Likely . . . but we’d never pick her out.
Random hot woman in a sea of unknown faces.
Would’ve been nice to make another capture attempt on her, but don’t have the manpower even if we had the means. If I still had my artifacts left I could’ve used my tracker discs to tag her. Track her all the way back to wherever Paine’s lair was. Seattle or Vancouver. Best guess anyone had. His territory after all. Vamps have given up those hunting grounds altogether. Recruiters and ESLED do head into Curator territory . . . they just travel en masse and don’t stay long.
Everyone’s nervous about the mysterious boogeyman.
Me telling the supernatural world he’s Obadiah Paine make it better or worse?
Needed to tell T-Bone still. And all the rest to Pocket and Jesus.
Should do it now.
Today at least.
In case I died tomorrow.
Dead like Jason Jackson.
Head all cracked open.
Blood on the canvas.
Kept seeing that image from the night before repeated with them fight tapes. Over and over. Crack. Crack. Crack. Dead. Dead. Dead.
Better thinking about that than thinking about the stupid dragon taunting me.
Monk mojo juice . . . was interested in it before.
But not if it gave Meteyos access to my dreams.
Doesn’t want me near Paine, but the dragon does want something out of me. Don’t have a clue what it is. Don’t like that at all. If I don’t have a clue, then how can I know if I accidentally do what he wants or not?
We put pads on T-Bone. Full chest protection stuff, plus sparring headgear, gloves, a cup he could coil his big black wang inside, all the works.
Then I sparred with him.
Had him hold his arms up over his head and out to the sides. Try to mimic Conan Sapa’s size somewhat, if not his speed and ferocity. Practiced coming in, landing body punches into T-Bone and then back out before he could even slap me with his glove. Kept at it. Kept at it some more. Eventually T-Bone started whining about me hitting too hard. Then he started whining about not being able to breathe, so I kicked him out of the ring.
Pocket came in next with sparring gear, but not a chest protector or a cup.
Mistake.
Friends or not, we had boxed before. Fines Samson made us do it for Elementalism as a Weapon. Was fun . . . for me at least. Lady apparently was not pleased with him and yes, some of the girls stopped sparring and started pulling hair, and no, I did not ever get matched up against Welf or Jackson like I secretly hoped, but I did get to wail punches into Pocket’s gut until he threw in the towel.
Pocket was even taller, even more All-American, and even fitter than he’d been back then as a sixteen-year-old. Was in shape, if not fighting shape. Had big calves from hiking trails and chasing after people for FIND. Big arms from hauling oversized backpacks filled with supplies for when he found them. Reach, angles, all the usual bullshit I always had to deal with as a short bastard.
“Sure you want to do this, dude?” Pocket asked me, grin on his face telling me he was trying to get into my head. “Might injure you before you can fight Sapa. Two nights in a Slush tub can’t be good for you either.”
“Yuck it up, Fernthrower,” I told him, raising my fists.
Jesus had a position just outside one of the ring corners, hanging on the turnbuckle itself. T-Bone was breathing heavily from a ringside bench, down below us. No one else around, just the four of us. T-Bone said Vicky might drop by later, but so far, just the guys.
“We should bet on this,” Jesus decided.
“Money?” I asked.
Jesus shook his head.
“Bit old to be betting Oreos and soda cans,” Pocket pointed out.
Jesus smiled like a bandit, finger running down the length of his mustache as he played slow. “Maybe we bet something more important than money or toys.”
“I like money,” Pocket said, “especially since King Henry has so much of it at the moment.”
I studied Jesus for a bit, trying to figure out what he was getting at. When he winked from behind Pocket’s back, I finally got it.
I nodded at him. “Tricky little goatfucker, ain’t you?”
Might as well have twirled his mustache. “Pocket lasts five minutes without falling on his ass and you tell us everything that happened with Boomworm during the summer. You know what I’m talking about, El Rey. Not talking no lovely dovey how you tricked her to think you’re a stud, neither. Talking all the other stuff you been leaving out. Told us who the Curator is, but we all know there’s more to it, don’t we?”
“He told you who the Curator is?” T-Bone squeaked from below, wheezing like an harmonica. “He knows who the Curator is?”
“Obadiah Paine,” I growled down at him. “If you weren’t so busy with Vicky you’d be up to date on this shit.”
“Obadiah Paine!” T-Bone bolted upright. “That’s . . . oh my God! Oh my God! How could . . . oh my God!”
“Throw some water on him, please,” I told Jesus.
“Oh my God!” T-Bone added once more before he returned to the real world. Averting his panic attack, hyperventilation, and maybe stroke in the process. “Miss Dale will neuter you one ball at a time when she finally finds out!”
“Neuter me one ball at a time . . .” I muttered to myself “Wow, T-Bone actually came up with a foul phrase before I did. Maybe I used it before though . . . hard to remember all of them in my old age.”
“What about it, El Rey?” Jesus asked. “We betting or not?”
I studied him again.
He winked again too.
Guess I’ll play my part and trust he knows what he’s doing. “Been a whole lot about me losing, ain’t heard nothing ‘bout what I get when I knock Pocket on his ass, Lord and Savior.”
“We each tell you one of our deepest and darkest secrets. Secrets for secrets, sound fair?”
Pocket suddenly had grave doubts in this idea. “Wait a second . . .”
Tricky little goatfucker, I thought again. Wasn’t a win or a loss anyway around it. Just a way for all of us to cut the crap and admit the truth to each other. “Deal!” I yelled.
“Wait . . . dude, please stop sizing me up like that. No iron fists, right? We agreed to that, right?” Pocket asked, backing up into the corner near Jesus.
“No anima of any kind!” I agreed.
“And five minutes . . . bit much, isn’t it?” Pocket tried to hedge some more.
“One round, three minutes, fine with me,” I said.
Pocket let out a big sigh. “Okay then, I can do this.”
“Sure you can,” Jesus nodded. “Get El Rey to tell us all his secrets.”
“I don’t have any secrets I think,” T-Bone wheezed to no one, pulling his inhaler out to take a puff of it.
“Touch gloves!” Jesus commanded.
Pocket and I touched gloves.
“Into your corners.”
I went back to my corner.
I showed some predator’s grin.
Pocket’s brain started working. “Wait . . .” he whispered. “What kind of fight is this?”
“Ring the bell!” Jesus yelled.
No bell was rung.
“Tyson!” Jesus called at him.
“Wait!” Pocket tried again.
T-Bone rolled forward, crawled the rest of the way to the apron, and rang a bell that hung limply down the side.
Ding!
I rushed in, fists up.
Pocket stayed back against the ropes, playing for time. Standing tall, center of gravity relaxed, all that. Hard to punch a guy taller than you, don’t I know it.
Which is why I didn’t punch him.
Yeah, I’m kind of a horrible friend.
But we all saw it coming, even Pocket.
I kicked him in the balls.
His soul made this kind of dead noise before his body fell to its knees.
“Winner!” Jesus yelled. “El Rey with the bal
l kick. I am utterly shocked at this outcome,” he further deadpanned. “Oh no, we have to give up our secrets! The horror!”
I helped Pocket to his feet. He rubbed his balls with his gloves. It doesn’t really help, but you have to try. “You suck.”
I nodded, not saying anything.
Pocket glared at Jesus. “You cheated! I thought we were boxing!”
Jesus shrugged his way. “Bet between mancers, cheating is expected and El Rey politely agreed not to iron fist you, was very generous of him I thought.”
“Three secrets,” I announced. “One from each of you. Pocket first.” I cupped my ear with my glove, waiting for it. “Come on, man. Shock me. I can’t possibly imagine what it could be.”
Pocket glanced about at everything that wasn’t King Henry Price. “Uh . . . well.”
“Not like I don’t expect it. Just say it. End the pain. Get it in the open,” I prodded him.
“Well . . .” Pocket swallowed, steadying himself. “I . . . well . . .”
“Yes? Jesus is here for you. He’s by your side. Won’t hurt at all.”
“I was the one who didn’t want you to come to Las Vegas for the Exhibition!” he blurted out.
“What?” T-Bone and I yelled at the same time.
Jesus just slammed his head forward into the padded corner post.
“I thought you’d do exactly what you ended up doing, dude. I blamed it all on Boomworm earlier and that wasn’t cool of me. She wanted you to come, she wanted me to tell you about it months ago since she couldn’t, Recruiter and all that. FIND is a separate organization, we don’t answer to the Learning Council. So I could just tell you without getting in trouble, but I didn’t.
“I figured you’d jump right into it and get yourself hurt or something. When Tyson called and then everyone else called, well . . . I had to drag you here at the last minute despite thinking it was a bad idea, but a better idea than leaving you drunk and running around Fresno terrorizing the townfolk. Mr. Black gave me four tickets anyway and . . . it wasn’t a long trip from Vegas to Fresno . . . so I gave in.”
I stared up at him. At his earnest, green eyes. I’m so sorry! they said. Forgive me! I won’t ever do it again! Behind Pocket’s back Jesus again smashed his face into the padding. “You have got to be shitting me!” I yelled. “That’s the secret you want to tell me? You’re sure?”
Pocket nodded, letting out a deep breath. “Man that feels good getting that off my chest! Was bad vibes keeping it from you. Know what too? I was wrong. Boomworm was right. I see you doing all this crazy stuff and yeah, it’s crazy, but you’re in your element. It’s amazing. I’m like . . . so impressed!”
I punched him. Not a serious punch, but enough that he felt it. “Are you shitting me?”
“Are you mad? I know it wasn’t cool!”
“I don’t care about that shit!” I yelled at him, punching him in the chest again, this time a little harder.
“Hey, stop!”
Three more punches, this time into his stomach. “I!”
Punch.
“Know!”
Punch. Punch.
“You!”
“Punch.
“Are!”
Punch. Punch. Punch.
“Gay!”
Uppercut that snapped his head back.
“You dumbass!”
Pocket looked at me like he was genuinely scared. Not physically, but that what I had just said, what I had just admitted changed the world in a pretty concrete way. That we could never go back to how it was before. Except . . . not really. As far as I was concerned it just made me feel a whole lot better. Another secret down. Some of the bullshit thrown off the heap of lies.
“I’ve known for years, Pocket. It shouldn’t be a deal; it’s only a deal cuz lies are shit. Which is why the tricky little goatfucker is such a tricky little goatfucker, setting this all up so we can have it out in the open between the four of us. No more lying to ourselves or to our friends, or our . . . boyfriends. Just truth, whatever it may be, however complicated it might make things . . . although, don’t see how this particular thing does as much as some of the bombshells I got lined up.”
“You knew?”
I gave him a don’t-give-a-crap shrug, though I did give a crap and I was a little embarrassed now that I wasn’t mad at him for his first bullshit secret. When you’re raised on repression, expression feels like you’ve done wrong.
“Dude?” he asked, putting a lot of emotion into that one word.
“I might have an addiction to walking through doors and catching people fucking each other,” I tried to make it a joke.
T-Bone grunted his agreement.
“So, ya know. Caught you guys making out and being naked and . . . stuff. Started in Pent, right?”
Pocket turned to Jesus. “You knew he knew all this time and you didn’t say anything to me?”
Jesus copied my shrug almost exactly. “Day he ran around the Asylum talking to all your old fake girlfriends was a little suspicious, don’t you think?”
“Oh. Yeah. That kind of makes sense.”
Pocket looked like . . . someone who had been kicked in the balls.
Yeah, kind of a dick move.
Literally.
Close enough . . .
“You don’t care?” Pocket asked me.
“When have I ever given a shit about stuff like that? I fucked a vampire. I might have very repressed sexual feelings for gingers. It’s all good and none of anyone else’s business. Unless you walk into a room filled with naked people having sex and really . . . I should stop doing that.”
T-Bone grunted his agreement again.
“I’ll admit I didn’t see it coming until I saw you two . . . then, some stuff made sense. Some stuff didn’t. Had to come to terms with two of my friends being together like a couple as well, worried if maybe you’d both come out to the school and I’d be the third wheel. But you never said anything, so I never said anything . . . repression, ya know? So I kept it secret.”
Pocket calmed down a little bit. Instead of looking like a man that wanted to bolt out of his skin, he just looked like a man who realized he had been a bit of a dumbass for a rather large number of years. I knew the expression, I usually had it on my face. “I just . . . I was scared of your big mouth, dude. Not, you, I’m not saying . . . I suck at this.”
“Must be pretty good at sucking to keep Jesus around,” I couldn’t help myself.
Outside the ring, Jesus started guffawing.
T-Bone’s face said he might die from the lack of propriety.
Pocket just smiled a little bit, shaking his head at me ruefully as he came to terms with his new normal. “Mostly I was scared of it spreading back to my family. I know, I know, I know, not like the old days and all that. My family isn’t like yours, no repression in us. It’s the opposite. It’s all cheery and friendly and helping and . . . the way it’s all supposed to be when you’re living the American Dream. I don’t want to be the one who breaks that. Plus, it’s hard to tell your dad that your friend he doesn’t like in the first place is actually your boyfriend.”
I glanced at Jesus, pretending to study him. “Sounds like your dad might be a good judge of character.”
“Fuck you, El Rey.”
“Right back at you, Pocketfucker.”
Pocket sighed. “That would be an example of the big mouth I mentioned.”
“Hey, I just said I don’t care and I’m not some judgey bigoted asshole. I’ll still make jokes about you fucking Jesus in the ass and stuff. I’ve been saving them up for years too, I got this list called ‘Man-ass Jokes About Pocket Being Gay.’ Think it’s back in Fresno somewhere . . . or was it the Asylum? Wait, where the heck did that thing go . . . did I leave it in my dorm when we graduated . . .”
Pocket’s face was horrified until I started laughing at him taking me seriously.
“Asshole.”
Couldn’t help myself again. “That still an insult or is it a term of a
ffection now?”
T-Bone sighed for the entirety of the politically correct culture I loathed so much. “Welcome to my world, everyone. You get used to it after awhile. You even start to laugh. It’s better than crying.”
“You still owe me a secret,” I accused him.
“So does Jesus,” T-Bone played for time.
“I just found out Jesus is gay. That’s the kind of shit could rock every evangelical on the planet, man! What other secret I need from him?”
“You just said you’ve known he was gay for years!”
“But now I have proof! We’ll go to the press!”
“I have other stories I can tell now actually,” Jesus decided to ruin my overdramatics.
“See, he has other stories!” T-Bone jumped on the life-raft.
“I already know you were a spy for Ceinwyn, what’s so bad you won’t admit to it over that one?” I asked him.
“Nothing at all,” T-Bone whispered cautiously.
Jesus grinned at me, pushing the life-raft farther away from my jaws. “You remember Quad break, El Rey?”
I nodded, still not taking my eyes off of T-Bone.
It had to be good.
Chomp. Chomp.
“Pocket hasn’t ever been attracted to women of course, but being a good All-American hero, he struggled with it, ya know?” Jesus started. “Me, I’m like you, El Rey, what I care if anyone knows or not. What I care about parades or all that shit? I don’t care. I let people assume what they want about me.
“But Pocket . . . always popular, always old-fashion goodie boy. Took him awhile until he started to admit what he was and even a bit more to start realizing he might like me in that way. It’s really your fault, El Rey. Way you got all moody when your mom died back during Tri, who did Pocket have to hang out with but me?”
“Aww, my mom died just so you two could touch tips, ain’t that special?” I threw some heavy sarcasm at the pair of them.
“Even after all that time, talking, hinting, making the tension rise . . . he still kind of needed a push. Since it’s pretty obvious he’s horribly idiotic about all this sort of stuff—as he stands there in the boxing ring like a potato, shocked his world has been rocked—”
“I have feelings,” Pocket mumbled, blushing a little.
“—so I laid a trap for him and convinced him to invite all of us to Pismo for the summer,” Jesus continued while smiling fondly at Pocket, “Then I did a bad thing. A selfish thing. An El Rey kind of solution to my problem. First, I talked Raj out of going—not hard, just made him feel guilty about not visiting his parents. But you were a problem, El Rey. So happy to be getting out of the Asylum for a month. Bikini beach babes, remember you going on and on about bikini beach babes? So . . . I sort of went to the Lady, told her the whole sordid truth, and she agreed to not sign the waiver for you to go.”
The Foul Mouth and the Mancy Martial Artist (The King Henry Tapes Book 5) Page 51