Vigilant (7 page)

Rebecca pounced on Ari when she came in the door. “I can’t believe he came!” she exclaimed. “I mean, I told him to, but when he asked for my favorite taco I thought he was just joking around. Like, ‘ha ha, I like chicken salsa, extra cheese,’ you know? But then he showed up all windblown and hot and I just didn’t even know what to do, so I just sent him back to your office.”

Ari gave her an amused look. “Are you finished?”

“Not really,” Rebecca said. “Did you make plans for later? Did he kiss you on the cheek or the mouth? I couldn’t see from the window. And don’t even act like you aren’t into him. You should see your face.”

“What about my face?” But Ari knew. She felt the flush and had a hard time keeping the Nick-induced grin suppressed.

“You look like the cat that caught the canary.”

“Not yet,” Ari said as she started back to her office. “But give me a couple weeks and we can talk.”

SIX

Just like the last time Ari arrived at the GYC, Keith stood behind the counter. Loud hip-hop music flowed from the gym and he nodded his head to the beat. She entered the lobby with a bagful of Curtis’s belongings. Since she hadn’t found much at his house, she’d stopped and purchased several other necessities to add to his small collection. At least enough to get through a week of school.

“Hi Keith,” she said, approaching the counter. “I need to drop these off for Curtis. Is he around?”

The boy jerked his thumb toward the gym. “He’s in the ring.”

Ari walked around the counter and almost dropped her bag. Keith was right—Curtis was in the boxing ring, fighting, or really, being beat up by another boy. He wore shorts and a tank top, and big boxing gloves weighed down his hands. A padded helmet covered his head. Even with the protection, blood dripped from his nose and he swayed on his feet.

“Curtis!” Ari yelled. He looked up. The distraction gave the other boy the chance to deliver a sharp, devastating blow to the head. Curtis fell against the ropes.

“Stop!” Ari cried, abandoning the bag on the floor. She ran across the gym and reached for the elastic ropes surrounding the ring. She never made it. Her body flung backwards and her heart seized. An unknown man pulled her back, his massive arms around her chest. For the second time that day, a slamming memory of the armed robbery jolted through her body.

“Get off!” she shrieked. She fought against the man, kicking his shins and scratching at his arms. Ari felt her shoes fly off her feet and her attacker placed her on the floor. He immediately began apologizing.

“It’s okay,” he said, holding his hands up. “It’s okay. I’m sorry.”

Ari took deep, heavy breaths. Her eyes darted from her attacker to Curtis, who had struggled to his feet. He and the other boy stared at her. Looking around the room, she realized several other boys across the gym had stopped their activities as well. “I’m not going to hurt you,” the man said again. She looked at his face and realized he meant no harm, but that didn’t stop the feeling of panic overtaking her body.

The man offered her his hand and she scrambled back. “Don’t touch me.”

“Ms. Grant?” she heard, and she spun. Mr. Davis ran toward her. “Are you okay?” He looked between Ari and The Hulk. “Peter, what happened?”

“She was about to jump in the ring and I stopped her. I was afraid she would get hurt,” Peter said.

Ari couldn’t stop staring at him. Enormous, bulging muscles, pulled taut at his shirt sleeves. She could even make out the outline of his solid chest through the material. His body was like a machine but his face, Ari realized, was gentle and sincere.

“I’m okay,” she said to Mr. Davis. “I just panicked.” She glanced over at the boys, taking in Curtis’s bloody nose.

“Pete, take the boys upstairs. It’s time for study period anyway,” Mr. Davis said, handing her the shoes she’d lost earlier. “Ms. Grant, will you come back to my office?”

“Of course.” Ari slipped her feet into her shoes, hopping on one foot and then the other. She gave The Hulk a small smile in apology. “That bag is for Curtis.”

Embarrassed by her breakdown, Ari walked away from the watchful eyes of the boys and followed Mr. Davis back to his office. He offered her a seat on his battered leather couch. “Give me a minute,” he said, before ducking back out of the room.

Ari had been in his office the week before, but not alone. She took the opportunity to calm down and to snoop. She ran a finger over the name plate on the desk that simply said “Davis.” The room held two other chairs and a wide, tidy desk. He had several decorative shelves, filled with books and trophies. Ari studied the framed photos that lined the walls—most in black and white. Several were urban scenes, places she recognized from around the city, all in motion. Cars, trains, lights. She squinted at the signature, a scribbled “D” in the corner.

A worn pair of boxing gloves hung on a hook next to the door. Ari felt the soft leather and inexplicably pressed her nose against them.

“Take the towels to the laundry and make sure you use bleach this time,” Mr. Davis directed someone in the hallway, before walking in. She dropped the gloves and leaped for the couch, bouncing a little in her hurry.

“Sorry about that,” he said, entering the room.

“Your office is bigger than mine,” she said, nonsensically.

“Perk of being the boss,” he said. He sat in one of the chairs. Struck again by his interesting look, she noted his Asian features including dark, almost black eyes. He wore his hair short, almost shaved bald, but he wasn’t going bald. She could see the thin layer of stubble covering his head. His nose slanted a little off-center, Ari assumed, from being hit by a fist, and a thin white scar cut through his dark eyebrows. The hickey under his ear had grown faint. She couldn’t tell how old he was, probably close to her age. She could see the lean, hard muscles under his thermal shirt. She’d felt those muscles before and the longing to do so again overwhelmed her.

Ari pointed to the name plate on the desk and said, “So can I drop the ‘Mr.’ now?”

That earned a smile and he nodded. “Everyone else does.”

“Thank you.”

She waited for him to ask her for her first name but he didn’t. Instead he asked, “Do you want to talk about what happened out there?”

With the weirdness between them, she didn’t know how much she should share about herself, but at the same time felt she owed him an explanation for her freak-out. She took a deep breath and said, “I was in an armed robbery about two weeks ago. I think it may have bothered me more than I thought.”

His eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Did you get hurt?”

“No, I managed to stay out of the way,” she lied. “Until one of them—one of the guys came up behind me like that and the whole thing came rushing back like some kind of reflex kicked in.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. But you got away safely?”

“I was lucky. They wanted money and I didn’t have any. They left me alone and I hid in a closet. I guess they thought the cashier was a better choice.” Ari’s face burned and her neck grew hot. “I’m sorry to create such a stir, especially in front of the boys.”

“Why? Fear is a natural reaction.”

“Yeah, but not in front of a client,” she laughed humorlessly. “If they sense one inch of weakness, they’ll take a mile. I can’t afford that.”

“You really think that?”

“I know that.”

Davis gave a short nod but not necessarily out of agreement. “Why did you interfere with the fight? Jumping into the middle of a two kids pummeling each other isn’t the smartest thing to do.”

Ari’s initial anger returned, flaring hot in her chest. She’d momentarily forgotten the incident with The Hulk—Peter. “Curtis was getting the crap beat out of him! He’s my client and my responsibility. I’m not okay with the violence. These boys have seen enough in their lifetime. Abusing them and then training them to be even better fighters? I don’t get it.”

Davis allowed her to rant, as he calmly and quietly leaned back in his chair. God, he had an ease about him Ari found equally unnerving and aggravating. “Obviously, you disagree,” she said. “But I’m not sure if the state would approve of your methods if they knew about them.”

Her threat got his attention, if only slightly. “How successful do you find the other programs your clients are in? Percentage wise?”

“That’s not the point.”

“I think it is,” he argued. “I know our methods seem…extreme. But they work and have worked for a long time. The kids we pick to be a part of our program are specifically chosen. They can handle it.”

“Curtis has a black eye! And bruises all over his body! I saw the bandage on Keith’s head. What are you doing? Building soldiers?”

Davis scoffed. “Of course not, Ms. Grant. But we teach them discipline. Control. Another way to let out the anger and the rage they have boiling inside. Better in that ring than on a cop or another kid on the outside with a gun.”

“So you teach them to fight and get out the testosterone. What then? How does that help them in the real world?”

“It’s like any other athletic program. Mental and physical. We train these kids hardcore, teach them how to eat healthy foods and give them the discipline and structure to turn that into productivity in society. We teach them to use their bodies in a positive way. Working with their natural abilities. If they can learn to trust themselves, defensively, then they feel more confident—less likely to lash out.” Davis stood and pulled a yellow sheet of paper off the table. He turned it around and handed to her. “It’s not just random fighting. We compete against other programs. That’s our next event.”

The words “Inter-Club Fight Semi-Finals” were listed across the top. The fight would be held at the GYC next week. “Curtis won’t be competing—yet,” he said. “Probably not ’til next season if he’s ready. But he’s fast, we think he may fit more into the ultimate fighting category anyway.”

“Ultimate fighting? I don’t know. All of this sounds really dangerous.”

Davis rested his elbows on his knees and leaned toward her. “Give us a chance. Come see it yourself. See if you notice a change in Curtis’s behavior over the next couple of weeks.”

“You have a lot of faith in a petty thief thug-wannabe who can run fast.”

“I have a lot of faith in a lot of things,” he said with a wink. “You’ll come?”

“I’ll come,” Ari said, standing up. She walked to the door and touched the smooth leather gloves hanging there. “These yours?”

“My father’s.” He also stood, shoving his hands in his pockets. “He taught me everything I know.”

Ari tilted her head. “You must be pretty good, then.”

Davis looked her up and down. “I can hold my own.”

Right then Ari knew he remembered her. A current ran between them and she caught a hint of mischievousness in his eye, the same one she’d seen that night across the dance floor. She almost caved and confronted him. Almost.

Instead, Ari left the room, because what would happen if she admitted it? Acknowledged it? Would he think she was some kind of skank who trolled dance clubs late at night? Did he already think that?

Davis just said he could hold his own. She knew that firsthand. On her way out the door, under her breath, where he couldn’t hear, she muttered, “I bet,” and left the building.

SEVEN

“Maria called,” Rebecca announced, handing her a pink message slip. “She said she’ll be here by five.”

“She better be. This is her last chance to show up before I place a warrant. I don’t know why she thinks I’m playing games.”

Ari signed in and checked her mail. A lumpy manila envelope sat on top of all the paperwork. She carried it all past Stanton’s office and set it on her desk.

Ari had managed to get herself under control before she came back to the office. The panic attack had been real. Sweaty and jarring. One thing was certain though, that numbness she felt day in and day out left when she was at the GYC—or more specifically, when she was near Davis. Professionally, Davis seemed like he was on the up-and-up. Their encounter in the club threw that off. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something, like some larger picture to the Glory Youth Center. After years of placing kids in various homes and treatment programs, it all seemed a little too good to be true. All it took was a little boxing and hand-to-hand combat and all their problems were solved?

“Stanton,” she called down the hall. “You’re an athletic guy. What do you think about a program based on sports—specifically boxing—for these kids?”

Ari heard Stanton’s chair creak and he appeared in her doorway. “What are you talking about?”

“This program Judge Hatcher got Curtis into. It’s some kind of juvie-fueled fight club or something.”

Stanton leaned into the doorway and crossed his arms. “Fight club?”

“You know Brad Pitt? Edward Norton?” He looked at her blankly. “Soap? Never mind. It’s this crazy group home with a focus on boxing and fighting and they fight other clubs or something. Davis, the director, swears it works, but when I was there today, Curtis got the snot beat out of him.”

“Curtis probably needed to get the snot beat out of him. Teach him a lesson for once.”

“Stanton!”

“I’m serious Ari. These kids need disciple and to fully understand consequences. Sounds like a good program to me. Give it a shot.”

Ari sighed and flipped her calendar over in frustration. “That’s what he said.”

“Who?”

“Davis.”

“See? Smart guy. A little controlled violence isn’t going to hurt these kids. Training in a positive way, inside a competitive environment, could help.”

“Okay, okay. I guess I’m just the one with a problem teaching kids how to beat the poo out of each other.”

“Yeah, you probably are.”

Ari wadded up a piece of paper and tossed it in his direction, but he dodged, cackling with delight as it flew past him into the opposite wall. “Maybe you should go work out with Curtis. Improve your aim.”

“Shut it,” Ari said, pushing her door closed. She sighed at the massive pile of papers on her desk and chose to ignore it for the moment. Why not make the pile bigger? She ripped open the mail, pulling out the papers for filing. Two psychological evaluations, one medical form, and a stack of school records. The manila package remained and she tore off the end, dumping out the contents.