want to be next?"
"Quite," the Apache Princess replied. "I'm sure he'll go easier on us than he is on Eddie. And I want to learn how to defend myself."
"Get him, Grunge!" Rox was grinning and pumping her fists up and down. "Knock him on his saggy ol' butt!"
His opponent's mouth twitched. "Good to see she's not picking sides." The old dude was out of his comic-book-villain clothes and wearing old sweats that looked fresh from the dryer. Eddie didn't have to look at his own to know they were marked with grass stains and perspiration. He was glad they were sparring on the grassy patch beside the house, rather than the concrete around the pool.
"Where's Bobby?" He heard Kat say as the L-man dropped and swung a leg close to the ground, nearly sweeping Eddie off his feet and nuking his composure.
"Gone," Rox replied. "Said this wasn't his idea of family fun."
He was clearly having lots better luck on defense than offense. The L-man was quick as a snake and full of tricks, but Eddie was quick too, and had a solid defensive repertoire; about one out of three attacks had ended with Eddie down or immobilized. But every attempt to get past Mr. Lynch's guard ended in disaster. And to make matters worse, Eddie was certain the old spook was going easy on him.
He told himself over and over to keep his cool, study his opponent, search for imbalance or weaknesses. He told himself that John Lynch had been doing this sort of thing since before Eddie was born, and for keeps; the chinks in his armor wouldn't be easy to find. He told himself a lot of things to keep from losing it over getting beat worse than he had since he was eight years old, and by a guy almost four times his age. In front of three babes.
"Ooh," Rox said. "My boy is just so cute when he's getting his butt kicked. Is that perverted, or what?"
About a minute later, Eddie was lying on his back with Mr. Lynch sitting on the ground beside him with a forearm under his throat. "I think you've had enough for today, Eddie. You're losing focus." The old dude let go of his head and arm and stood, offering a hand. "Lesson one. I hear you play chess. How do you win at that contest?"
Eddie stood and rolled his shoulders; he was going to be sore tomorrow, he thought. "By staying one move ahead of your opponent, I guess."
"How?"
He shrugged. "By figuring out what he's going to do."
"And?"
"By hiding your own plan until it's too late for him to do anything about it. Wasn't having much luck there."
The L-man nodded. "Every attack failed," he agreed matter-of-factly. "And I'm guessing you showed me your best moves already, so how are you going to get past my guard next time?"
He shrugged again. If I find a way, you can bet your ass I'll show you instead of telling you.
"While you've been showing me your favorite offensive moves, I've been showing you my favorite defensive ones," the Man said patiently. "Add depth to your attack. Assume your first attempt will fail, and try to anticipate my foiling move."
"I've never even seen some of them, and I thought I was down with every –do style. What was that footwork you were taking me down with?"
"Savate."
"That doesn't sound Japanese. Or Korean."
"French."
"Oh. Like, from French Indochina."
The corner of the L-man's mouth twitched. "No, like, from France."
He felt his brows gather. "A martial-arts discipline from France? But Frenchies don't fight."
"Obviously you've never been there. The French have a long and violent history. These days, most of them like to think they've outgrown such things. But I wouldn't insult any Marseilles dockworkers if I were you." With a pat on Eddie's shoulder, he turned to the girls. "Who's next? Caitlin?"
Kat shook her head. "I don't think so. Sometimes when I push myself, my control slips. I wouldn't want to hurt you."
"Then I'll teach you the moves in slow motion, and you can practice alone until you develop muscle memory." He crooked a finger, and the big redhead stepped up gingerly.
Rox grabbed his head in both hands and planted a hot one on him, right in front of her sister. When she let go, he said, a little dizzy, "What was that for?"
She smiled at him in a way that made him tingle. "Dunno. Maybe you should spar with Mr. Lynch all the time."
Kat and the L-man squared off. "Since you're a girl, the likeliest thing an attacker will try from the front is to grab for your wrists." The Man's lips thinned for a moment. "Also since you're a girl, your attacker's objective will probably be to force submission, rather than induce an immobilizing injury. If he gets his hands around your wrists, his next likely move will be to push you to the ground. Grab my wrists."
She did, and suddenly the two of them were shoulder to shoulder, and Kat's right arm was locked straight out in both of Mr. Lynch's. Still holding her, he said, "This move doesn't work in slo-mo, actually, so I thought I'd demonstrate first and then explain." He let go and squared off against her again. "Again."
Kat grasped his wrists. "Got you. I think."
"Okay. Now, when someone grabs you like this, your first impulse is to jerk back, which almost never works, and actually moves you in the direction he wants you to go. Instead, sidestep to the left, turn your thumb out, and jerk your right wrist towards his thumb, which is the weak point of his grip. He's probably right-handed, so he's grabbing your strong arm with his weak one; take advantage of that. Then grab his right wrist with your right hand, twist your left wrist the same way and jerk down and break his grip, controlling his strong hand with both of yours." He turned, and her arm was extended with his left forearm against the outside of her elbow. "Now, for about half a second, he's all yours. He can't use his right arm, and he can't reach you with his left. A sharp push and a tug will break his right arm at the elbow, which is bound to cool his ardor. Or a kick to the side of the knee will put him on the ground, and from there, you can run or kick him in the head, your choice."
"I vote for option one," Sarah said. "Or two-B."
"Bloodthirsty savage," Eddie muttered.
From half an arm's length away, Rox looked at him, cool-eyed. "I vote for both. Anything worth doing is worth overdoing."
Mr. Lynch released the big redhead. "Turn around."
Kat turned to face Eddie and the two girls, which put her back to her instructor. She froze wide-eyed as Mr. Lynch put an arm around her waist and pulled her backside against his stomach. "Typical attack from the rear, by a male with bad intentions towards a female. Normally," he said, "if he catches you someplace private, the other arm would go around your shoulders to pin you. I doubt anyone would try that on a girl as tall as you, though; no leverage. So if his other arm comes around you like this…" His forearm crossed one shoulder, just above her breast, and his palm touched the hollow of her throat. "He's either trying to cover your mouth, or he's got a weapon."
Eddie watched Kat's cheeks and chin catch fire, unseen by the man behind her. It only got worse when her teacher flattened his palm against her stomach. "Forget this hand. Concentrate on the hand at your face or neck. Grab the butt of the gun or the base of the palm in both hands for leverage and twist the thumb away from you as you turn to face him, and you can make him let go of your waist and drop to his knees with his hand in the air. Go on, give it a try, Caitlin. Caitlin?"
"Uh. Sorry." She grabbed at his hand, but didn't grip it properly, and instead of forcing him to his knees, she half turned and was brought up short by her grip on his hand with her waist still in the circle of his arm, almost as if they were slow-dancing. Her shoulder bumped his chin. "Sorry," she said again, face flaming.
He seemed not to notice. "It's okay. Let's try it again."
"No." She stepped away as her classmates exchanged glances. "I'm sure I've got enough to think about for now. Who's next?"
-0-
After dinner, Lynch settled onto the living room couch, the TV remote in one hand and a tall glass of Anna's home-brewed ice tea cooling the other. As he turned on the widescreen and selected his channel, he wondered, again, briefly, how someone who didn't eat managed to prepare such delicious meals. Maybe it was just attention to detail and to her bios' tastes. Or, for all I know, she tastes the soup by dipping her finger into it.
"Gawd. Two miracles at once." Roxanne stood at the end of the couch in a damp swimsuit, a towel around her neck and hands on her hips. "Did I just catch you smiling? With no one else to see?" She dropped the towel on the cushion and sat on it. "What were you thinking about?"
"Anna, actually. It's hard to believe that all she knows about cooking comes from magazines and television. I imagine she thinks of the kitchen as a sort of woodshop, and her recipes are blueprints for constructing perfect meals."
"Absolutely," Anna said as she approached from the kitchen. "And I determine whether to serve a dish again by watching you guys eat, and keeping a careful count of eye rolls per serving." She presented the girl with another glass of tea. "Sugared until another teaspoonful won't dissolve." The little android – cyber, she called herself – turned back towards the kitchen and stopped to look over her shoulder at them; a gesture she'd learned on television, he was sure. "What's the second miracle?"
Roxanne gestured at him with her free hand. "I've known him for, like, a month and a half. This is the first time I've seen him kick back. In front of the TV, no less."
Anna smiled. "Perhaps you're all having a positive effect on him." She moved away.
Roxanne swung her legs up onto the couch, putting her back against the arm of the sofa and her bare feet against his leg. "Whatcha watching?"
"C-SPAN. Armed Forces Committee hearing on the sale of surface-to-air missiles to some Middle Eastern country."
"Bo-ring." She prodded him in the ribs with a toe. "Can't believe you waste your time on this stuff."
"It's a sort of professional interest. And it's not boring if you understand the rules of the game and the players. The strategizing is layered and quite involved. How ambitious are this country's leaders? Would strengthening their defensive capability make them more likely to attack their neighbors? Would US forces likely get involved? In which case, our planes might end up facing our missiles. Which could be a good thing, since we know our weapon systems' capabilities and should be able to develop effective counters in advance – maybe even build them into the weapons we sell. Or would it be best not to sell? I'm sure this guy doesn't think so; the missile firm is based in his home state, and drops a lot of cash on his campaign. Are any other countries prepared to sell these guys missile systems if we turn down the deal?"
"Like I said. Boring." Her chin bobbed. "How's your belly?"
"Stretched. Oh, you mean the stitches. Just a little itchy. Thanks for taking them out." He glanced at her. It seemed strange to feel so completely relaxed around this girl-child. And her casual attitude towards him was just as puzzling. It occurred to him that the swimsuit she wore displayed more skin than a girl should show any male before her wedding night. "If you're not going back in the pool, maybe you should get dressed."
"Haven't decided." Her eyes lightened until they were as bright as Caitlin's. "The lecture's on your lips, I see it, kind of frothy-like. I'm glad I'm not wearing my skimpy suit. I'd hate to give you a heart attack." She stood and wrapped her towel around herself. "Better?"
"Much."
She resumed her position. "Can't believe you sometimes. I'm fifteen years old." She scooted down and put her feet in his lap.
"Exactly." He rested one hand over her crossed ankles. They sipped their drinks. I wonder what it would be like to live a normal life, where arguing with your teenage daughter about her wardrobe is your biggest headache.
"I suppose you'd rather we all dressed like nuns. Bet you picked Anna's street clothes." She wrinkled her nose.
"What's wrong with them?"
"Nothing. They're perfect if you're worried some guy might hit on her in the supermarket or something."
He imagined Anna trying to deal with a flirtatious man. Do you want sex now? You sound ready. He shivered.
"Hey. I was just kidding."
"I know." He stood, dropping her feet on the couch, and tossed her the remote.
"Sorry, Jeez."
"Nothing to do with you, Roxanne." He patted her ankle. "Guess I just can't be a normal person for too long before I start getting jumpy."
He headed down the hall to his basement office. His path led past the kitchen door. Anna was taking a tray of chocolate cupcakes out of the oven, and smiled sweetly at him as he passed. The knot in his stomach didn't unclench until he was downstairs.
Sunday March 28 2004
Escondido California
Lynch kicked aside a small pile of empty beer cans and preceded Anna through the creaking door. He switched on a powerful flashlight, sweeping the interior of the building. Leading the way with a flashlight was totally unnecessary, he knew; his little housekeeper could have seen perfectly using the starlight filtering through the open doorway. The beam touched on sodden carpet, sagging ceilings, and drywall riddled with gaping holes. The smell of wet charcoal was everywhere. "What do you think?"
"I think it's no place to raise a family, unless you're a rat. What happened here?"
"Fire. The shell is almost intact, but the interior was gutted. The Historic Preservation Society is the only reason it hasn't been razed already."
"You make this sound like good news, sir."
"As I said, it's structurally sound. The inside looks like hell, but we can hollow it out and start over. It has three times the floor space of the beach house, half of it underground. It's got a lot of potential."
"Are you quoting the realtor, by any chance? This looks like something they'd call a 'unique handyman's special,' or some such."
He turned to her. "It can be radically remodeled on the inside without any changes to its outside appearance. It can be reached from the beach house overnight, even on foot. It's farther from any urban center, but there are plenty of routes in and out. The hidden floors have enough room to hold all of the loot I took from the warehouse, which would reduce the risk of discovery I take every time I visit my caches." He studied his companion as she swept the space with a blank face and God knew what sensing capability. "And the kids could have their own rooms."
Her gaze turned to him then. "You don't think they're going home at all, do you?"
"Not for years, anyway. You've seen how hard IO's trying to find them. And the hunt is still ramping up. I have to assume the beach house will be compromised sooner or later. This will be our next safe house."
She turned back to the wrecked interior. "You don't want a crew of strangers in here."
"No. We'll have to remodel it ourselves, a little at a time to avoid notice. It might take a long time." He drew a breath. "Do you think you can learn the necessary skills?"
"Of course, sir." She turned to him. "Do you have a floor plan?"
He shook his head. "I have some specs and requirements. I'll see to it the project has a proper budget and doesn't attract official attention. Beyond that, it's your baby."
Her eyes widened. "I can design and decorate it? Paper and paint and… everything?" For a moment, she looked like a little girl on Christmas.
He smiled. "All yours."
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