1 Manic Monday (4 page)

Jake was paired with Violet.  She smirked and then
winked at him.  Jake was aware that Violet was very adroit, but he did not
imagine she would be much of a match.  He fought the urge to be
overconfident. 

Sergei, normally staid and humorless, revealed an uneven set
of small teeth as he crossed his arms in front of himself and watched as the
combatants paired off.  His mirth was short-lived as he corrected and
pushed students who did not meet his high standards of combat. 

"No.  Not like that!  No one moves like
that.  Get your feet under you, closer together.  You aren't
wrestling like an American.  You are in no Sumo match.  Turn,
turn!  That's it!  Grab his belt!  Grab it!"

He would yell like that, short staccato bursts of cursing,
counsel, and coaxing for the entire ninety minutes.  Jake looked forward
to hearing his broken English and his demanding regimen.

Violet was putting on her sparring gloves.  She had
already donned her head gear, her hair tucked neatly into the padded
straps.  She wore tight spandex work out pants and a grey tank top already
stained with perspiration.

Jake put a heavy chest pad over his head and strapped on his
head gear—a combination of a mask meant for a catcher in baseball and a
fencer.   He grabbed a knife and began making some feints and jabs,
ducking and keeping his elbows out from his sides.

He lunged, keeping the blade of the knife flat in a modified
saber grip.  Alternatively, he would bring his elbows down to protect his
body and then bring his knife arm up to sweep in.  He switched the knife
to a backwards grip.  The training knife handle was too big for his hand,
so he compensated by keeping the blade out and his grip on the outer
quillion
.  He missed the finger ring on his custom
knife.  It was designed for using in his off-hand so that he could draw and
attack with his knife while holding his pistol.

He sliced the air with a forward punch, bringing the knife
edge out as he brought the punch across his body and collapsed his chest. 
The
Krav
Magra
technique of
blocking while punching, commonly called "bursting," was designed to
propel a defender's force from their legs in a simultaneous defensive and
offensive move.  This is what he expected from Violet. 

She had chosen to be the defender first because of that
technique.  At least, that was his guess.  His plan was to attack
high in a common mugger's move—go for the jugular.  That would be his
feint, forcing her to block high and punch high.  This would leave her
exposed at her middle, and more importantly, at her legs.

"You ready, Monday?"  Her grin was
seductive.  She was confident.  Jake understood that she had worked
out an agreement with Sergei. 

He shrugged and returned the smile.

He glanced across the room at Sergei.  Sure enough, he
was watching them intently with a smug look on his face.  Jake suddenly
wanted a chance to spar their instructor.

"I am as ready as ever.  You spend much time in
martial arts over at Yale?"

She raised her eyebrows at that and punched her sparring
gloves together, sending talcum flying in the air.

"Studied
Tukong
Moosul
for five years under my grandfather's friend from
Korea," she said proudly.  Jake did not miss the intent.  She
meant to give him a sense of false security.  Although
Tukong
Moosul
was a deadly art, it incorporated many twists,
kicks, and quick forward punches as well as more subtle throws, grabs, and
pressure point exploitations.

Jake knew she would go for a more aggressive, quick attack
meant to embarrass him or send him to the floor in one or two moves.  He
was even more certain than before that she would use a bursting attack.

He decided to use his first move to set her up.

"Alright.
  Let's do
this," he said.

He stepped in quickly, the padded armor around his body
constricting around his neck as he brought his knife hand high in a jab from
shoulder height.  Violet was six inches shorter than him, so the angle was
awkward, but he knew that this would work to his advantage for his counter.

He expected the block.  She intersected his forearm
with hers and brought it down at an angle away from her body.  What he did
not expect was her next move.

He had been anticipating her heavy blow to his chest or neck
region, as per the bursting technique.  He had planned to counter by
collapsing his back and absorbing the blow as they had been trained during the
Spetznaz
portion of Sergei's program.

Jake even had his feet forward and his toes in so that he
could execute a side step aimed at hitting the pressure point on the side of
her knee and collapsing her base.  He intended to follow up with a tackle
and a left hook to the temple and a quick right elbow to the nose as he fell on
top of her.

None of that happened, though. 

Instead, she stepped inside his stance, grabbed his off hand
by the wrist in a painful grip, and twisted his hand outward.  To
compliment this move, she stomped on his instep of his right foot and pivoted
her hips.  The pain and the momentum sent him in a dizzying spin to the
mat.

Before Jake had an opportunity to be embarrassed at the turn
of events, he felt Violet collapse her body on top of him, wrapping his left
leg between hers, one foot planted in his groin, the other crossed over. 
Her gloved hands pulled on his left arm, turning the wrist up and around from
its natural position.

The pain was more disconcerting than his shame.

Jake quickly blunted the pain and put it outside of
himself.  Through gritted teeth, he pushed off the ground in a wild
attempt to flip his body over and reverse her hold.  The only way he could
save face was to use his superior strength and focus.

She laughed and pushed down, her foot squeezing his groin
and sending his shoulder blades apart.  A flare of fire and sharp pain
erupted between his shoulder blades.  But that pain was dulled by the ache
he felt creeping into his lower abdomen from the damage her foot had dealt to
his family jewels.   Jake closed his eyes. 

That would be a dull ache until dinner time
, he
estimated.

He raised his right foot and kicked out at her head. 
Both of her hands were occupied in pulling his arm out of its socket while
breaking his wrist at the same time.  She could not protect herself. 
He heard her grunt.  He tried it again and heard Sergei laugh.  The
whole gym had stopped to watch the spectacle, he saw through a red haze. 

Jake cursed inside and planted his toe under her chin near
where jaw line met the soft tissue of her neck.  He pushed.  Violet
screamed.  It was a low, guttural scream.  Perhaps he had made her
angry.  Now that he understood that she had been practicing her
Sambo
, Jake did not care. 

He kicked once more, this time a sweep.  He needed the
momentum to swing his body out of the lock she had on his arm.  At the
same time, he leaned forward quickly, pushing his wrist painfully toward her,
releasing the pressure from his shoulder.  He hoped he would not break his
wrist.

He realized with a mounting fear that his left arm was numb.

But, he was finally free.  He scrambled sideways,
seeking the toe of her foot with his right hand.  He grabbed it with his
thumb on the top of her arch and pulled down as he rolled.

Violet growled and rolled with him, desperately trying to
regain the hold on his legs.

And then he was free, rolling to his knees and lurching
forward to his feet.  He whirled to meet her advance and managed to block
two quick jabs.  He had lost the knife and the armor was cumbersome.

She was quicker, more aggressive, and had him cornered.

Jake fell into a quick trance, realizing that he could only
make things worse if he did not get his head back into this game.

As Violet closed on him, blood staining her perfect white
teeth, Jake widened his stance and brought his both hands out to his
sides.  Violet let out a scream as she brought her foot up in a front
kick.

Jake dodged, used her body as a fulcrum, and ended up behind
her.  He brought his hands together behind her neck and pushed her
supporting leg in from behind, pushing down with his weight over her
shoulders.  She collapsed. 

He could hear her leg pop.

That is unfortunate.  I hope the company medical
plan will cover that,
he thought.  The voice in his head was full of
poison.

"No!" Violet cried out.

Jake saw the knife on the ground beside him.  He
reached down to pick it up, watching Violet grab her injured left leg. He
stepped up to her just as she jumped to standing, hobbling on one leg. 

"Done?" He asked.  Jake held the knife at his
side, his stance relaxed.

The anger he saw in her eyes was shocking.

"For now, pretty boy," she said through clenched
teeth.  She spit blood on the mat.

Their audience was turning back to their sparring.  The
room was much quieter, several of the pairs half-heartedly going through the
motions. 

"Sorry about your leg," he offered weakly.

She glowered at him.

"It's just a sprain.  It will heal.  I won't
go easy on you next time," Violet said as she limped off toward the
dressing room.  She threw the gloves into a corner.

Sergei offered her a smile and an approving nod.

She just lowered her head and continued on, the sweat
dripping down her matted hair as she pulled off her head gear.

Sergei sauntered over, his eyes scanning the pathetic
performances around him with a wry smile.

"You got the upper hand, comrade.  You fight well
against women.  They should not pursue you so much, I would think. 
Dangerous."

Sergei Vissarionovich was rarely in a joking mood. 
Jake did not feel like being the object of his amusement.

"I do what I must to win.  Isn't that what you
teach us?"

He chuckled.

"I teach no man to play hard-to-get.  You take it
too seriously, Sergei thinks."

With that he turned and yelled at the rest of the room, his
normal demeanor returned.

"Everyone stop!  No
more bad
fighting.  Go run bleachers!  Twenty minutes then shower."

Jake removed the armor, his clothes soaked in sweat.

Sergei turned back to him.

"I think you should go to sauna now before it gets
crowded.  I think you need extra humidity today."  He laughed as
he sauntered back to his office.  His assistants picked up the sparring
equipment and wiped up Violet's blood from the mat.

Jake frowned and then walked solemnly to the showers. 
He would be bruised and battered for days.  Mostly his pride,
though.  Maybe Sergei was right.  He took things too seriously. 
He needed a little fun.  He made a mental note to find out what Gary had
planned this weekend as he put the rubber knife back in its bin and hung the
sweaty armor back on its hook.

I Like the Night Life

Jake looked at the lights of the city sparkling across the
waters of Long Island Sound.  Jake found that this was his favorite way to
experience New York.  Whether out here or looking at the city from the
south up the Lower Bay, the city looked so clean, pristine, and orderly. 
He pulled the collar of his overcoat up to cover his neck.  The winter
wind was brisk out here on the deck of the yacht.

Everyone else was inside.  Drinks were being poured and
Jake was uncomfortable with the level of sexual tension in the cabin.  Six
couples and several single people mingled in the confines of the multi-million
dollar yacht.  Lawyers, commercial real estate brokers, ad executives, and
surgeons mingled with actresses, technology specialists, models, and
professional assassins.  He cringed, thinking of the prospects of the
evening.

Why are you here, then?
Jake asked himself.

 He was startled to attention as a figure came slinking
up to him in the semi-darkness.  Jake had hoped this part of the deck
would remain private.  He needed some space to think.  He was
disappointed to see someone had found him.

"I love the lights out here.  It makes the city
look like a huge Christmas ornament," Giselle said, her breath catching in
the frigid wind.

Jake smiled.

Gary would want to take credit for this “date.”  Jake
knew that Gary secretly coveted Ms.
Chaput’s
company
for himself.  He never should have told Gary that he needed a break. 
The yacht was owned by one of Gary's friends at Galbraith, Paul Weston III, an
executive in recruiting who had rich parents and even richer in-laws. 
Paul was asleep below deck, his wife still partying loudly with the revelers in
the cabin.

Giselle
Chaput
was a remarkable
specimen, Jake had to admit.  Her porcelain skin was delicate, her arms
well-defined, and her hair like a long, flowing, golden silk scarf.  Jake
had guessed that she was a model.

Man, was I ever wrong,
Jake thought.

"Are you staying in New York long?"

At this Giselle smiled wryly and arched an eyebrow.

"I suppose I could be persuaded to stay a little
longer.  Perhaps I could stay to watch the ball drop in the Big Apple this
year."

Jake had been avoiding her advances all evening.  ,
Since she was technically his date, he should have expected some interest in
further contact.  Her pursuit was mostly subtle.  However alluring
her charms, Jake found himself increasingly uncomfortable. 

You are just crazy,
he chastised himself.

"The holidays in New York are amazing," he
admitted as he turned back to the lights.

He felt her get closer to him and take his arm in hers.

"It is so cold out here," she said.