by Diane Bator
Yoshida nodded. "The death and pending funeral of Mr. Levy. Very sad."
She tied on her green belt and paused in the dojo doorway. Coming to the workshop that night was more than a chance to learn more about Walter and his murder. She wanted to grade for her blue belt in the fall and needed the extra practice. Working out her body would give her worried mind a temporary break.
Since Razi had replaced all the missing mats, the training hall looked just like it had before Walter's murder. She lined up with the other students—ten in all, not including Mick and Yoshida—in the dojo. Mick wasted no time getting things started. The highest-ranking brown belt began the opening ceremony. After all the official bowing in was done, everyone stood and waited. Beads of sweat quivered on Gilda's upper lip, even though they hadn't warmed up yet. Silence hung in the air, as heavy and humid as storm clouds.
Yoshida nodded to Mick, who turned his attention to the other students. Three black belts, two brown belts, a blue belt, two green belts, an orange belt, and a yellow belt made up the class that evening. All adults. No kids.
"Thank you all for coming," Mick toyed with his belt, something he always scolded his students for doing, and glared at Gilda. "I know the circumstances are less than desirable. We've lost a distinguished black belt, and his loss will set us back for a while."
At the far end of the lineup, Erik snorted.
Yoshida's face twisted until he resembled a demonic Kabuki theatre mask she once saw in a shop in downtown Detroit. "Do you have an objection?"
Gilda cringed and prayed Erik would keep his mouth closed, train, and go home.
Unfortunately, Erik didn't think the same way. "Walter was far from a distinguished black belt. He left his family to marry a high school kid and was always harassing teenage girls. Mick should never have left him in charge of the kids' classes. The guy was a menace."
Her eyes widened. Opened, so to speak. She glanced down the line toward the senior belts and realized every other student in the line seemed to stare at Mick.
Mick reddened and stepped forward. "Enough. We're here to train, not to bad mouth other students."
"Whatever." Erik seemed primed for a fight. "The guy was a scumbag, and you only let him stay because he paid big bucks to be a silent third partner in the school."
Gilda's mouth dropped open. Mutiny. More secrets revealed. When her gaze met Mick's, his face hardened. and he turned away.
"Erik." The lines in Mick's neck betrayed his tension. "I think you should leave."
"Seriously?" Erik asked. "Are you kicking me out of the school?"
"Just for tonight," Mick said as sweat trickled down the side of his face. "I'd like you to calm down. You and I can straighten things out after the funeral tomorrow."
"Of course." Erik smirked. "How dare I bad-mouth your replacement? Did you bother to tell Gilda about the changes, or were you afraid she'd finally see you for what you really are?"
Gilda's eyes widened. Changes? Replacement? She snapped her mouth shut but kept her ears tuned to the mutterings around her. Razi's eyebrows twitched upward when he met her gaze. He seemed as confused as she was.
"That is enough." Yoshida lunged forward until he stood toe-to-toe and nose-to-nose with Erik. "You will wait in my office. I will deal with you later."
In a last show of defiance, Erik glared at Mick then turned his back—disrespecting not only his fellow student but teachers as well—and didn't bother to bow out of the dojo. Rather than change or go to the office to wait, he grabbed his duffel bag and left the building, making sure to slam every door behind him.
My office. Yoshida had said it, although it wasn't his office. It was Mick's. A mere slip of the tongue, or was there really something going on Gilda wasn't aware of? Changes. Her stomach clenched.
She didn't have long to fret. The instant Erik left the building, taking his gear and leaving the tension, Yoshida's face hardened. He stood, feet shoulder-distance apart, hands clasped behind his back, and nostrils flared, and barked out orders for half an hour as they ran and did the hardest, most nauseating warm-up Gilda had ever pushed through in her life. She guessed torturing his students was the way he let off steam.
She focused—breathe in through her nose, breathe out through her mouth—and fought hard not to succumb to the urge to either throw up or collapse in a heap on the mat. Furtive glances passed between all the students as they ran laps back and forth across the dojo then dropped to the floor to do ten push-ups, ten sit-ups, and ten leg raises before running again.
No one talked. No one dared. Even Mick ran past her so focused he never acknowledged her presence. When Xavier groaned, Yoshida added one last set of twenty push-ups, then told them all to line up.
"You all stink," Yoshida growled. "Stop being lazy. Show me intensity. Show me guts."
A half hour of working on katas, single-person fighting practice, was next, followed by stances. Yoshida made them hold each stance, particularly shiko dachi, or sumo stance, until Gilda's thighs burned, her arms grew too heavy to lift, and her throat burned from swallowing her own vomit. She wanted to run out of the room and throw up but was afraid of Yoshida's reaction.
When Mick clapped a hand to her shoulder, he nearly knocked her over. "Go get a drink of water."
"I'm good." Her voice was raspy.
"You're white and ready to puke. Go take a drink before you're completely dehydrated. That goes for all of you. Take a break."
Yoshida's somber face tightened. "No drinks. No breaks. They will train until I let them leave. You are a lousy teacher. They have much to learn."
"They need water and a chance to catch their breaths." Mick's voice was forceful enough to make Yoshida take a step back. "Five minutes water break—then we'll work on kumite."
Gilda gave an inward groan. Sparring was her least favorite part of class, especially with Yoshida instructing. She backed out of the dojo and hoped lemon water was the perfect antidote for her queasy stomach. Down the hall, someone retched in one of the bathrooms.
Gilda took a few deep breaths before she reached for her sparring gloves and mouth guard to return to class. Across the room, Yoshida stood near the shelves organizing gloves, blockers, and any other martial arts gear within reach into stacks of five. He was either nervous, obsessive, or both.
"You okay?" Mick paused next to her.
She flinched. "Mostly. What's he doing?"
He sighed. "Apparently, nothing meets his approval today."
"Great. One of those days," she said.
"This could turn into an interesting class."
"What do you mean, turn into?"
"Don't say I didn't warn you, Sherlock." Mick called for everyone to line up. "Take a partner. We'll spar for two minutes. When I yell switch, change partners. Keep going until you spar everyone in the room."
Gilda's stomach cramped. An even number of students included Yoshida, who put on his gloves and kept his beady-eyed gaze focused on Mick. Things were about to get ugly.
Razi paired up with her and spoke without moving his lips. "Are you okay?"
"No talking." Yoshida barked.
She nodded and pushed in her mouth guard. At least Razi took it fairly easy on her. He sparred, but not as hard as he could go. She once saw him knock Xavier back six feet onto his butt. If he were to hit her full strength, she'd probably go right through the wall.
When they changed partners, the lone yellow belt in the room grabbed Gilda. "Is he always like this? I know everyone said he was tough, but—"
"No talking." Yoshida scowled.
Gilda shook her head.
They fought one another until the only people she hadn't sparred with were Mick and Yoshida. Before Mick could get across the room, Yoshida bowed in front of her. Protocol over niceties. He jumped into his sparring stance and put on an intimidating glower. With his gaze focused on her, he called hajime—start—to begin two minutes of torture.
Gilda had watched intense gradings before. She'd even seen Yoshida "tea
ch" Walter a lesson when he aggressively sparred the white belt who left the school in tears. The Yoshida who faced her now was neither of those. This Yoshida's face twisted back into the frightening Kabuki mask, and she expected to see smoke curl out of his nostrils.
He lunged at her without warning. Completely caught off guard, she never even blocked, and the edge of his glove caught her lower lip. The taste of blood and sweat met the tip of her tongue. This Yoshida played for keeps. When he moved in again, she reacted fast enough to block the punch but caught his kick in her upper thigh. Pain radiated up and down her leg.
The demon mask didn't crack. Her bravery, however, wouldn't hold out much longer. On his third strike, she blocked both his punches, then the kick that followed. She also managed to throw a kick to his groin, which made him flinch. Then she jumped back out of his reach. This was no time for pride.
Fury twisted Yoshida's face, and he flew at her with hands and feet a blur. She took several hits to her face before her breath stuck in her throat, clogging her airway, and she began to hyperventilate. As she fought for breath, all she could do was turtle into a heap on the floor and cover her face and ribs. The blows rained down onto her head and back. His kicks battered her legs.
"Yame." Mick yelled for him to stop and stood in front of Gilda, warding off fists, feet, and everything else Yoshida threw. No matter which way the older man moved, Mick blocked Yoshida's access to her.
As she crawled toward the wall, away from the fight, tears mingled with the sweat on her face and soaked her uniform. Her hands shook, and her chin trembled. She touched her swollen lip and came away with watery pink blood.
The other students stopped, turning to watch as Mick and Yoshida fought. Xavier lunged forward to intervene, but Yoshida punched him in the face. Holding his bloody nose, Xavier crumpled to the floor. Razi motioned for the others to move out of the away. No one spoke.
Mick bore a cut on his cheek, and Yoshida's eye grew red and puffy, but neither man backed down. Yoshida stood his ground, unable to get past Mick's defenses. When he finally stopped throwing punches, Mick stepped out of his reach and did the same.
Yoshida growled. "You disrespect me in front of my students."
"I'm protecting my students," Mick said. "No disrespect intended."
"They would not need protection if they could fight." He pointed to Gilda. "That one is weak and lazy. She will never be a black belt."
Gilda wiped her eyes and muttered beneath her breath.
Mick stood his ground. "She's a worthy student, and you have no reason to treat her this way."
Yoshida refused to back down. He glanced around the room. "Who told them to stop? They should still be sparring. Sparring stances on. Hajime, begin."
Mick's face hardened. "Put your gloves away and line up. Class is done for tonight."
"I am not finished." Yoshida's nostrils flared again. "This class is not done."
"Yes, it is. Our grief for Walter has gotten the best of all of us." Mick unstrapped his gloves and threw them against the far wall.
Yoshida stood in place in the middle of the dojo with his gloves still on while Mick ended class. Gilda, Razi, and Xavier lingered and looked to their sensei, who wiped the back of his hand across the gash on his cheek.
"Go home. All of you." Mick bowed, careful to keep one eye on Yoshida. "Shihan and I have some things to discuss."
Gilda paused in the doorway and met Mick's gaze. "Are you sure you—"
"I'm sure."
She backed out the doorway. While she didn't like leaving him alone while Yoshida was in full monster mode, she understood. He needed to settle things between them.
"Are you okay?" Xavier asked, one hand still on his nose. "You look like you took a few good hits."
"So do you. I'll be fine." She coughed, still struggling to catch her breath. "You'd better tend to your nose. It looks broken."
"It's not the first time he's busted my nose," he said. "I'll survive."
After a fast trip to the washroom to finally throw up, she found an empty changing stall and hid behind the new, heavy blue curtain to swallow the tears that threatened to dissolve her into a pile of goo. Her uniform was so wet she needed to peel the fabric off her arms and legs. Every single one of her muscles burned. Her throat ached, raw from a blend of emotion and vomit.
"Gilda? You sure you're okay?" Xavier approached her again but was interrupted as the three other women in the class stopped to give her hugs on their way out. He gave her a quick hug. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Walter's funeral. Gilda's eyes filled with even more tears. "Okay."
Razi waited until everyone else left before he approached. "I apologize, Miss Wright. That was not something any student should have had to endure. None of us expected things to go that far."
"He didn't do that with anyone else, did he?" She peered into the dojo, but it was empty. Mick and Yoshida were already behind closed doors in the office, their voices loud, yet muffled.
"No," he said. "It seems he wanted to spar with you and Sensei Mick the entire time."
"Why? I've never done anything to him."
Razi shrugged. "Not that I am aware of. Perhaps he is mentally unstable. What Sensei Mick would call bat-shit crazy."
"Perhaps." She couldn't help but laugh at his choice of words as she checked her face in the mirror. At least her puffy lower lip was no longer bleeding. Her left eyebrow was tinged with purple and blue.
"Go home, Miss Wright." Razi nudged her with his elbow. "I will look out for our sensei. Xavier can walk you home."
She hoisted her duffel bag to her shoulder and blew out a breath. With Razi on guard, Yoshida wouldn't get away with doing anything against Mick.
Unless Razi killed him. In which case, aches and bruises would be the least of her concerns.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Xavier had already gone by the time she stepped onto the sidewalk and received alarmed glances from passersby. Shaken and barely able to see through her tears, she appeared to be on her own.
"Whoa. Did you get the number of the horse and buggy that hit you?" Gary sat on the hood of his car, smoke curling around his head. He flicked a cigarette into the gutter and walked over to Gilda for a closer look.
"Ha. Ha." Even her cheeks hurt. "I'm not in the mood for dealing with you. I'm going home to soak in a whole lot of ice."
"No way, lady," Gary said. "You're in no shape to walk anywhere. Get in the car. I'll give you a ride."
"No thanks. It's only a few blocks. I'll get there on my own." She stumbled away from him, the weight of her duffel bag throwing her off balance.
He sighed. "Stubborn little mule. You're just like your father. I'm not going to try anything funny. I swear on your daddy's grave. You're badly hurt, and my only concern is to get you home safe."
Gilda hesitated. If she sat in his car now, she might not stand again for days.
"You can call for a police escort, if it makes you feel any better. I'll even loan you my phone." Gary took the phone out of his pocket and handed it to her.
She rolled her watery eyes, unable to speak.
"Come on, honey. If your old man had ever seen my Chloe as beat up as you, he would've made sure she got home, no matter whose kid she was. I owe him that much." He pocketed the phone then grasped the handles of her duffel bag. "Of course, he also would've arrested the so-and-so who did it to her, but that part's way out of my league."
She let go of her bag and let him toss it into the backseat. When he opened the car door, she eased her weary body onto the passenger seat, in no shape to fight anymore. All she wanted was to go home, sit in a warm bath, and cry. "Thank you."
He pulled into traffic. "Who did this to you? If you say Mick, I'll fix him good."
She sniffled. "Actually, he put a stop to it."
"Huh. Now I am surprised. It must have been that Yoshida character, then," Gary said. "I hate to point this out, but no teacher should ever do this to their student. Somebody needs to teach him a t
hing or two about respect. You want me to arrange a little payback? I can get a guy who's so quiet and fast, even Yoshida won't know what hit him."
"You're very thoughtful in a weird sort of way, but no thank you."
"You're just going to lick your wounds and pretend it never happened, huh?" he asked. "You won't even stand up for yourself."
"Yup." Gilda rubbed her throbbing lip. "That's pretty much the idea."
Gary made a U-turn and pulled the car directly in front of her house. Before she could orient herself to open the door, he ran around to let her out and grabbed her duffel. "Let's get you inside and settled. You got some ice for those bruises?"
"Not as much as I think I'll need," she said.
"How much do you think you'll need?"
"Enough to fill my bathtub." She struggled up each step and let him unlock the front door.
"You may want to think a tad smaller scale to avoid hypothermia." He led her to the couch and helped her sit then strolled into the kitchen to rifle through the freezer portion of her fridge. "At least you've got enough here for a good start. I'll make up a couple ice packs then get you some more for later."
Gilda leaned in the doorway. As much as Gary scared her silly, she had to admire the way he'd dropped everything—even if he was stalking Mick—to help take care of her. "You know, I can look after myself."
"Yeah, I can see that from all the bruises. Nonsense. It's no bother. You sit and relax. I'll get what you need." He poured ice cubes into a couple large plastic bags and zipped them closed. "You got any painkillers? You're going to need them once the shock wears off."
"Top cupboard to the left of the fridge." She ambled into the living room and slouched on the couch with her ice pack and a bottle of water. Her body ached from head to sole, and she began to shiver.
"Take these before the shock wears off." Gary handed her the bottle of anti-inflammatory. He draped a plush blanket over her legs and turned on the television. "I'm going to Happy's for more ice. You need anything else? Whiskey? Wine? A good hit man? I know guys."
This time she laughed, hoping he was making a warped joke. "I'm good. Thanks, Gary. You go on home, and I'll—" She waved a hand, at a loss for words. What would she do without him? Cry. Fall apart. Lose her mind.