“If you change your mind, let us know and we will be ready.” I didn’t know if they were really ready or not. I did know that she impressed the hell out of me, and it changed the way I looked at the clan.
I woke up late a few mornings later to find I had company. He was sitting in my only chair, not doing anything. He was just sitting. I recognized him: He was the guy who had taped my ribs after my night in the woods.
“Ah . . . good morning.”
He just looked at me, his face totally expressionless. We did the manly man staring contest for a few minutes. I won; it was my freaking room. He spoke first: “You going to rise and shine, sleepyhead?”
“Sure.” I sat up, winced, and swung my legs over the side of the bed. And winced again. I was really, really going to hurt that asshole and his buddies. “Do me a favor. Throw me those pants.” I had a pair of cargo pants hung over the side of the chair. I loved cargo pants because they had more pockets than I had stuff. He threw them to me and I began the painful process of pulling them on.
“So what brings you here?” I asked.
“It is time to begin your training.”
“Ah, my training? That would be in . . . ?”
I was going to add something smart, but it was still early, and I couldn’t think of anything. Plus, there was an aura about him that made me hold my tongue. He reminded me of a cop or some of the retired army officers I had crossed paths with in my previous life. Then again, there was that crazed Indian Amway seller who was always hanging around the break room at work. They both had that same glint in the eyes that comes from seeing a different reality. I realized that saying the word work in my head sounded weird. It was as if it had become a word from another language, one I had known very well once. But then I had left that country and no longer spoke the language.
“Your training in self-defense—unless you think you’ve got a handle on it?”
Ouch. That was a little uncalled for , I thought.
“So why me? How much? Why you?”
A faint smile. He replied, “You have been blessed.”
“Blessed? Blessed! What the hell kind of answer is that! Man, get the hell out of my room! Are you from the clan? I said I’d handle it!” I was getting pissed.
He didn’t move. He just raised his hand, palm forward. “Sit down, settle down, and all will be revealed.” I grumbled a bit and sat back down.
“Okay, I am settled.”
“I’m not from your clan. You have a friend who thinks you can benefit from some training.”
“Who—”
“Try listening for a little bit,” he said, cutting me off.
“Jeebus,” I muttered.
“You can call me Max. Carol asked me to do this. I owe her. You do not owe me. When we are done, we are done. I spent three tours in the ’Stan and Iraq with the 2/7 of the First Marine Division. After my discharge, I worked for LAPD as patrol officer in Rampart Division for a year. Since the budget cuts I have worked as a consultant.”
I mentally snorted at the “consultant” part. I knew that his bit about being sent from Carol would be easy enough to check. “Okay, when do we start?”
He got up from the chair. “Two weeks. I will come looking for you.” Then he let himself out the door.
That was another thing—I knew I had turned the dead bolt on that door the previous night. From now on, I was going to start wedging a chair under the doorknob.
A few days later, I was starting to feel better; plus, I was getting bored. I went looking for Night or one of the ninja boys. Hell, anybody would do. There is only so much time you can spend alone, even with a computer, before the need for human contact asserts itself. I wandered out of my room, walked down the sidewalk to the clan room, which was really just another room. The difference was, Night and her brood of ninjas kept a lot of their toys in there.
It served as their clubhouse, dining room, and computer room. It had a pretty decent server, a Cisco
I woke up late a few mornings later to find I had company. He was sitting in my only chair, not doing anything. He was just sitting. I recognized him: He was the guy who had taped my ribs after my night in the woods.
“Ah . . . good morning.”
He just looked at me, his face totally expressionless. We did the manly man staring contest for a few minutes. I won; it was my freaking room. He spoke first: “You going to rise and shine, sleepyhead?”
“Sure.” I sat up, winced, and swung my legs over the side of the bed. And winced again. I was really, really going to hurt that asshole and his buddies. “Do me a favor. Throw me those pants.” I had a pair of cargo pants hung over the side of the chair. I loved cargo pants because they had more pockets than I had stuff. He threw them to me and I began the painful process of pulling them on.
“So what brings you here?” I asked.
“It is time to begin your training.”
“Ah, my training? That would be in . . . ?”
I was going to add something smart, but it was still early, and I couldn’t think of anything. Plus, there was an aura about him that made me hold my tongue. He reminded me of a cop or some of the retired army officers I had crossed paths with in my previous life. Then again, there was that crazed Indian Amway seller who was always hanging around the break room at work. They both had that same glint in the eyes that comes from seeing a different reality. I realized that saying the word work in my head sounded weird. It was as if it had become a word from another language, one I had known very well once. But then I had left that country and no longer spoke the language.
“Your training in self-defense—unless you think you’ve got a handle on it?”
Ouch. That was a little uncalled for , I thought.
“So why me? How much? Why you?”
A faint smile. He replied, “You have been blessed.”
“Blessed? Blessed! What the hell kind of answer is that! Man, get the hell out of my room! Are you from the clan? I said I’d handle it!” I was getting pissed.
He didn’t move. He just raised his hand, palm forward. “Sit down, settle down, and all will be revealed.” I grumbled a bit and sat back down.
“Okay, I am settled.”
“I’m not from your clan. You have a friend who thinks you can benefit from some training.”
“Who—”
“Try listening for a little bit,” he said, cutting me off.
“Jeebus,” I muttered.
“You can call me Max. Carol asked me to do this. I owe her. You do not owe me. When we are done, we are done. I spent three tours in the ’Stan and Iraq with the 2/7 of the First Marine Division. After my discharge, I worked for LAPD as patrol officer in Rampart Division for a year. Since the budget cuts I have worked as a consultant.”
I mentally snorted at the “consultant” part. I knew that his bit about being sent from Carol would be easy enough to check. “Okay, when do we start?”
He got up from the chair. “Two weeks. I will come looking for you.” Then he let himself out the door.
That was another thing—I knew I had turned the dead bolt on that door the previous night. From now on, I was going to start wedging a chair under the doorknob.
A few days later, I was starting to feel better; plus, I was getting bored. I went looking for Night or one of the ninja boys. Hell, anybody would do. There is only so much time you can spend alone, even with a computer, before the need for human contact asserts itself. I wandered out of my room, walked down the sidewalk to the clan room, which was really just another room. The difference was, Night and her brood of ninjas kept a lot of their toys in there.
It served as their clubhouse, dining room, and computer room. It had a pretty decent server, a Cisco
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