The Haunted Onsen

by Phil Gabriel

  The bookie bit his lip; this was a lot to bet on one fight. But he was certain the judges would rule in his favor no matter how well John fought. He turned and waved to one of his colleagues, who ran up and handed him a leather satchel. “I have four thousand US dollars,” he said. “The rest in Thai baht. Is that good?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Daeng, count it up and make sure it’s all there.”

  As Daeng was counting, John’s chosen opponent stepped into the ring and began his dance. He must have been their heavyweight champion, as he was nearly as tall as John and seemed to outweigh him. He wore purple silk trunks and was heavily muscled, with thighs that looked disproportionately large.

  A brief exchange with Daeng resulted in the bookie coming up with something more to cover his side of the bet, a document that brought a smile to Daeng’s face. That must have been the document that detailed her father’s debt. “It’s all here, Mr. Scott,” said Daeng as she placed the document in her purse. The bookie reached out to take the money, only to be met with my hand on his wrist.

  “I want to keep the money where I can see it,” I said. “Miss Daeng can hold it for us. Surely you trust her?”

  He nodded reluctantly and pulled his hand back.

  As the Thai fighter finished his dance, it was time for John to enter the ring. John pretended to be clumsy as he kicked off the sandals he had been wearing and reached over his head to grasp the top rope. He pulled at the rope, seemingly unable to get into the ring.

  He muttered to Kitty-Sue, who smiled and bent down behind John. She grabbed his butt in her hands and pushed him up, extending her arms completely to push John above the ropes to get into to the ring. I hoped no one had noticed that she had lifted his entire one-hundred-ninety-pound weight using only her arms.

  Kitty-Sue must have also caught the mistake, because she turned to the crowd and said, “Wow! Buns of steel!” as she made squeezing motions with both hands. Even though the crowd didn’t understand her English, the pantomime gestures made the point clear and they laughed with her.

  The laughter turned to murmurs of surprise as John pulled off his extra-large Hawaiian shirt, revealing his body. John was heavily muscled, but not like a bodybuilder. He had the slim, highly muscled build of an endurance athlete. John handed the shirt down to Kitty-Sue, who quickly folded and put it away as John started his dance.

  Although his wai khru ram muay dance wasn’t as acrobatic as his opponent’s, his every move was precise and controlled. John moved strangely, each foot rising only a millimeter above the surface of the ring as he took his steps. The effect was that he seemed to glide from position to position like an ice skater.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Daeng licking her lips. Her opinion of her former boss was being reevaluated. “How does he move like that?” she asked.

  “Like what?” I said.

  “Like he’s floating, like a tiger,” she said.

  “It’s a kung fu technique,” I said, “makes it hard to follow his movements. He tried to teach me once, but I didn’t have ten thousand hours to train.” Also, we had been in the middle of a war zone, making practice sessions hard to schedule. John did the float unconsciously, barefoot or in combat boots, he made no noise when moving. I had to work at it and usually failed.

  “Kung fu, Muay Thai,” said Daeng, “what other martial arts does he know?”

  All of them. “I don’t know,” I said. “He enjoys them.” Ten thousand hours of high-intensity training in every martial art, and the ability to quickly recover from almost any injury meant John was one of the deadliest men in the world.

  John finished and handed his mongkhon and pra jiad to Kitty-Sue, who stashed them in her purse. The seconds hopped into the ring and taped up John’s hands and put on his gloves for him.

  The announcer said something in Thai over the PA and John and his opponent faced off. A short wai, then they retreated to their corners, waiting for the bell to ring.

  At the sound of the bell, both stepped forward cautiously. The first round is usually a chance for the fighters to feel each other out. As they circled, closing in, the Thai fighter tried an old trick: he stomped loudly on the canvas, hoping the sound would make John look down and leave him open to attack.

  A trick that would only work on amateurs. John slid back faster than his opponent’s follow-up kick, causing the kick to flail at empty air.

  John crossed his arms and shook his head, saying without words that these tricks wouldn’t work. The fighters closed again, trading kicks, elbow strikes, and punches.

  The first round continued. John kept dodging the Thai fighter’s kicks and punches with apparent ease. While it showed enormous speed, evading was frowned upon in Muay Thai.

  At the end of the first round, John was behind on points, and the betting turned against him.

  The second round was more of the same. Now the Thai fighter spent more time trying to clinch. John was so much faster that he easily evaded him.

  The third round was closely fought, the opponents trading real punches. The round was almost over when I recognized the mirror technique John was using. Every time his opponent would kick with his right leg, John would match the kick with his right leg. Every strike was duplicated, down to the last detail. It was like they were dancing instead of fighting.

  It was a humiliating technique, showing not only that John could match their champion blow for blow, but he was good enough to predict exactly which strike he would use next. The Thai champion grimaced in fury and redoubled his attack, but couldn’t counter John’s skill.

  At the bell, both fighters went back to their corners for the two minutes of rest. The Thai fighter was covered with sweat and was toweled down by his trainer. John had the merest trickle of sweat running down his back.

  The fourth round was more of the same: the Thai fighter unable to close with John, and John matching him blow for blow. The Thai fighter tried a few feints and fake outs, throwing kicks and punches halfway, then stopping. His face grew angrier as John matched his movements precisely, down to the feints. Still, the judges were giving the points to the local fighter.

  Fifth round. The Thai fighter knew that he couldn’t win with skill or technique, so he tried to use his conditioning. Muay Thai fighters spend a lot of training time kicking sandbags to build up the density of their bones and the strength of their thighs. This allows them to strike with enormous force. It’s not uncommon for these strikes to break bones.

  The fighter thought that he would be able to strike John’s shins hard enough to break his bones. That was a mistake that was soon evident as his most potent strikes were countered by John with equal force and no damage.

  After this exchange, the Thai fighter was exhausted. He stood numbly on shaking legs, gasping for breath. Although he kept his hands up, it was obvious he was finished.

  “Looks like John will win,” I said to Daeng.

  “No,” she said, “the judges will award the match to the other fighter.”

  John, with his preternaturally acute hearing, heard our exchange. He looked down at me and raised an eyebrow. I raised my hands, thumbs touching, palms out, and with two forefingers raised. A goalpost sign.

  John nodded and closed on the Thai fighter, who raised his arms weakly.

  Just as the bell rang to signal the end of the match, John dropped low, using his left leg to balance on. Then he kicked up with his right leg, hitting his opponent in the chest so hard that he flew from the ring. The poor bastard arced so high that he didn’t touch the ropes, then crashed onto the patrons in the front row. The crowd went silent, shocked at John’s display of skill and strength.

  20

  The Wolf and the Alley Cat

  John’s unlucky opponent was pushed off the people he had landed on, and he fell to the ground. He rolled over slowly onto his hands and knees. For a moment, I thought he would stand and try to continue.

  Instead, he clasped his gloves together on the floor in front of him and placed
his head on his gloved hands. The most abject of wais, acknowledging defeat.

  I saw the judges’ faces darken and was certain that they would still award the match to the local fighter. Until Kitty-Sue jumped five feet straight up in the air and screamed, “Yeah, John!” in a voice that shook the rafters. She landed without a sound; then she broke out in a song in Thai. I couldn’t follow the words. Whatever the tune was, it was catching, as the crowd started to sing along with her. Kitty-Sue danced and sang and waved her hands. Were those pom-poms in her hands? Where the hell had she pulled those from?

  The crowd continued the chant while Kitty-Sue slipped out of her shoes. She leaped towards the ring, grabbed the top rope with both hands, pulled her knees up to her chest to bring her feet over the rope, and dropped into the ring. She strode to the center of the ring and grabbed John’s right hand, holding it up to acknowledge his victory.

  The judges took a look at John in the ring, hand raised triumphantly, buoyed by the chant of the crowd, then at his opponent, still bowing on the floor, and decided even they couldn’t give the match to the Thai fighter without a riot.

  The bookie was looking at the scene in shock with his mouth hanging open. I reached over to Daeng and took the wad of cash, as well as her father’s promissory note, from her hands. “Pleasure doing business with you,” I said as I stuffed the money into my pockets.

  I stood and picked up the cooler and Princess. “Miss Daeng, we have to get going.”

  John and Kitty-Sue both stepped quickly to the center of the ring, took two running steps and leaped over the top rope to land lightly on the floor.

  Watching Kitty-Sue, in Pam’s body, perform acrobatics that sent her large breasts bouncing, engendered wicked thoughts. I wondered if I could convince her to keep this shape for a while. What good is having a shape-shifting girlfriend if you can’t take advantage of it? Wouldn’t that be like living with Gordon Ramsey and not getting a nice meal every now and then?

  Our bookie looked like he was having a heart attack, face livid with anger barely controlled. However, Thais consider losing calm embarrassing. He bit back his anger and smiled. “Congratulations on your win,” he said. “Would you like to bet again?”

  “I don’t think you could afford to lose again,” I said.

  As we headed to the exit, I could feel the bookie’s eyes boring into my back.

  We made our way to a local restaurant and enjoyed a great meal. We enjoyed tom yum gai soup, pad Thai noodles, larb minced pork, fried rice, and ice cream for dessert. The waiters were only slightly surprised that we ordered double portions of everything. The Singha beer was flowing freely, and we had a good time. Even Kitty-Sue, who usually didn’t drink, was quaffing beer. Keeping up her Pam persona, I guess. I preferred wine, but when in Rome.

  Over the course of the meal, the scrapes and bruises on John’s fists, elbows, feet, and especially his shins faded away. He healed at a phenomenal rate.

  “Khun-John is a very good fighter,” said Daeng. “When he taught you, how did the bouts go?”

  Go? He kicked my ass every time. I exchanged a glance with John. “John would win any one-on-one fight,” I replied. John raised an eyebrow at the distinction, then nodded.

  “One-on-one?” she asked. “So, if you had help?”

  “If I had a magical .45 with enemy seeking bullets, and could stay far enough away,” I said, “I might be able to win.”

  Daeng laughed at the joke.

  During the meal, I had given a lot of thought to our next steps. I checked the time on my iPhone. Time to move on to our next stage. Nine p.m. in Thailand, it was 10:00 a.m. in New York. Time to tie up some loose ends.

  “Daeng,” I said, “we will need to split up soon. The next part will be dangerous.” A normal human, even one with some magical ability, would be a burden for our next phase.

  I willed my dragonskin satchel into visibility, which brought a gasp of surprise from Daeng. I reached into the bag, deeper than seemed possible, and pulled out a brand-new iPhone and iPad, both in black.

  “These are for you,” I said, handing them over to Daeng.

  She turned them on and puzzled through the intro screens until she could set the language to Thai. Then she turned them over to examine the back. “Do the chargers’ colors match the case?”

  “Charger?” I said. “There’s no charger. An inertia spell recharges the battery. Carrying it around is enough to keep them fully charged. Sort of like those old-style self-winding watches. Only with no moving parts.”

  “Hey, Scott,” said Kitty-Sue, “can’t you tell she doesn’t like the color?”

  “Color?” I said. “That’s the easiest thing to change.” I taught Daeng the words and showed her the glyphs to trace to change the colors of the cases. Then helped her set up her iTunes account. She clapped with excitement and shifted the colors to match her pale blue blouse.

  She made a wai with the iPhone clutched between her palms, a Thai way of saying thank you for a gift. Then she looked with longing at the screen open to the App store, bit her lip and said, “Ajarn-Scott, I don’t know if I can accept these gifts. I can’t afford the monthly payment.”

  “Who said anything about a monthly payment?” I said. “These are company phones; you don’t have to pay anything. Make all the calls you need and download all the apps you want, as long as it can be used for your job.”

  She made another wai, deeper this time. “Khob khun kha, Ajarn-Scott. What will be my job?”

  “I’m going to set up a school in Bangkok. I want you to run it, as well as continue your studies of magic and English.”

  “You want me to be the boss?” she asked with a grin.

  “Yes,” I said. “Your new job will require dealing with some of my other employees.” At that, Kitty-Sue raised an eyebrow. My relationship with Selene Select Partners was not an employer/employee one.

  “I’ll introduce you to my, my...” Words failed as I tried to categorize Ms. Cappuccetto’s position.

  “His pain-in-the-ass assistant,” offered Kitty-Sue, her tone stating that those two had no love lost between them.

  I propped my iPad up against some beer bottles and activated Skype. I tugged my ear and Kitty-Sue created a privacy bubble around our table.

  The line rang several times before it was answered. “Selene Select Partners. Mr. Freeman’s office. How may I help you?”

  Her voice sounded strange. Kitty-Sue cocked her head to listen, then touched her ear. I turned off the audio, and Kitty-Sue said, “There’s someone else there. A female, whispering.”

  I turned the audio back on and said, “Ms. Cappuccetto, I have some new assignments for you. Please turn on your camera.”

  “I don’t know how...” She trailed off in confusion.

  “Bullshit,” I said. I forced my will through the link and turned on the camera remotely.

  I saw Ms. Cappuccetto’s head, topped by her red hair, centered on the screen. She was holding the iPad to frame only her face. Her lips were trembling, and the image shook, indicating her hands were shaky. With a snap of my fingers, I zoomed the image out.

  The new image was a standard waist-high shot. Ms. Cappuccetto stood in my office, the sun streaming in through my windows.

  It took a second to register, but I finally noticed that she was wearing a standard business suit, not the humiliating French maid outfit I had ordered her to wear.

  “Ms. Cappuccetto,” I started, then stopped for a second. My next words were low and dangerous. “Red, why are you out of uniform?”

  Ms. Cappuccetto was pushed aside, and another face filled the screen. Ally, the head bitch of the werewolf pack that ran the Wolves of Wall Street, the real power behind Selene Select Partners. She had had a hate-on for me ever since I had killed their alpha in fair combat.

  “Asshole, the EEOC says you cannot make wearing a sleazy French maid costume a condition of employment. They are very interested in pursuing this case,” she said in an “I’ve got you by the ball
s now” voice.

  “You thought that bringing in the mundane authorities would stop me?” I said with a grin. “My answer to the EEOC is FOAD.”

  Ally’s blue eyes turned tawny, and her pupils turned to slits, a sign her wolf was coming to the fore.

  “You’ve been whispering in my employee’s ear,” I said.

  Turning my attention to Ms. Cappuccetto, I said, “I hope you have spare uniforms there. If you are not dressed appropriately in two minutes, the consequences will be severe.”

  She glanced to her left at a file cabinet. Smart girl, she had kept a change of clothes ready.

  “As for you, Ally,” I said, “it’s time you learned a lesson about magicians.”

  “What are you going to do, asshole?” Ally taunted in her gravelly half-wolf voice. “You’re on the other side of the world.”

  “Quando il gatto non c’e, i topi ballano,” I quoted. Kitty-Sue’s eyes widened in surprise. She knew when I started using Italian, things were going to get interesting. The spell I had spent the last few months preparing would be devastating to a shapeshifter.

  “Kitty-Sue,” I said, “cover your ears.” She opened her mouth to object, saw the look in my eyes, then put her hands over her ears.

  A quick glance around the restaurant showed that no one else would be affected.

  I spoke an Italian spell, a spell of binding, a spell of release: a curse in Italian that consisted of a quote from Dante, along with subharmonics and ultrasonics. I noticed Princess sang the curse along with me, adding to its power.

  My iPad, magically enhanced, carried the spell to the office of Selene Select Partners in New York.

  On our end, bottles and glasses broke, and a plate glass window shattered, causing panic among the patrons of our restaurant. I managed to save several bottles of Singha beer.

  My throat was raw after that, so I took a long drink of my beer. I motioned to Kitty-Sue that she could uncover her ears. John had a puzzled expression, like he was trying to remember the words to a forgotten song. The spell I had used was far outside his school of magic, leaving his attempt to understand it useless. Daeng was dazed and shook her head. I was drained of energy—all the energy taken from the pickpockets was gone, fed into my spell. Two steps forward, one step back.