Starfire (36 page)

He had just started to undress when he heard a noise on the other side of the door. He picked up his cane, looked through the peephole in the door, then opened it. He found Jodie outside, tapping a note on her smartphone. “Oh! You're back,” she said, surprised. Brad stepped aside, and she came inside. “I was just going to leave you a message to meet us at the Silver Miner's Club instead—they have a pretty good jazz band playing now.” Her eyes roamed across his chest and shoulders and opened wide in surprise. “Crikey, mate, what in bloody hell have you been doing to yourself?”

“What?”

“These, mate,” Jodie said, and ran her fingers across his biceps and deltoids. “Are you on steroids or something?”

“Heck no. I'd never do drugs.”

“Then where did these spankin' flexors come from, Brad?” Jodie asked, her fingers running across the top of his chest. “I know you've been working out, but holy dooley! You've got some spiffy gams there too.” She ran a hand across his abdomen. “And is that a six-pack I see, mate?”

“My trainers are pretty intense guys,” Brad said. “We do weights three times a week, in between cardio. They throw in speed bag and even some gymnastics, just to mix things up.” He still hadn't told her about the cane, Krav Maga, and pistol training, but he knew he should do so soon. They weren't officially a couple and hadn't actually been dating, just seeing a little more of each other outside of school. They'd taken a couple trips in the turbine P210 airplane, but they were all quick one-day trips to see a baseball game in San Francisco or do some seafood shopping in Monterey.

“Well, it's working for you, big boy,” Jodie said with a smile. She traced her fingernail down the front of his chest, but when he didn't respond the way she hoped, she pulled back. “But I don't understand why you need that cane. You said you thought you needed it every now and then after that attack last spring just to help steady yourself. Are you still wobbly? You run and bike all the time.”

“Yeah, every now and then I'll get a little vertigo,” Brad lied. “Not enough to stop me from running or biking. I'm just used to having it with me, I guess.”

“Well, it makes you look very dapper,” Jodie said. “And I'll wager that folks let you ahead of them in line at the super too.”

“I don't let it go that far, unless I'm really in a hurry,” Brad said.

She went over and picked up his cane, tapping the crook against her hand. “Looks as mean as cat's piss, mate,” she said, running a finger down the pointed tip of the crook and across the carved grips along the shaft. This one was a bit more ornate than the ones she had first seen him with; it had more ridges across it, and three channels that ran the entire length. “It's not my granddaddy's cane, that's for sure.”

“I got it from Chief Ratel when he noticed me having a little dizzy spell,” Brad lied again, using the excuses and stories he'd made up and rehearsed over the past several months. “I just never got around to getting another one, like the ones that stand up by themselves, and he never asked for it back.”

By looking at her expression, Brad couldn't tell if Jodie was believing any of it or not, but she leaned the cane against the bed, gave another long glance at his body, and smiled. “See you downstairs at the club, spunky,” she said, and departed.

The team members had an extraordinary dinner celebration. Afterward, Lane Eagan's parents took him to the airport to catch a flight back to California, so Brad, Jodie, Casey, and a few other team members decided to check out a new casino across Highway 50 that had a good comedy club. It was dark and starting to grow cooler, but it was still comfortable enough for a stroll. The regular crosswalk was blocked by sidewalk construction, so they were forced to go east about a half a block to the casino parking lot's secondary entrance, which was not quite as well-lit as the main entrance.

Just as they began to head back toward the casino, two men appeared out of nowhere from the darkness and blocked their path. “Gimme five bucks,” one of the men said.

“Sorry,” Brad said. “Can't help you.”

“I didn't ask for your help,” the man said. “Now it'll cost you ten.”

“Get lost, creep,” Casey said.

The second man lashed out, kicking Casey's wheelchair so she was spun around sideways. “Shaddup, gimp,” he said. Brad, who had been helping push Casey when she needed him to, reached out to grab the wheelchair. The second man thought he was going after him, so he flicked open a knife and swung, slashing open Brad's shirt on his right upper arm and drawing blood.

“Brad!”
Jodie shouted.
“Somebody, help us!”

“Shut up, bitch,” the man with the knife growled. “Now drop your purses and wallets on the ground
right fucking now
before I—”

The motion was nothing more than a blur. Brad grasped the crook of his cane with his left hand and spun it, cracking it down on the attacker's knuckles with the sound of splintering wood, causing him to drop the knife with a howl of pain. Brad immediately caught the end of the cane with his right hand and swung, hitting the first man on the side of his head. The mugger went down, but Brad's cane snapped in two.

“You motherfucker!”
the second attacker shouted. He had retrieved his knife and had it in his left hand this time. “I'm gonna gut you like a fucking pig!”

Brad raised his hands, palms out. “No, no, no, no, please don't hurt me again,” he said, but the tone of his voice sounded like anything but surrender—it was as if he was playacting in front of this attacker, teasing him with a mocking tone, as if he was actually urging the guy with the knife to attack! “Please, asshole,” Brad said, “don't kill me.” And then, to everyone's surprise, he wiggled his fingers at the attacker, as if making fun of him, then said, “Come and get me, big man. Try to take me.”

“Die, asshole!”
The attacker took two steps forward and the knife shot out toward Brad's stomach . . .

. . . but in another blur of motion Brad blocked the attacker's arm with his own right arm, reached under the attacker's arm and locked it straight, kneed the attacker in the stomach several times—no one watching this fight could count how many times he did it—until the attacker dropped the knife and was nearly bent over double. Then he twisted the attacker's left arm upward until they heard several loud
POP
s as shoulder tendons and ligaments separated. The attacker collapsed on the sidewalk, screaming insanely, his left arm bent back at a very unnatural angle.

At that moment two armed casino security guards rushed down the sidewalk, each grabbing one of Brad's arms. Brad offered no resistance.
“Hey!”
Casey yelled. “He didn't do anything! Those guys tried to mug us!” But Brad was wrestled to the pavement, flipped over, and handcuffed.

“Crikey, coppers, can't you see he's been cut?” Jodie cried after the guards got off Brad. She applied direct pressure to the wound. “Get some first aid out here,
now
!” One of the security guards pulled out his radio, calling for the police and a paramedic unit.

“Looks like this guy's arm was almost twisted right off,” the second security guard said after the paramedics arrived, examining the screaming man on the sidewalk. He checked the first mugger. “This guy's out cold. I've seen this guy around before panhandling, but he's never mugged anybody.” He shined his flashlight at the pieces of the broken cane, then looked over at Brad. “What were you doing, kid—rolling drunks and panhandlers to impress your girlfriends?”

“They tried to mug us!”
Jodie, Casey, and the others shouted, almost in unison.

It took more than an hour, during which time Brad was sitting with his hands cuffed behind his back to the door of a police cruiser after the gash on his right arm was bandaged, but finally surveillance video from two different casinos and a parking-garage camera showed what had happened, and he was released. They all gave statements for the police reports, and the group returned to their hotel.

While the others went to their rooms, Brad, Jodie, and Casey found a quiet bar in the casino and bought drinks. “Are you sure you're all right, Brad?” Casey asked. “That bastard got you pretty good.”

“I'm fine,” Brad replied, touching the bandages. “It wasn't a very deep cut. The paramedics said I probably won't need stitches.”

“So how did you learn all that stuff with the cane, Brad?” Casey asked. “Is that the self-defense stuff you've been working on since that home invasion attack back in April?”

“Yes,” Brad said. “Chief Ratel and his other instructors teach Korean self-defense and Cane-Ja, self-defense with a cane, as well as physical fitness. It came in handy.”

“I'll say,” Casey said. “It was still a fun night. I'm going to hit some slot machines, maybe see if that guy I met at the club is still around, and call it a night. See you guys in the morning.” She finished her glass of wine and rolled away.

Brad took a sip of his Scotch, then turned to Jodie. “You've been real quiet since the altercation, Jodie,” he said. “You okay?”

Jodie's face was a mix of confusion, concern, fear . . . and, Brad soon realized, disbelief. “Altercation?” she said finally after a long, rather painful moment. “You call that an ‘altercation'?”

“Jodie . . . ?”

“My God, Brad, you nearly killed one guy and almost snapped off the other guy's arm!” Jodie exclaimed in a low voice. “You broke your cane over a guy's
skull
!”

“Damn right I did!” Brad shot back. “That guy slashed my arm! What was I supposed to do?”

“First of all, mate, the guy that slashed you was not the guy that you conked over the head,” Jodie said. “All he did was ask for money. If you'd given him what he asked for, none of that would've happened.”

“We got mugged, Jodie,” Brad said. “That guy pulled out a knife and slashed me. He could've done that to you or Casey, or worse. What was I supposed to do?”

“What do you mean, what were you supposed to do?” Jodie asked incredulously. “You Yanks are all alike. Someone confronts you on the street and you think you have to leap into action like Batman and kick someone's arse. Are you drongo? That's not the way it works, Brad. Someone gets the drop on you like that, you give them what they want, they go away, and everybody's safe. We should have dropped our purses and wallets, backed away, and called the cops.
We
were the stupid ones for going off into the dark areas instead of sticking to the lighted and protected areas. If they tried to get me into a car with them, I'd fight with everything I have, but five or ten or a
million
lousy bucks is not worth anyone's life. It's not even worth a gash on your arm. And then after you broke your cane on the first guy's head, you took on a guy with a knife, and you were
unarmed
. Are you daft? You even sounded as if you were
teasing
the guy to attack you! What is with that shit?”

Wow, Brad thought, she's really upset about this—it was a reaction he completely didn't expect. Arguing with her wasn't going to help one bit. “I . . . I guess I just didn't think,” he said. “I just reacted.”

“And it looked like you were trying to kill both guys!” Jodie thundered on, her voice rising enough to get the attention of others nearby. “You were pummeling that second guy so bad I thought he was going to puke up his guts, and
then
you nearly twisted his arm off! What in bloody hell was that?”

“The self-defense classes I'm taking . . .”

“Oh, so that's it, eh?” Jodie said. “Your new buddy Chief Ratel is teaching you how to kill people? I think the farther you get away from that guy, the better. He's brainwashing you into thinking you're invincible, that you can take on a guy with a knife and stove a guy's head in with a cane.” Her eyes widened in realization. “So that's why you carry that scary-looking cane? Chief Ratel taught you how to attack people with it?”

“I didn't attack anyone!” Brad protested. “I was—”

“You cracked open that poor guy's head with that cane,” Jodie said. “He didn't do anything to you. The other guy had a knife, so it was self-defense—”

“Thank you!”

“—but it looked like you were trying to kill the bloke!” Jodie went on. “Why did you keep on beating him like that, and why twist his arm so far back?”

“Jodie, the guy had a knife,” Brad said, almost pleading for her to understand. “An attacker with a knife is one of the most dangerous situations you can get into, especially at night and against a guy who knows how to use it. You saw how he came after us with his left hand after I knocked the knife out of his right—he obviously knew how to fight with a knife, and I had to take him out. I—”

“Take him out?”
Folks at nearby tables were starting to notice the rising tone in Jodie's voice. “So you
were
trying to kill him?”

“Krav Maga teaches countermove, control, and counterattack, all in—”

“I've heard of Krav Maga,” Jodie said. “So you're training to be an Israeli killer commando now?”

“Krav Maga is a form of self-defense,” Brad said in a softer tone, hoping Jodie would follow suit. “It's meant to disable attackers, without weapons. It's meant to be quick and violent so the defender doesn't—”

“I don't know you anymore, Brad,” Jodie said, rising to her feet. “That attack in your house in San Luis Obispo must've screwed you up a little, I think—or did you lie to me and the others about
that
?”

“No!”

“Ever since then you've become this compulsive type A, whirling-dervish kind of guy, exactly the opposite of the guy I met at the beginning of the school year. You don't eat, you don't sleep, and you don't hang out with your friends or network around campus anymore. You've turned into this . . . this
machine,
working out and learning Israeli commando beat-down tactics and carrying a cane so you can crack some skulls. You lied to me about the cane. What else have you lied to me about?”