Puppet

by Ed Kightlinger

  Brenae says, “Like my amateurish mind manipulation techniques before my skits, it is a hit and miss. I can easily persuade some in the audience. Then again, others I cannot deceive. Some people do not respond to any of my techniques. They somehow see through my ruses every time. It is the same way with magical acts.” She laughs. “Then again, many of the professionals that perform magic tricks can even fool me. I do not fool easily, nor can anybody manipulate me.”

  Chloe continues. “Okay, let’s call it a hit and miss. The magic, or whatever you want to call it, hit Colette, Diana Jane, Sophia, and me like super hard.” She glances at James. “Whatever it is, magic or manipulation smacks Jay with fleeting visions.” She looks at Brenae, “Conversely, for some reason, Puppet misses you entirely. His magic, manipulation, or whatever you want to call it, zooms right by you. It is like a supersonic meteor passing far above your head.”

  Brenae says, “Exactly. As you said, grazes Jay for whatever reason.”

  Sophia says, “How do I figure in all of this? Will he enter my dreams? Will he make them nightmares?”

  Brenae says, “Honestly, Accountant, no one knows for sure. However, I think it will be much harder for Puppet to manipulate any of us psychologically. That doesn’t mean it is impossible. Nevertheless, we could be incorrect with our reasoning. Everything that I said, everything that all of us said, could be way out in left field.”

  Brenae giggles for a few seconds, and then she says, “As for you, my lovely, redheaded Accountant, please allow me to say this. If Puppet even tries to manipulate you, and you happen to meet him on the street, well, he will be far worse than hopelessly burned toast! He is as good as dead – figuratively speaking of course!”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE ACCOUNTANT

  “Cruel people everywhere, beware!”

  As one would expect, Brenae’s comment about Sophia rendering Puppet far worse than burned toast gets everyone’s attention. Except for Sophia, the others stare at Brenae for a few seconds. Colette is the first to act in response to what Brenae has said. She warily glances at the other patrons in the restaurant. She leans across the table and whispers.

  “Bre, why is Puppet far worse than toast if he meets Sophia on the street? I mean, she is a female teenager and Puppet is a man. At least I think he is a human despite his weird, cosmetic looks. He is strong-looking as well.”

  Brenae is about to reply when Sophia says, “Let us say I have a special skill that will render Puppet or any of his accomplices, that is if he has any, powerless, at least from a physical standpoint.”

  “What she means is,” Brenae says with a chuckle, “she will knock their blocks off, make them wish they didn’t get out of bed that morning. It is I cross my heart, and I hope to die kind of thing if any of them tangle with the Accountant.”

  “How in the world would you do that?” James asks Sophia. “Do you know karate or some other form of martial arts?”

  Sophia says, “I have a blue belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. It is the third to highest belt attainable. My instructor says I am qualified for the brown belt, but she will not advance me until I am eighteen. The IBJJF – that stands for International Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu Federation recommends students not attain the brown or black belt until they are eighteen and nineteen years old, respectively. I get my brown belt once I am eighteen, but I have to wait an additional year to attain my black belt. I hope to be a tenth-degree black belt someday. That is many years from now.”

  “Wow!” Diana Jane says. “What you said is amazing! I could tell you were very strong just by looking at you. Then again, to know Jiu-Jitsu – that is like out of this world impressive.”

  “Thank you,” Sophia replies. “Getting an opponent on the ground, especially if he or she is larger than me, is much harder than keeping them on the ground. Once my opponent is on the ground, it is second nature, at least it is for me. That is when all of my training takes over. I can get an opponent in joint locks and chokeholds rather easily. As long as I manage to stay on top of my opponent, I can prevail effortlessly. The rest is technique, strength, and stamina.”

  Brenae gently elbows Sophia in the ribs.

  “Come on, Accountant. There is more. Don’t be shy or humble. I don’t call you the Accountant for anything. You are my Bae. You know that.” Sophia slowly shakes her head.

  Brenae can be very persistent. She pokes Sophia in the ribs a second time.

  “Go ahead, tell them, Sophia. I was fascinated when you told me. I still am.”

  “Okay,” Sophia says with a sly grin. “I will tell them. However,” she glances at the others, “all of you have to swear that what I am about to say will go no further than this table. You must swear that you will protect what I have to say with utmost secrecy. If what I know gets out, I am certain some of the school’s football players will want to test me. Then no one will leave me alone.”

  Brenae whispers, “Yeah, they’ll test you all right. It will be their funeral if they do.”

  “Oh, stop it!” Sophia says gruffly to Brenae with an accompanying smile. She is used to Brenae’s frank, practical approach to just about everything, including Sophia’s unique skills.

  Sophia says, “I would never intentionally harm someone unless I felt my life, or someone else’s life was in mortal danger.” She glances around the table. “Swear you won’t tell anyone what I am about to say by raising your right hand and saying, I swear I won’t tell.”

  Chloe, Diana Jane, James, and Colette raise their right hand and say in unison, “I swear I won’t tell.”

  Sophia playfully smacks Brenae on her shoulder. “You too, Bre. You have to swear as well.”

  “Why do I have to swear?” Brenae says. “I already swore an oath a while back when we first met. It should still be good. Oaths don’t expire. At least I don’t think that they do.”

  “Do it,” Sophia says. Her tone of voice is adamant. “It is only fair to the others, especially now since we are a team, the Sextet.”

  As one would expect, Brenae rolls her eyes as she shakes her head back and forth. In a made-up, sarcastic manner she says, “Okay, if you insist. I swear I won’t tell anyone what you are about to say except my next-door neighbors, the minister, the garbage man, all of my teachers, etcetera, etcetera.” Then she bursts out laughing.

  Sophia asks, “What is so funny, Bre? Apart from saying you would tell the whole world my secret!”

  Brenae points at the others one at a time. She says, “Look at them! They are leaning forward in their chairs breathlessly! They are staring wide-eyed at you as if you are about to tell them the world’s most hush-hush secret! Hurry up, Miss Accountant, and tell them your secret before they faint away!”

  Sophia clears her red locks from the sides of her face. She whispers in her usual pragmatic, unemotional manner.

  “To a certain degree, I am skilled in Krav Maga. Krav Maga is considered the world’s most effective and dangerous form of combat. It certainly isn’t all about self-defense, although I can use it in that practical way. That is the way I would intend to use it if I had to. Krav Maga’s practical approach is to inflict as much pain as possible on an opponent quickly and efficiently, rendering her or him incapable of fighting.”

  Brenae presses her hands together as if she is crushing something in between them. She says, “What she means by incapable of fighting is ending their life. Zilch. Zero. No more bad guys because they are toe’s up dead and as useless as broken doorknobs, leaky faucets, and soaking wet matches.”

  Chloe says, “Goodness, Sophia! You certainly are a female walking, fighting, don’t mess with me, awesome machine. Your skills remind me of that actor, Ben Affleck. He stars in The Accountant movie along with Anna Kendrick.” She glances at Bre who is nodding her head. “Where in the world did you learn that skill? What is it called?”

  “It is called Krav Maga,” Sophia replies. “My uncle has been instructing me on its techniques since I was a little girl. It is a military self-defense system devel
oped by the Israel Defense Forces. It employs techniques from boxing, wrestling, aikido, judo, and karate. Krav Maga also uses street fighting techniques. You can imagine what those are.” She takes a long sip from her milkshake.

  “I only know a handful of the techniques, most of them aikido moves. I concentrate on aikido because it is as a defensive art that protects oneself while protecting the attacker from serious injury. I have no desire to kill someone. I couldn’t live with myself if I did.

  “Anyway, as it concerns the art of Krav Maga, to completely qualify would take hours upon hours of specialized instruction. Unfortunately, as you know, there is homework with which we must contend. It seems to get in the way of everything that is anywhere close to fun.” The others nod their heads in agreement.

  James says, “That is cool that you know those two martial arts. Where did your uncle learn Krav Maga? Was he with the Israel Defense Forces? Is he a certified instructor?”

  Sophia replies, “How he knows Krav Maga I cannot tell you. I will not discuss his qualifications. Nevertheless, I can tell you this much. He served overseas in the Middle East for more than ten years when he was in the army. The Defense Department currently employs him, but I cannot elaborate on that either. Let me say he is on the road quite a bit. You probably can deduce what I am hinting at without me saying it outright.”

  Diana Jane says, “I certainly hope it never comes down to you having to use your Jit-Jitsu or Krav Maga skills to defend any of us. Otherwise, the rest of us would be in a serious world of hurt if you weren’t by our side if one were to retaliate.”

  Colette whispers, “I agree. No wonder you do not want your Krav Maga skills to become common knowledge.” She rests her forearms on the table and leans in closer to Sophia. The others lean in closer as well until all of their heads are but inches apart. They look like a football squad in a close huddle about to hear the game-winning play from the quarterback.

  Colette guardedly glances at the other patrons in the restaurant. When she speaks, her voice is barely audible. “Have you ever had to use your fighting or self-defense skills, you know, to kick someone’s butt?”

  “Yes, I have,” Sophia replies with a smile. “Two times. Once when my next-door neighbor, Sam, grabbed me from behind by my shoulders. He started to drag me to the side of the swimming pool. I knew that he intended to throw me into the pool. As you probably know, it is something guys like to do to us girls. I was fully dressed and on my way to meet with friends, so I did not want to get soaked. What is more, I was upset that he grabbed me without permission. It is not that we are close friends or anything like that.

  “I had just stopped over Sam’s house for a few minutes. He wanted to show me his father’s new barbeque grill. It is a grill that puts a kitchen stove to shame. It is huge with all sorts of cool gadgets. Anyway, after he grabbed me, I had him down on the ground in a second flat. I was extra careful to make sure he didn’t bang his head on the concrete. I quickly flipped him on his back and pounced on him. I had him in an arm lock before he knew what was happening. An arm lock is employed when an opponent is on his back. You sit on his belly and lock his arms in place by applying force on his wrists.

  “Sam cried uncle before his second breath. Most of my to-dos were more for fun than anything unkind. I wanted to teach him a valuable lesson about grabbing a female, or anybody for that matter, from behind, especially without their permission.” She laughs. “More importantly, I do not think he will ever again want to throw me in the pool. He will think twice if he ever again gets the urge.”

  Chloe says, “Not grabbing a female from behind probably was the best lesson for him to learn. I dislike it when male friends do that even for fun. It is offensive. Boys should not touch girls, give them hugs, and vice versa without permission.”

  “I too dislike it when guys do that,” Colette offers.

  Diana Jane says, “Sophia, what was the second time?”

  Sophia replies, “The second time was a no-brainer, at least as it concerned Paul’s wellbeing. Paul is my brother. Three bullies had accosted him outside my home in the town where we used to live. We used to live in Spartenville. The town is about seventy-five miles west of here. You’ve probably heard of it.” The others nod their heads.

  “I was in the backyard playing with my dog when it happened. I heard the shouting from out front, so I ran around the house at full speed. My brother was lying on the ground bleeding from his nose. The oldest boy, a high school bully, the one who punched him in the nose, was standing over my brother. The kid was at least forty pounds heavier than my brother and a high school sophomore. My brother was still in middle school, and I was only fourteen at the time. The bully was about to kick my brother in his side when I went horizontal in the air and flipped him on his back using a Jiu-Jitsu leg thrust.

  “As he lay stunned on the ground, the two other bullies tried to gang up on me. I had them on the ground in no time. I did not seriously injure them, but I scared the dickens out of them. They quickly came to their senses and ran off like a flock of loudly clucking hens. They never picked on my brother after that. A few months later we moved here. I am glad that we did because the Spartenville schools look the other way when it comes to bullying.”

  Diana Jane says, “Sophia, I have a question if you please.” Sophia nods her head.

  “How old are you?”

  Sophia replies, “I am fifteen. Why do you ask?”

  “Because you look very young. Dang, girl, you must be a genius or something to be a senior in high school at fifteen years of age! You are one impressive lady!”

  In between bites of her chicken wing, Brenae mutters, “She is a genius, at least in my opinion. Matter of fact, she is a few points below the genius level as far as her IQ is concerned. To think her fifteenth birthday was a week ago.” She places her arm around Sophia’s left shoulder.

  “She is the best darned-tooting, freckled-face, lovely redheaded, kick-butt female accountant in the business as well!” She glances around the restaurant. She raises both of her hands in the air and shouts in a voice that is much too loud.

  “Cruel people everywhere, beware! The Sextet has a backup plan in case things get ugly. We have the female version of the Christian Wolff kick butt and take no names accountant!”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  VENGEANCE

  “I am the unmerciful Supreme Spectral Puppet!”

  Part I: The Unexplainable

  “Hey, you in the blue jeans and green shirt,” James calls out loudly. “Please excuse me, but can you hold on a second?”

  James is inline skating on the narrow concrete sidewalk that surrounds the tower when he thinks that he recognizes someone. He makes two more loops around the tower. He is trying to keep the person in sight as he skates.

  The tower, as neighborhood kids refer to it, is an imposing, four-story-tall, two-hundred-foot in circumference, octagon-shaped, concrete water reservoir. No one knows for sure if the tower still holds water. No one truly cares. Irrespective of its intended purpose, the tower is a favorite “risk and dare” place for the chancier kids in the neighborhood.

  To the neighborhood kids, the tower stands proudly tall for the boldest of the bold. They jump from the entranceway stairs onto a two-inch sloping ledge that surrounds the tower. They have to wear sneakers because regular shoes and going barefoot will not cut it. With their arms spread out wide against the concrete wall for support, and one cheek of their face resting on the wall, the cheekiest attempt to circumnavigate the entire perimeter of the tower without falling to the ground.

  The two-inch ledge is about five feet above the ground, so if you were to slip it can truly jar your leg muscles or even worse. The even worse part comes into play because there are piles of broken glass from shattered bottles littering the ground. Smashing glass bottles against the tower is a favorite pastime of unruly, juvenile delinquents. That is what grownups call the glass-throwing idiots. Their fellow youngsters call them heroes because they secretly wi
sh they too could break bottles against the wall.

  A four-foot-wide steel bar door opening in the back of the tower adds to the challenge. To proudly claim that you “climbed the tower,” you have to cross the opening without hopping onto the ground. Chloe’s brother, Jim, has climbed the tower on many occasions. Some of their visiting male cousins have successfully climbed the tower as well. Being able to “climb the tower” at least once in your life is a badge of courage for neighborhood boys and girls and visiting youngster relatives.

  James quickly skates on the sidewalk leading to the mile long, mostly uphill Grider Street. He is heading in the direction of the Kensington Pool. The Kensington Pool consists of three separate pools – a twelve-foot-deep pool with five diving boards, an Olympic-sized pool for swimming laps, and a kiddy pool. As he skates along the sidewalk, James calls out once more.

  “I would like to talk with you for a moment if you do not mind.”

  The teenager at whom Jay is shouting does not turn around. Instead, his pace noticeably quickens as he walks. He plops his earbuds into his ears, and then he begins humming loudly.

  As he continues to huff and puff up the hill, Jay shouts, “Hey buddy, hold up for just a second.”

  The teenager stops walking. He turns around briefly. It appears he is going to wait for James to catch up with him, but he abruptly turns around and starts jogging up the hill.

  James shouts, “I think I know you. You are Puppet’s son, aren’t you? I saw you late last year at the fairgrounds in Central Park Plaza. I heard you refer to Puppet as your father. You are his son, aren’t you?” James ponders if his assumptions are correct.

  Then again, I could be mistaken. Could it be you’re not Puppet’s son? It doesn’t matter either way. I am confident you are the Spaghetti Kid. I was standing ten feet to your right in front of the milk machine when you chucked the glob of spaghetti and meatballs. You are Spaghetti Kid!