"Flyweight?" Koontz laughed.
"Welter," Deems said. "Ten pro fights. Lost six of 'em and one was a draw. Figured fighting steers was easier, so I hooked up with the rodeo awhile. Did real well. Only the wear and tear got to me and I started leading hunting parties up into Montana. Trout fishing in the Glacier National Park is something else, man."
Major Forsythe continued. "Mr. Koontz has some wrestling experience."
"None of that fake shit on TV. I wrestled in high school and college. Yeah, that's right, I had some college. Two years at a community college. Took that dumpy school to the state championships on my back, won 'em a fucking trophy and then they flunked me out."
Major Forsythe checked his records. "It says here you graduated from that school the following year."
"Yup." Koontz smiled. "The teacher that flunked me changed his mind."
"I guess you're more articulate than we realized," Denise Portland said.
"Damn right, lady."
Major Forsythe nodded to Bolan. "Mr. Cummings, you show no specialized fighting training."
"Just what I picked up here and there," Bolan said. "It gets me by."
"I hope so. Shall we start?" Major Forsythe waved everyone back to create a large circle. "Each of you will have an opportunity to display your fighting technique, to demonstrate what skills you have to offer our students. It's important to remember that some of our students are quite large and tough. Some have been sent here because they are a discipline problem. Physical confrontation between student and faculty is not unheard of here at Ridgemont Academy." He looked directly at Denise. "And if one of us is defeated, we're all in danger."
"I don't like hitting kids," Deems drawled.
"Nor do we encourage it," Major Forsythe said. "Only in extreme situations is it permitted, and even then only as much force as is necessary to control the situation. Excessive force by a faculty member will result in dismissal and arrest. Do I make myself clear?" He turned his gaze on Koontz.
"Yeah," Koontz said. "Don't hurt the kiddies."
"Exactly. And since you are so feisty today, Mr. Koontz, perhaps you won't mind starting our little demonstration?"
"Sure." Koontz immediately stripped off his shirt, revealing large slabs of muscle across his chest and stomach. One nipple was missing, replaced by a thick white scar. "Who's gonna take me on?"
Boorman stood up. "Me."
Major Forsythe shook his head. "Mr. Boorman, I suggest you rest a while longer. You swallowed quite a bit of water."
"I'm fine, Major." But he didn't look fine. Bolan watched him remove his jacket and shirt, his movements a little awkward. Obviously he felt as if he needed to prove something. That was his choice. Bolan wouldn't interfere.
"Hell," Deems said, "I'll fight first. Might as well take my licking and get it over with."
Boorman shook his head. "Wait your turn, cowboy."
Deems shrugged and stepped back.
Major Forsythe held up his hands. "This is just a demonstration, not a fight. You have a quarrel with each other, that's to be settled off campus. Right now you're just showing me some of your skills. Nothing more. Light contact. Understand?"
"Sure," Koontz said. "Light contact."
"Yes, sir," Boorman said.
It wasn't much of a demonstration. Boorman came in at a crouch, his body weight distributed nicely on his long thick legs. Koontz chose a bouncing, sliding wrestler's stance, his huge hands spread open like iron bear traps.
Boorman faked a grab, but Koontz didn't fall for it. He held his ground, grinning malevolently.
"Come on in, Boorman," he snickered. "The water's fine. Koontzy's gonna teach you to swim. Gonna teach you the dead man's float."
Boorman didn't rattle. He circled Koontz, looking for an opening. When he saw one, he kicked out with a perfect side kick at Koontz's head.
But Koontz was ready. He caught Boorman's leg with both hands and twisted with such force that Boorman was wrenched off his feet. Immediately Koontz dived on him, slamming all of his weight onto Boorman's chest. The air wheezed out of Boorman's lungs.
Bolan looked around him. Major Forsythe watched with disapproving eyes, but said nothing. Deems shifted impatiently in the sand. He was not the kind of man who liked sitting by and watching this kind of massacre.
But Denise Portland interested Bolan the most. Her face was impassive, as if she were watching television, or a curious-looking insect. She sifted sand through her fist, concentrating as much on the falling grains as she was on the fight.
Koontz had Boorman tied up in a half nelson and a leg lock. Boorman struggled, but each movement caused Koontz to exert more pressure on his head.
"Give up, chump?" Koontz said.
Boorman tried to twist free. Koontz shoved his head. A couple of vertebrae in his neck crackled.
"That's enough," Deems said, jumping to his feet.
"It's not enough until Boorman says it's enough," Koontz said.
Boorman gritted his teeth in pain. A drop of blood trickled from his nose. But he kept struggling.
Koontz laughed. "I love these karate guys the best. Think all they have to do is stand there like some fucking Bruce Lee and everybody runs for the hills. Never saw one yet that couldn't be brought down by a good wrestler."
Deems looked at Major Forsythe, but the major didn't say anything. He merely watched, his hands behind his back at parade rest.
"Here's a move we used to do on guys who lingered too long in the showers, maybe staring at us too friendly." Koontz slid across Boorman, bending arms and legs with such speed and skill he looked like a professional package wrapper. When he was done, he had Boorman's arms pinned behind his back and thrust halfway to his shoulder blades. Boorman arched his back in pain. Then Koontz brought his knee up between Boorman's legs and rammed him hard in the crotch. Boorman gasped in pain.
"Goddammit, Major!" Deems pleaded.
Still the major did not flinch. "It is Mr. Boorman's decision."
"You said light contact," Deems said.
Koontz winked at Denise Portland. "Only one who's gonna see some light contact is you, Princess. I'm gonna light contact all over you."
Denise Portland smiled back at him. Then she brushed the sand from her hands, stood up, walked over to the pretzeled pair on the ground and kicked Koontz squarely in the chin. His head snapped back, smacking the ground and he rolled away from Boorman. A blue knob swelled along Koontz's chin.
Boorman was too weak to climb to his feet, so she offered him a hand. He took it. She pulled his two hundred pounds easily to his feet.
"Hey, bitch," Koontz said, climbing to his feet. Sand clung to him like breading. "How are you when a man's facing you?"
"I haven't had any complaints yet," she said.
Koontz rushed her, arms outstretched and groping. She dived to the ground, lashing up with one leg that tripped him as he sped by, sending him tumbling face first into the sand. She scrambled to her feet and waited while Koontz brushed the sand from his face. He stood up, eyes glaring at her with rage. He spit sand from his lips.
"Fight's over," Boorman said. "I lost."
"Fuck you," Koontz said. "This is between her and me." He looked over at the major. "Right, Major?"
Major Forsythe remained at parade rest. "Continue the demonstration."
"Hell, Major," Deems said, "this ain't no demonstration no more. Can't you see that?"
The major looked at Deems with unblinking eyes. "If you do not agree with my methods, Mr. Deems, you are free to drop out of the running for this position."
Deems didn't say anything. He shrugged his lanky frame and watched.
Koontz came in low, his hands ready for kicks. The woman faked a couple of kicks, but he remained steady, waiting. Which was why he wasn't ready for what she did next. She socked him in the jaw, right on the blue knob where she'd kicked him. The impact rocked him backward a couple of steps, but he shook it off and stalked her again.
This time she dropped to
the ground and performed a sudden leg sweep that knocked his feet out from under him and dumped him butt first on the sand. While both were on the ground, she snapped a side kick into his chest, sending him recoiling flat on his back.
But Koontz was good. He used his own cedar-size legs to snag her as she started to get up. He locked her in scissors around her waist and began to squeeze. Air whooshed out of her as she pried futilely at his legs. In desperation she pounded on his kneecaps, but her strength was already depleted by his knees crushing her stomach.
Bolan wondered if she would cry out or give up. But she didn't. There was no panic in her face, no fear in her eyes. She grabbed for his feet and tried to untangle his locked ankles.
Meantime, Koontz scooted the top half of his body toward her, his hands reaching out for her. He grabbed her shoulders, pulling her closer to him, his hands sliding down from her shoulders across her breasts, lingering there.
"No job is worth this," Deems said angrily and rushed over to Koontz. He dropped knees first onto Koontz's chest and delivered three left jabs and a right cross. Not enough to loosen Koontz's grip on Denise. Koontz reached up with one hand and grabbed Deems's face.
Boorman staggered over to the thrashing bodies, dropped to his knees, took a deep breath and began tugging at Koontz's feet. Finally he pried them loose.
Denise Portland wriggled free and rolled away from Koontz. She stood up, walked back to Koontz and stomped with her heel on Koontz's crotch. Koontz yowled, releasing Deems's face.
Koontz lay breathless on the sand, rocking slightly. Deems was rubbing his face as if he were afraid the skin had been stretched into saggy pouches. Boorman brushed sand from his sport jacket. Denise Portland sat in her old spot, sifting sand through her fist.
Major Forsythe strolled over next to Koontz. "Are you all right, Mr. Koontz?"
Koontz nodded, slowly pushing himself to a sitting position. "Took three of the fuckers to bring me down, though."
"But bring you down they did," the major replied. "Part of survival is the ability to get along with others in your world. That's called character. And character is what we most try to teach our students."
"What about him?" Koontz pointed at Bolan. "He didn't do shit."
"Anyone feel like taking Mr. Cummings on?" the major asked.
They all looked wearily at Bolan. No one volunteered.
"Then I will have to declare Mr. Cummings the winner of this competition. He is in the best shape. Part of survival is knowing when to fight, and when it isn't necessary. Had he been the first to join in to help Mr. Boorman, and everybody else had joined him, I would have declared him the winner for his initiative. However, if he'd joined in last when he was obviously not needed, I would have declared him in last place for poor judgment. As it was, though, he chose the right course. Do nothing."
"Congratulations," Denise Portland said. "You do nothing better than the rest of us."
Bolan shrugged. "It's a gift."
Major Forsythe strolled back toward the school. "Now, if you will all follow me, we can continue the testing with some field stripping of weapons." He glanced at Koontz. "Unloaded, of course."
7
Libby Jenson woke up to the sound of men's voices arguing. She rubbed her eyes and looked at the cinder-block and particleboard bookshelves against the wall and realized she didn't have bookshelves like that in her dorm room. Nor did she have a water bed, which she was now lying on, gently rocking.
Then she remembered. Running into Dave Grady yesterday on campus, comparing philosophy tests. They'd had coffee. Ended up in his bed. She smiled at the memory.
The voices in the next room were getting louder. She recognized Dave's. There were two others. They sounded older. She couldn't make out the words through the closed door, but everyone was angry. She didn't like hostile scenes so she figured she'd wait it out in the bedroom.
She stood up, stretched. Bones cracked up her spine, down in her toes. She mussed her thick red hair. She rooted down at the bottom of the bed under the covers until she found her clothes. Quickly she pulled on her jeans and polo shirt.
Nice. The sex. Pleasant, by-the-numbers sort of a thing. You do this, I'll do that. You go here, I'll go there. But Dave never seemed totally there, as if he was mentally cramming for a test while doing it. Distant.
She was dying for a cigarette. She'd started smoking to drive her parents nuts and now she couldn't quit. She was up to a pack a day, two during exams. The worst part was that her parents had never even commented on it. They were too cool for that.
She rummaged through her purse, found a slightly battered Winston and stuck it in her mouth. Then she found her lighter, a disposable that she thumbed and thumbed but it wouldn't light. She shook it but it was empty.
"Damn." She sighed. Having the cigarette in her mouth made her need it even more. She started searching through Dave's bedroom, shoving aside thick books and scattered papers. Hunting through drawers, under his socks. She'd never seen Dave smoke, but she was desperate for a match. Surely even nonsmokers kept matches around to light fireplaces and candles and barbecues or just in case of the damned earthquakes.
She rooted through his desk among the pens and the legal-size yellow pads and the note cards. No matches.
No better luck in the drawers under the water bed. She tried the closet. She pawed aside the running shoes and tennis shoes and sandals. Dave's guests had calmed down some, though an occasional loud syllable would crack through the door. At the back of the closet, behind the skis and ski boots and under the bicycle helmet, she saw a small aluminum suitcase. Bigger than a briefcase really, more like a fancy camera case.
She glanced over her shoulder at the closed bedroom door and grinned mischievously as she thumbed aside the latches and flipped open the lid, hoping to find old love letters or maybe some tattered copies of a girlie magazine. Something to give Dave that human dimension that was missing last night.
When the lid was open, she gasped loudly. Six component parts, dismantled and nestled snugly in their foam compartments. But she'd watched enough TV to know this was a gun she was looking at. And not just an ordinary target-practice gun. This was a serious bodily-harm gun, with bullets big and slender as fingers. She touched the smooth barrel, then pulled away as if she'd been burned. Quickly she closed the lid and shoved the case back where she found it. She pushed shoes and skis in place. The unlit cigarette in her mouth was quivering.
Libby grabbed her purse, slung it over her shoulder, picked up her books and headed for the door. Something was wrong with this picture and she didn't want to find out what. Whatever Dave was into, she didn't want to know.
She opened the bedroom door. Dave and his two guests were in the kitchen. She started to tiptoe through the living room toward the apartment door. Ten more steps and she'd be home free.
"Libby?" Dave's voice snagged her in midstride.
She turned with the best smile she could manage on her face. "Morning, Dave."
Dave stood in his bathrobe. His pale bony knees peeked out from under the hem. His blond hair was mussed from sleep, making him look even younger than his nineteen years. He smiled at her.
The two men standing behind him were not smiling. One was older, about her dad's age, but completely bald. He had jewelry on his fingers that could have paid her tuition on through graduate school. The other man was tall and muscular, with thick black hair and nifty clothes that looked too stylish for his dull looks. He had small scabs on his upper and lower lips, as if he'd been bitten on the mouth by a snake. She could smell the overpowering cologne all the way across the room. Whoever they were, whatever Dave's relationship with these men, she didn't want to know. She wanted to get back to her dumpy little dorm room.
Dave was looking at her strangely, his eyes narrow and probing. She could almost feel them physically nudging her brain. "You okay?" he asked.
"Fine." She held up her unlit cigarette. "Looking for a match. I didn't want to disturb you." She started for the
door. "I'll see you later at school. I've got to meet some kids in my study group."
"Hold on a second, Libby. We're almost done." He turned to the older bald guy. "Aren't we?"
The guy didn't like it, but Libby could see he wasn't about to raise a fuss in front of her. "Sure, Dave. Just take another couple of minutes."
"Why don't you wait in the bedroom a minute?" Dave suggested. "Finish this up and make you a quick breakfast before you hit the books."
She didn't know what to do. He was acting pretty normal, even sweet. Maybe she was exaggerating everything. Lots of guys had guns. Hell, for all she knew, maybe it was one of those gun cameras she'd seen on TV. "Okay," she said. "A few minutes won't matter."
She started back to the bedroom.
"Oh, miss?" the old guy said.
Libby looked back.
He smiled with perfectly capped teeth. "Your cigarette." He pulled a gold lighter out of his pocket and flicked it.
Libby crossed the room, leaned her cigarette into the flame without looking into the guy's eyes or holding his hand, which she usually did if the guy was cute.
"Thanks," she said and disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. Once inside, she pressed her ear to the door and listened.
"Everything will be taken care of as promised," Dave said.
"You already fucked it up once, man," the younger guy said.
"How's the lip, Drake?" Dave said sarcastically.
"Drake is right," the older man said. "Not only have you blown the assignment, but you've warned the prey. He'll be looking for you now."
"That won't present any problem."
Drake snorted. "Yeah, so we've seen."
"One more chance," the older guy said. "One more chance, David, then I hire a new contractor."
"On you," Drake said.
Libby felt her knees quiver. The tones of their voices was serious. They were threatening Dave. She thought of the gun in the closet again. No way was that a camera, unless those bullets were a new kind of film. What was Dave into? Maybe he was a robber, these guys were his fences.
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