by Diane Bator
“Yeah. Well, not totally. You are my best friend, you know,” Marion said. “What’s wrong? Did I miss something?”
“No, but I think I have. Tonight there’s training with Yoshida. Both he and Mick told me not to show up.”
“Holy crap. Is your karate that bad?”
Gilda groaned. “I think there’s something going on at the school that I’ve missed. If I do go to class tonight, I’ll find out more.”
“See that’s where you and I differ. If someone like Mick told me to stay away, I’d listen, no maybe about it. Especially from Yoshida. Hang on a sec, will you?” Her next words were muffled, but clear. “Get lost, Thayer. No, I’m not talking to Gilda. I’m talking to my boyfriend.”
“Yeah? What’s his name?” Thayer asked in the background.
“Tiny. Do you really want to mess with a guy named Tiny? No? I didn’t think so.”
Gilda smiled. “I have to get ready for class. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Don’t you dare hang up on me, Tiny.” She lowered her voice. “Honey, do you have brain damage? Listen to Mick. Forget training and meet me for dinner. Do you want to end up like Walter?”
Gilda got up to pace the garden path. “No, but what if Walter learned something they didn’t want him to know? What if someone else finds out and dies?”
Marion groaned. “Then you’ll end up in the middle and get killed no matter what I say.”
“There will be other students there.”
“And what if they’re all involved?” she asked.
Gilda hadn’t thought that far ahead.
Chapter 13
Despite Mick’s and Yoshida’s warnings, and Marion’s misgivings, Gilda returned to the school Tuesday evening. She came around the corner and ran straight into Yoshida. When he stepped away from her, something flickered across his face. Fear? Anger? Whatever it was, the look disappeared as fast as it appeared.
“Miss Wright.” He gave a slight bow, the lines in his face seemed etched even deeper. His head was freshly shaven. Ready for battle.
“Shihan Yoshida.” She bowed and set her pink sports bag on the floor. “I’m not sure how many students will attend.”
Yoshida nodded. “The death and pending funeral of Mr. Levy. Very sad.”
Usually he didn’t bother to remember the names of their students or instructors. Today he seemed to make a special effort. 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 also give her worried mind a temporary break.
She hoped.
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. Mick shot her a glare, but wasted no time. The highest ranking brown belt began the opening ceremony by calling the rei. After the bowing in was done, everyone stood. Beads of sweat quivered on Gilda’s upper lip, even though they hadn’t warmed up yet. Silence hung as heavy and humid as storm clouds.
Yoshida nodded to Mick, who turned to the students. Three black belts, two brown belts, a blue belt, two green belts, an orange belt, and a yellow belt made up the class. All adults.
“Thank you for coming,” Mick toyed with his belt. “We’ve lost a distinguished black belt, which will set us back.”
At the far end of the lineup, Erik snorted.
Gilda cringed.
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?”
She 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 harassed 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. We all know you let him stay because he paid big bucks to be a silent partner in the school.”
Gilda’s mouth dropped open. Mutiny. More secrets revealed. Was this what he and Yoshida were afraid of? When her gaze met Mick’s, his face hardened and he turned away.
The lines in Mick’s neck betrayed his tension. “I think you should leave.”
“Seriously?” Erik asked. “You’re kicking me out?”
“For tonight,” Mick said as sweat trickled down the side of his face. “I’d like you to calm down. You and I can talk tomorrow and straighten things out.”
“Of course.” Erik smirked. “How dare I bad mouth your replacement. Did you tell Gilda what’s going on or are you afraid she and everyone else would 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 show of defiance, Erik glared at Mick then turned his back, disrespecting not only his fellow students, but his teachers. He didn’t bother to bow. Rather than change or go to the office to wait, he grabbed his duffle bag and left, making sure to slam every door behind him.
My office. Yoshida said, although it wasn’t his office, but Mick’s. A slip of the tongue or was there something else going on? 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 only way he could let off steam.
She breathed in through her nose, out through her mouth, and fought hard not to succumb to the urge to either throw up or collapse in a simpering 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 groaned. No one dared. Even Mick ran past her so focused he didn’t acknowledge her presence. When Xavier finally moaned, Yoshida added one last set of twenty push-ups then told them to line up.
“You all stink,” Yoshida growled. “I hope your karate is not as bad as your warm-up. Stop being lazy. Show me intensity. Show me guts.”
Gilda winced. Any more running and she’d definitely show him her guts.
A half hour of working on katas 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 throw up but was afraid of Yoshida’s reaction.
Mick clapped a hand to her shoulder and nearly knocked her over. “Go get some water.”
“I’m good.” Her voice was raspy.
“You’re white and ready to puke. Go take a drink before you’re completely dehydrated,” he said. “That goes for all of you. Take a break.”
Yoshida’s eyes narrowed. “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 commanding and 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, 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.
Before she reached for her sparring gloves and mouth guard to return to class, she took a few deep breaths. Across the room, Yoshida organized gloves, blockers, and any other gear within reach. He was either nervous, obsessive, or both.
“You okay?” Mick paused next to her.
She flinched. “Mostly.”
“What’s he doing?”
Gilda sighed. “Apparently, nothing meets his approval today.”
“This could turn into an interesting class,” he said.
“What do you mean turn into?”
“I did tell you to stay home. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Sherlock.” He entered the dojo and called for everyone to line up. “Take a partner. We’ll spar for two minutes then 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 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 and mouthed, “No.”
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 stopped and bowed. Protocol.
Yoshida jumped into his sparring stance and put on an intimidating glower. His gaze focused on her and he called hajime to start two minutes of torture.
Gilda had watched intense gradings before. She’d even seen Yoshida “teach” 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 curled out of his nostrils.
Whatever the reason, he hated her and lunged without warning. Completely caught off guard, she didn’t have a chance to block and the edge of his glove caught her lower lip. The taste of blood and sweat met the tip of her tongue. This Yoshida was playing 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 bruise would be as dark as his eyes.
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 his cheek flinch as 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 gasped and 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 shielded Gilda to ward off fists, feet, and everything else Yoshida threw. No matter which way the older man moved, Mick blocked his access to her.
As she crawled toward the wall, away from the fight, tears mingled with the blood and 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 jumped forward to intervene, but Yoshida punched him in the face. Holding his bloody nose, Xavier crumpled to the floor. Razi motioned the others out of the away. No one moved.
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 lowered his arms and stopped throwing punches, Mick did the same.
Yoshida growled. “You disrespect me in front of my students.”
“I’m protecting my students,” Mick said. “There is 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.
Mick stood his ground. “She’s a worthy student. You have no reason to harm her.”
Yoshida refused to back down. He glanced around the room. “Who told you to stop? Sparring stances on. Hajime.”
Mick’s face hardened. “Put your gloves away. Class is done.”
“I am not finished.” Yoshida’s nostrils flared again. “This class is not done.”
“Yes, it is. Our emotions have 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 and told everyone to leave. 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 to them, careful to keep one eye on Yoshida. “Shihan and I have some things to discuss.”
Gilda paused in the doorway. “Are you sure you want—?”
“I’m sure.” He met her gaze. “Go home.”
She backed out the doorway. Even though Yoshida was in full monster mode, she understood. Mick needed to settle things between them.
“Are you okay?” Xavier had one hand on his nose, as he put an arm across her shoulders. “You look like you took a few good hits.”
“So do you. I’ll be fine.” She coughed, still struggling to catch her breath and calm down. “You’d better tend to your nose. It looks broken.”
“It’s not the first time that man’s busted my nose,” he said. “I’ll survive.”
After a fast trip to one of the washroom to finally throw up, she found an empty change stall and hid behind the new 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, vomit, and the brutality of the class.
“Gilda? Are you sure you’re okay?” Xavier approached her again when she emerged from her stall, but was interrupted as the three other women in the class stopped to give her hugs on their way out. He bowed his head then gave her a quick hug and walked away. “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 her. “I apologize, Miss Wright. That was not something any student should have had to endure. I do not think Sensei Mick expected Shihan Yoshida to go that far. None of us did.”
“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 then checked her face in the mirror. At least her
lower lip, while puffy, was no longer bleeding. The brow of her left eye had already reddened and was tinged with purple and blue.
“Go home, Miss Wright.” Razi nudged her with his elbow. “I will stay here and look out for our sensei. Please, ask Xavier to walk you home.”
She hoisted her duffle bag to her shoulder and blew out a breath. With Razi on guard, Yoshida wouldn’t get away with doing anything against Mick. Unless he killed him. In which case, aches and bruises would be the least of her concerns.
Chapter 14
Xavier was 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’d have to get home under her own steam.
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. “Whoa. Did you get the number of the horse and buggy that hit you?”
“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.”
“You’re in no shape to walk anywhere,” Gary said. “Get in. I’ll give you a ride.”
“It’s only a few blocks. I’ll get there on my own.” She stumbled away from him, the weight of her duffle bag throwing her off balance.
He shook his head and 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 could call for a police escort, if it makes you feel any better. I’ll even loan you my phone.” Gary took a phone out of his pocket and handed it over.
She rolled her 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 safe, no matter whose kid she was. I owe him that much.” He pocketed the phone then grasped the handles of her duffle 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.”