Loud Pipes Save Lives

by Jennifer Giacalone

  “You and your friends gonna come beat my ass?” he joked.

  “Maybe, if you get out of line,” she answered, giving him a peck just next to his mouth.

  He was so distracted by her that he failed to take note of his space and bumped into the person ahead of them in line: a tall, older redheaded woman in a tidy black blazer, who turned around sharply.

  “I’m sorry,” he immediately apologized, gesturing to his new legs. He was wearing his board shorts, so anyone looking at him could really see all of them. “I’m still getting used to these things.” Then he did a double take and realized that he recognized her: “Aunt Caroline?”

  “Quin,” she responded with a stiff smile. She glanced between him and Nadia. He felt Nadia tense up next to him; she got nervous around his WASP-y family, and he actually hadn’t talked much to her about his Aunt Caroline. He hadn’t seen her in years.

  He coughed. “Uh, this is, my, uh, girlfriend, Nadia. Nadia, this is my aunt, Caroline Van der Wahl. My mom’s sister.”

  Caroline’s eyes snapped over to Nadia, and she acknowledged her with a brief nod. Then they flicked down to his legs, then back up to his face. “Those are interesting. Where did you get them?”

  “Uh, a guy at MIT made them.”

  She smiled in a slightly vacant way that he found unsettling. “Very nice. Good luck with them.”

  He nodded. “Thanks. What are you doing here?”

  “Your sister’s competing. Your mom mentioned it last time we spoke, so I thought I’d come watch.” She glanced around. “Don’t mention you ran into me. She doesn’t approve of me spending time with you kids.”

  Quin scoffed. “Come on, it’s not like that.”

  “The last time I saw you was at a Van der Wahl funeral three years ago.”

  Quin conceded her point. “Well, yeah. But she let you take Ainsley out for lunch a couple of months back.”

  “Nevertheless,” she sighed, “I’d just as soon not weather her accusations of inserting myself where I’m not wanted.”

  Quin winced. “I understand. I’m sorry about… about that.”

  She shrugged. Then, after an awkward moment of gazing at him, she tousled his hair as if he were ten, and said, “Good to see you, Quin.” She glanced at Nadia. “Lovely to meet you.”

  He felt Nadia relax as she walked away. “She’s all right,” he assured her. “She’s just got a lot of issues and is on a lot of meds and stuff and, you know… Mom just felt her energy wasn’t good for us to be around. She’s perfectly nice, I promise.”

  They went back to their seats, laden with snacks and drinks. It had been difficult to settle on a particular direction with the daunting variety offered, so they wound up buying too much.

  Quin was pleased to see Khady and his mother talking quietly to one another in what seemed like a very deep conversation as they watched a match between Abra Baum, one of Ainsley’s frequent and most frustrating rivals, and a young Russian fighter who was trying gamely, but was clearly going to go down. Ainsley was watching with great interest, because Abra vexed her every time they faced another. She seemed legitimately good—strong and fast with a nasty roundhouse kick—but Quin had also listened to Ainsley complain at great length that she used moves that Ainsley insisted were illegal but that the judges never seemed to see.

  Ainsley’s first bunch of matches went easily in her favor. Ainsley popped out a couple of times to say hi, with her coach, Griff, following behind her to make sure she stayed on point and didn’t linger too long. They broke up the time between Ainsley’s fights by slipping out for little walks along the pier and admiring some of the bikes that had parked alongside theirs.

  Several hours later, it was the final match. Ainsley was up against the infamous Abra Baum.

  The lights went down.

  19

  The Fist Adds Some Fingers

  “And what is good, Phaedrus,

  And what is not good—

  Need we ask anyone to tell us these things?”

  –Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

  Ainsley was never happy about facing Abra Baum. She complained about her illegal moves, but the truth was, Baum always seemed to have a jump on her strategy, or was just moving a little faster. But Ainsley came into the ring tonight determined that she was not going to let herself get beaten.

  The house lights were down, and the center ring was lit in white from several floods above it. While about half the large crowd from earlier in the day had cleared out, those who remained were fully engaged. She was glad that she had such a posse here today, but she didn’t want to disappoint them.

  She and Griff had discussed a different strategy. “More kicking,” he’d ordered. “More moving around. Don’t let her get in close with a lot of punching, because that’s it. That’s when she pulls out those bullshit Krav Maga holds that the judges never see.”

  Abra Baum came into the ring in a tight tank and shiny red trunks with a snake or something twisting up the side. They nodded toward one another, took their places, and the bell rang. Abra was aggressive, immediately coming at her with one-two combos and roundhouse kicks. Ainsley blocked, but kept moving back, trying to make Abra chase her around a little, before her leg would flash out for a front kick, and then she would slip to the left or right.

  She felt like she was moving faster than Abra this time, but couldn’t be sure. When the first round ended, Griff warned her, “She can tell what you’re doing and she’s betting on you tiring out before she does. Slow down a little. You can afford to take a hit or two—just keep kicking and don’t let her get you into a lockup.”

  Ainsley went back in. She could hear Khady and Nadia yelling for her from several rows back. She smiled and raised a glove toward them before going back in.

  The second round was tough. She landed more blows, but she took more, too. Between rounds, Griff told her, “All right, Ainsley. This is it. Last round. You’ve done a good job playing defense, but now you just have to get in there and score on her. If you want to play a little peek-a-boo, do it. Don’t hold back. This is it.”

  She remembered beating up Vaiteh, how much he had deserved it and how good and righteous it had felt. She felt the anger surge in her muscles and felt a touch of the fever she’d had in her blood when she let loose on him, and newly hyped on remembered rage, she strutted back into the ring.

  They drew near to each other and Ainsley didn’t wait. She came in low and fast, hammering Abra with body blows that surprised her and drove her back. Ainsley did as much damage as she could here, because once she’d lost the element of surprise, Abra would become harder to pin down.

  “Finally got some life in you,” Abra grunted.

  Ainsley danced backwards, just out of range of a snapping front kick. “Swing and miss,” she panted.

  They circled one another, and Ainsley felt adrenaline buzzing through her. She remembered the sound of Vaiteh’s cracking ribs, and she came in again, dealing one stinger after another. Abra pushed in and got her into a lockup, turning them so that the judges couldn’t see what came next: the illegal Krav Maga hold that dealt a hot stab of pain down her left side. “Fucker,” she muttered, almost sinking to one knee.

  Abra took advantage of the moment to land a few blows. Ainsley staggered back, refocused, and sprang at Abra, knocking a roundhouse kick aside and pummeling her in the chest. She remembered how righteous she felt cracking Vaiteh’s skull against the pavement. She rode that wave of anger to a tornado of kicks and punches that sent the other girl reeling back against the ropes. It almost never went like that. Ainsley’s head spun with a rage high.

  When the final bell rang, they took a long time tallying the scores. A couple of the judges seemed to be arguing amongst themselves. After a moment, though, they called the match in Abra’s favor. Ainsley’s stomach sank. She swore under her breath. She and Abra exchanged the cursory glove tap and then Ainsley stormed out of the ring, not caring that her anger and disappointment were coming of
f her in sheets.

  Griff patted her on the back as she headed toward the locker rooms. “It’s all right. You did good. This was the right approach; this is how we deal with her from now on.”

  Ainsley went and hit the showers. She knew it had been a close match, but she really thought that she’d dominated the third round. As she toweled off, she heard her phone make a ping sound, alerting her to a text message. She dried her hands off and picked it up the phone. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she whispered.

  A text from Empress. In all caps.

  “MY NEXT PICK = ABRA.”

  Ainsley texted back, also in all caps. “NO FUCKING WAY,” and then stood there in her towel, waiting for the reply.

  It came. Ping. “We need someone else with training.”

  Ainsley tried not to be furious. “Fought a dozen people today. How about one of them?” She put the phone down and started getting dressed.

  Ping. “Not half as good as her. Team of rivals. Be Lincoln.”

  Ainsley sighed disgustedly. She knew enough to know there was little point to arguing. She texted back one more time. “We don’t even know if she rides.”

  Ping. “She does.”

  Ainsley didn’t bother asking how she knew. Empress fucking knew everything. She probably knew she was going to pick Abra before she’d even walked in here today.

  Ping. “She’s parked outside. Hurry up.”

  Ainsley cursed, finished getting dressed, and jogged outside with her bag over her shoulder.

  Abra was outside, getting on a silver Kawasaki Vulcan. She was waving goodbye to two guys who were walking arm-in-arm, away into the warm, muggy New York summer evening; one of them looked like her dad, whom Ainsley had seen at other matches. She caught sight of Ainsley and stopped. “Come to finish things?”

  “I’d love to,” Ainsley answered frankly, “but that’s not why I’m here.”

  Abra raised an eyebrow. “Well, your girlfriend looked cute, but I’m not interested in a three-way,” she prodded.

  “Wrong again.”

  Abra threw her hands up. “Then what, Sparr?”

  Ainsley walked closer, looking at her bike. “I didn’t know you rode.”

  Abra nodded. “Yeah. You?”

  Ainsley pointed to her Indian. “That’s mine.”

  Abra whistled appreciatively. “Very pretty.” She looked back at Ainsley. “So?”

  “Well… It wasn’t up to me, but…you’ve been picked. There’s sort of a…a thing I do, me and some of my friends, in our free time. We help women. Women who can’t help themselves. Abused women, victimized women.”

  Abra looked at her strangely. “What, like you guys run a shelter or something?”

  Ainsley shook her head. “No. We have a…different way of helping them.”

  Abra’s eyes narrowed. “And you picked me. Why?”

  “I didn’t pick you,” Ainsley said again. “The lady who runs the show picked you. She was impressed with you. And she knows you ride, like the rest of us do. Her reasons aren’t always clear for why she wants someone, but she’s never wrong.” She said that as as if she was just remembering it. “Maybe she wants you because your dad is ex-Mossad, I don’t know.”

  Abra laughed. “Everyone makes so much out of that, he was just a programmer! He wasn’t doing any spy shit.” She shook her head, and then surveyed Ainsley for a moment, thinking it over. “Helping abused women, huh?”

  Ainsley nodded. “We all ride. Boss lady bankrolls everything. I can’t say more right now. But I think you get me?”

  Abra nodded. “I think I do.”

  “You interested?”

  Abra nodded.

  “Abra Baum? Are you fucking serious?”

  The mood around the shop table was tense. Empress wore a no-nonsense look that told the girls she was not here to argue the point. But Khady was not going to swallow the choice without at least questioning it.

  “I’m right here, you know,” Abra groused. She looked at Empress. “And friendly reminder, but I didn’t ask to be here.”

  Ainsley put up a conciliatory hand. “Khady, listen. If I can make peace with this, you can.”

  “Not the same thing,” Khady shot back.

  Abra sighed. “Look, if it’s about the Mossad thing, I told your girlfriend, my dad wasn’t even a real spy.”

  “And Khady, you don’t even know for a fact that it was Mossad who killed your parents. Look,” Ainsley persisted, “you’re both as American as apple pie. Abra can’t help who her dad is. And it’s not like he was out there doing wet work or something.” She paused and checked with Abra. “Right?”

  Abra shook her head. “Just writing code.”

  Ainsley’s mind cleared, then, and she said, “We’re all here for the same thing. We’re all here because we think we can help people that the system hasn’t served. Whatever either of your families might have done back there, over here we all have the same mission. Right?”

  Khady and Abra considered each other for a moment. “Fine,” Abra agreed.

  “But we keep politics out of the clubhouse,” Khady added.

  Abra nodded. “Middle Eastern politics, yes. American politics, it’s another story. I think we could be doing more than beating up rapists, but—”

  “You’ve been here five minutes,” Empress cut her off. “I admire your gumption, but don’t get ahead of yourself.”

  Abra seemed to immediately acknowledge Empress’s authority and her mouth snapped shut.

  Empress then called them to order. “Adding Abra makes our party six instead of five. That means we can go after multiple targets at once, particularly with another trained fighter like Abra on board. As you all continue to grow more experienced, you’ll have a better hang of who belongs on what outing. Vea, you’ve been a good leader, you stay cool and keep your head on a swivel and remember the things that need to be remembered.” She looked at Ainsley. “On multiple targets, Ainsley, Vea will lead one group as she’s been, and I’m going to have you lead the other. I expect you to get Abra up to speed on how we do things.”

  Ainsley nodded. She was a little nervous about it all. Empress was “promoting” her? Was she ready for that?

  The truth was, Empress was an uncanny judge of character, and if Empress felt she was ready to lead outings, she was probably ready. And despite Ainsley’s lingering misgivings about Abra Baum, Empress’s picks added something that, once it was there, was hard to imagine the group without. It wasn’t just the skill sets or the right motivators at the right times, either. Ainsley had noticed that Eilidh wasn’t just a good choice because she was crazy and liked to fight; she was willing to let her crazy be channeled by Vea, and probably nobody but Vea. Watching them together, Ainsley noticed that Eilidh also sometimes pushed Vea, in her way, to be more of a leader. How could Empress’s gut have predicted the subtleties of that dynamic?

  Ainsley bit her lip. If she wasn’t ready, she supposed she damn well better get that way.

  20

  Lily Goes Right Side Up

  Lily couldn’t stop thinking about Lamont’s mother and the weird conversation with Dooley at the Navy Yards. Follow the money, he’d said. My orders came from where my orders always came from, he’d said.

  Even though it was absurdly late, she went back up to Miri’s that night after leaving Dooley because she was feeling too edgy to be alone. Lately, it seemed like Miri was the only thing that made her feel at ease.

  “Whoever was captain at that time was probably dirty,” Miri reasoned after Lily told the whole story. “Was it Ramirez?”

  Lily shook her head. “I don’t know. But I guess I’m going to have to find out tomorrow. I don’t know if we can assume that it went as high up as that, but—”

  “But Franks got SIU. Lieutenants can’t hand that kind of thing out.”

  Lily nodded. Miri was right. Lily pressed her palms to the side of her head and groaned, “This whole thing is unbelievable.”

  Miri got up. “I know wh
at you need.”

  She warmed up some sake and put on some Billie Holliday, and they drank and danced in the living room to her woozy, swingy version of “All of Me.” They weren’t much good at actual dance steps, other than Miri occasionally managing to dip Lily backwards in a way that felt only a little clumsy. But it eventually just ended up with them leaning on each other with Lily’s head on Miri’s chest and Miri’s arms around her waist.

  Not looking up, her eyes closed, Lily murmured, “Are we a thing?”

  She felt Miri’s chest move a little as she chuckled. “A thing?”

  “Yeah, you know. A thing.”

  They shuffled and swayed together to the music, listening to Billie’s crooning for a moment. “I don’t know. Can we be a thing if we aren’t sleeping together?” Miri finally asked.

  “We sleep together all the time,” Lily joked.

  “You know what I mean.”

  Lily sighed. “I don’t think anybody gets to decide that except us. All I know is, I feel right-side-up when I’m with you.” There was another long quiet, and they went still. They stood there with their arms around each other, listening to the music, Miri’s chin resting on top of Lily’s head.

  The music finally stopped and it was silent except for the sounds of Felix scrabbling around on the kitchen tiles, battling a rubber mouse.

  “I love you, Lil.”

  Lily looked up. “Yeah?”

  Miri nodded. “Yeah. I’m gonna tape your picture up in my locker.” She tugged on Lily’s hair affectionately, the way she often did, and added awkwardly, “I mean, I don’t want to have sex with you or anything, but… I don’t think I’ve ever wanted that from anyone. Um… Is that okay?”

  Lily squeezed her tighter, listened to her heartbeat. “God, are you kidding? That’s better than okay. It’s perfect.” She stood on tiptoe and ruffled Miri’s short hair. “I’ve never wanted it either. Tried a couple of times, but…” She made a gagging face, and then shook her head. “Anyway.” They spent a moment grinning stupidly at each other. “Anyway, I think I’ve been in love with you for a while.”