Carson scanned the audience and fighters as he sat
down ringside. It didn't take him long to find what he
was looking for, a blank-faced man sitting on a
fold-out chair next to three hard-faced fighters. He
reached to his belt and snatched the cell phone there.
"He's here," Carson spoke, after the signal
connected. "Too many civilians, watch the exits.
Where's our man in the audience." He didn't crane his
neck to look in that direction. "Okay, across the ring
from him. Three fighters, Europeans, he's acting as
their manager in the fold-out chair. No, there's no
one else around him, none of the other fighters seem
to appreciate their presence. Wish me luck." Carson
placed the phone in his gym bag rather than back on
his belt. In the next few moments he wouldn't be in a
position to be able to use it.
Carson waited patiently, dressed in a plain white
karateka, for his cover name to be called to the ring.
He watched one of the three hard-faced fighters take
the ring, he didn't belong in this ring. This wasn't a
streetfighting tournament, just an amateur karate
competition. This was part of an extortion plot, but
that wasn't why he was here. The man in the chair was
something more important than that, a target of
opportunity. There had been rumors that DeGaul would
be here, some personal vendetta of his own.
DeGaul's fighter brutally beat his opponent into a
conciousness, winning in a single point. Carson
watched as the ring doctors carried him away on a
stretcher. The victor celebrated his victory before
the disgusted audience and the other fighters. The man
scanned the fighters and insulted them in general,
passing over Carson almost without noticing him.
Carson agreed with the fighter's general appraisal of
the other fighters. This was a collection of second
rate schools, mostly run by a collection of drop outs
from more established schools. There was some talent,
but nobody here, aside from him, had the proper
training to take either him or those other fighters,
probably from the lowest echelons of the streetfighter
circle.
"Karl Jobes, Washington School of Self-Defense,"
the announcer called. Carson rose from his seat and
climbed out of his seat. "Derek Nichols, School of
Martial Competition." Carson smiled quietly as he
stepped up into the ring. His opponent gave him a
feral reflection of that smile, it was one of DeGaul's
fighters.
"I'd forfeit the match now," Nichols suggested.
"Before you end up in the hospital."
"We'll see," Carson answered. He stood straight
before his opponent, his dark hair cut in a
conserative, but common style. His opponent, by a
little contrast, looked like something out of a
mercenary magazine.
"That's enough," the referee interrupted. "Ready?"
The two opponents nodded in the affirmative. "Bow to
each other, bow to the judges. Begin!" The referee
backed away quickly, eyeing the DeGaul fighter as he
did. Nichols came in with a form perfect roundhouse
set to take Carson's head off. The look on the man's
face when Carson blocked the attack was shocked. In
the brief instant it took Carson to move into a foot
sweep the man's face moved from shocked to angry. That
expression was wiped by Nichols impact with the floor.
"Point!" the referee called as the furious Nichols
reached his feet. The fighters faced off again and the
referee called the next point. Nichols came in with a
series of short, jabbing punches which Carson was hard
pressed to stop. The man was smiling again when Carson
appeared to leave himself open. The roundhouse came in
again, leaving a perfect, and painful, opening for
Carson's own snap kick. The roundhouse faltered in mid
swing as the thug dropped to the mat, wide-eyed and
clutching his groin.
"Point!" the referee declared, looking at Carson as
if he were a monster. "Winner Karl Jobes!" Carson
walked out of the ring with a smile on his face, this
wasn't likely to take long. He returned to his seat
and picked up the phone again. As he did so he checked
his quarry out of the corner of his eye, DeGaul was
watching him.
"I think I may be able to take care of this right
now," Carson told the voice on the other end of the
line. "My next match won't be for a good half-hour, we
have to wait for the next round of matches. Perhaps
DeGaul will follow me to the locker room." He noted
one of the other competitors heading his way. "See if
you can set a little back-up there, I've got to go,
someone's coming."
"What is a Washington school doing competing here?"
the young karateka asked. He wasn't actually much
younger than Carson, perhaps twenty-five years old.
"Oh, that's where I was trained," Carson answered.
"My job's taken me elsewhere since then."
"You said trained," the man noted. "Not learned.
There's something odd about you."
"What about those other fighters over there?"
Carson asked. The karateka turned that direction and
watched them.
"Streetfighters," he said. "Some of the others had
seen them fight. Perhaps, you're like them, a
streetfighter looking for a little workout before a
match?"
"Not quite," Carson noted. "Now I have some
business to attend to before the next round, perhaps
I'll see you then?"
"I hope not," the karateka answered, still watching
him suspiciously. Carson walked calmly to the locker
rooms, pretending not to notice DeGaul and the other
fighter who had already competed attempting to quietly
tail him. He lifted the phone out of the gym bag again
and to his ear.
"Do I have back up?" he paused for the answer.
"Good, let's get this done then." He closed the door
behind him and moved back into the lockers. He heard
the door open and then close, and sat back against the
wall appearing to be taping up his hands and feet.
DeGaul and his body guard turned the corner and
"found" him.
"That was an impressive display," the frenchmen
commented. He was not happy. "I would suggest that you
not repeat the performance. It might prove unhealthy,
understand, Mr Jobes?" Carson smiled and tossed his
wallet to the other fighter. The man looked at him
questionably as he opened the wallet.
"FBI?" the man laughed. "Mr. Carson? You're
thinking to arrest us, is that it." He looked over at
Carson, who had produced a pistol while the other
fighter was distracted. About five other men with
pistols appeared on either side of the Fighter and his
manager.
"Fernando DeGaul," Carson began. "You are under
arrest, you have the right to remain silent�"
"We have an unusual announcement," the loudspeakers
called out. "It appears that the School of Martial
Competition and the Washington School of Self-Defense
can no longer participate in this tournament." As the
announcement was being made the audience could see a
collection of police and FBI agents collect the two
remaining "Martial Competitors" and herd them out of
the Arena. "We're not sure of the details, but that is
the way things are, so let's get on with the
tournament."
The first sign of trouble he had was the smoke
rising from where he knew the gym to be. Andrew
McCarthy broke into a run, leaving his stunned friend,
and their dates, behind. They arrived at the scene
only moments after he did, and saw the same thing.
Frasier's gym was filled with flame. That didn't stop
Andrew at all, while his friends were calling him back
he rushed desperately into the building. They watched
in shock as the fire went out ahead the roaring
headbanger. He came out moments later, as one his
friends was calling nine-one-one, carrying an
unconscious Victor Frasier in his arms.
It was Andrew's date that saw the two men appear
from the shadows of the recovering fire. The young
woman saw the guns in their hands by the flickering
light and moved for cover.
"They've got guns!" she yelled. The other two kids
followed her lead and also looked for hiding spots.
Andrew merely turned to face the oncoming thugs.
"Should have stayed away, kid," one of them
suggested, before they both faltered. The air around
them seemed to warp and thicken as they wobbled and
dropped to the ground. The incredible heat vanished as
Andrew walked in and and slammed both thugs with a
pair of flaming fists. The thug that had spoken was
still conscious, if singed, as Andrew reared back his
fire shrouded fist. He had the pleasure of feeling his
eyebrows singed away as he faded into darkness.
Various emergency vehicles arrived shortly
thereafter, and saw Andrew valiantly attempting to
stem the flames. The two thugs sat to the side, burned
and battered, while Andrew's companions were nervously
following his request that they take care of Frasier.
Andrew himself was beginning to teeter from fatigue as
the hoses came out and the fire department took over.
"Sir," one of the nervous cops called to him. "Can
you move away and let the firemen do their job? We
need someone to tell us what happened here." Andrew's
eyes flickered the cop's way once before he let out
another roar, the flames again died down. They were
already growing again as Andrew collapsed to his
knees, exhausted.
"They started the fire," Andrew said, indicating
the two senseless thugs. "They tried to kill me when I
carried Master Frasier out of there." The cop looked
over to where the paramedics were examining the badly
burned man next to Andrew's companions. They didn't
look confidant, but they were diligently and swiftly
preparing him for transportation.
"Do you want to come down to the station and make a
statement?"
"I'm going with Master Frasier to the hospital,"
Andrew asserted, still huffing for breath. "Send
someone there and I'll make a statement." The cop, he
had seen the flames respond to this kid's roars,
backed up as the young man shakily walked to where the
ambulance was debarking. The cop moved to Andrew's
other headbanger friends as the more nerve-racking
participant was driven away.
"It was freaky, man," one of the girls, a blue
haired girl with strands of her natural blond showing.
"He just ran into the building and the fire backed
off! I was wondering why Heatwave was his stage
name�."
~Don't say anything,~ Andrew heard his master say.
~This has to be quick.~ Andrew looked at his Master's
body in hope, but saw no change as the paramedic
continued working. He had clearly heard the voice,
weak and pained, but maybe he had imagined it.
~I'm older than I thought,~ he heard Frasier say.
~Shadoloo didn't even bother to send assassins, just a
pair of untrained thugs.~
~Shadoloo?~ Andrew thought, recognizing the name.
~Another life ago,~ the voice said again. ~I worked
for them.~
Now Andrew knew he was just hearing things, he
couldn't imagine Victor Frasier as a criminal.
~Oh yes, I was indeed,~ he heard. ~But we don't
have time for that, I am dying. Shadoloo is evil, I
helped curb their expansion, and spent every year
since then in witness protection. I did about as much
good as you did trying to save the gym.~ The last
statement was made with a sort of gallows chuckle,
rattling around in Andrew's head. ~I told you about
the street-fighting circuit, you'll find both Shadoloo
and its enemies there. I had hoped to prepare you
more, but there is no more time.~
The voice ceased abruptly, the lingering presence
that had hung about the entire conversation was gone.
Moments later the machines in the ambulance declared
his spirit's departure. Andrew leaned his head into
his hands and wept.
This game was almost finished, Reiko watched the
town's sheriff fleeing from his office. He had
overheard the his deputies discussing certain
photographs that had appeared suddenly. The girl
followed him through the shadows, skittering from tree
to tree, and wall to wall. The frantic man didn't even
bother to watch for her. His connection with the thugs
that inhabited the old zoo was public now.
Another, larger, shadow joined Reiko, surprising
her. She almost reacted before she recognized the
mountain lion that had accompanied her over the last
few hundred miles. Comforted by her friend's
appearance, Reiko continued to shadow the corrupt law
enforcement officer. She was moderately happy, she had
no doubts about this action, there were no confused
and conflicting ideas popping into her head.
Reiko heard the sound of sirens coming behind her
and took to higher ground. Neither the disciplined
warrior, nor the elusive cat wanted to be revealed
quite yet. The sheriff saw the lights and also made
for cover.
"Sheriff Russel," a middle-aged woman shouted, as
she stepped out of her house. "What's going on? Have
those thugs done something else." The car-lights
highlighted the sheriff, and he drew his gun,
desperately. The woman's mouth opened in a surprised O
as he placed her between him and the car. She almost
shouted in retaliation, but the feel of the gun barrel
to her head
"Give it up, Jerry," one of the deputies shouted.
"We've seen the pictures, and heard the tapes. Its
over."
"The hell it is," Jerry responded. "You have no
idea who my contacts are, and what did you do against
Moody and his friends before I was here? Nothing! So
what do you think you can do against me and him?
Nothing! Now you're going to let me by or I'm going
cap this loudmouth cow right here." A sheet of water
rained down from above and soaked the sheriff and his
hostage. Maintaining his grip on the terrified and
soaked woman, he shot twice into the night sky above
him.
The two deputies watched in disbelief as the water
pooled together and formed into that drifter girl that
had arrived in town recently. As she rose up into
kicked both of her feet into the sheriff, they
realized how she had escaped the one night they had
brought her in for loitering. The sheriff flew across
the street, landing in a pile several yards away from
the woman, who wasted no time in running behind the
sheriff's car for cover.
Jerry Russel, no longer a sheriff, but merely a
common criminal, fumbled for his gun. The sudden
weight on his chest distracted him from that act as he
stared into the glittering eyes of a large mountain
lion. Reiko walked calmly up to cat and man pile and
collected the gun. Now the conflict came again, the
older part of her despised killing, it was an
ill-advised, undisciplined act. Despite this the
desire to rip the man's throat out with her claws
remained. She stared into his face, flexing and
relaxing her hands, revealing painfully curved claws
from her fingers. She could taste the blood in her
mouth flowing from the prey's crushed and torn throat.
Russel looked from the cat to her and found saw
something worse on her face, the cold, hungry look of
a beast. This terrified him beyond the fierce growling
of the lion pinning him to the ground. Then the look
passed, and there was nothing but contempt for him in
her face. He had killed her friend, one of the only
friends she'd had for a long time, and now he would
pay. She wouldn't waste her effort on his blood, there
was plenty of evidence. Besides, ignoring legal
activities, the man's masters wouldn't be happy.
"Let's go," she told the mountain lion, in
Japanese. The pair began to walk into the darkness, to
return to their wandering. The man on the ground
noticed a fine growth of black and yellow hair on her
forearms and hands.
"Wait," one of the deputies shouted. "We might need
a statement from you." He was talking more out of a
need to say something than any belief that she might
pay him some mind. Despite this, Reiko stopped.
She turned back around and the deputy saw the light
glittering off of her dark yellow, almost orange,
eyes. Reiko was tired of this aimless wandering, she
had been sent to train, but that didn't mean she
couldn't stay in one place. She felt the wandering
urge, and the long-trained instinct to stay obscure,
but she wanted to stop moving too. Especially now,
with Terri dead, she'd be alone again. She'd be alone
here as well, but it wouldn't be on the road, there
would be stability.
"Could I stay in that zoo?" she asked in slow
accented English. The zoo, an old remnant of some
nineteenth century resident with a large bankroll, sat
on the outskirts of the town. It was more like a piece
of the wilderness than anything man-made. It was
quiet, isolated and well secured, she liked all three
things about it.
"You want to stay in town?" the man asked in
surprise.
"Does anybody own it?" she asked, politely,
ignoring the question.
"No one any more, but you know about the gang up
there," he cautioned. He thought he saw the girl's
jaguar-skin belt twitch.
"They're not up there any more," she told him.
"Yes, I think I'll stay, if you want to talk to me,
I'll be up there cleaning up."
"Do you know who I work for girl?" Russel shouted.
"We make the mafia look like a gang of freshmen."
Reiko smiled at him before finally fading into the
shadows.
"I know what Shadoloo is," she answered.
It was only a few minutes later before she and the
lion arrived at the zoo. She moved straight for one of
the larger cages. It was carved to a natural looking
manner, the designer apparently wanted the feel of a
real jungle, rather than the small cramped cages
normal for the time period. The floor was littered
with broken bottles, fast food wrappers, and the
occasional needle. It was a mess, she wouldn't be able
to sleep here tonight. For now she wasn't tired, she
could start cleaning up.
Sometime in the early afternoon, Reiko awoke to the
sound of several people moving about the zoo. She
cautiously poked her head out of the mostly clean
crawlspace she and the lion had claimed as a bed for
the night. She saw about five people right off, the
woman she had saved the night before, a pair of
teenagers she had encountered when she and Terri first
came to town, and two people she didn't recognize. Her
first reaction was to remain where she was, she was
already upset with herself for not noticing them
earlier. People bothered her sometimes, more so than
before, her life-long training was almost enhanced to
paranoia in that regard by the transformation.
She watched the people clean up for thirty minutes
before climbing out of her sanctuary completely. The
mountain lion looked up at its could-be-kin friend and
then went back to sleep
The townspeople stopped in surprise when she
appeared. Reiko realized that she wasn't at all
prepared for dealing with other people. The fur
sideburns on her face had grown back over night,
shaving never lasted long. Her tail wasn't curled
around her waste where it usually masqueraded as a
belt. At least her forearms and lower legs were
covered, by the kevlar ninja night-suit she had donned
last night to protect her from cuts while picking up
broken glass and old needles.
She cautiously glanced at each person and they
stared at her. The woman she saved last night moved
forward first.
"I never got to thank you last night," the woman
said, extending her hand to the obviously nervous
Reiko. "My name is Karen White." Reiko looked at the
hand, and glanced back up at the woman. The conflict
was running in her head again. She wasn't certain of
what to do, but she eventually decided. She had taken
a number of risks as it was, what did one more matter.
She shook the woman's hand and smiled a close mouthed
smile.
"Satomi Reiko," she introduced herself quietly.
=====
"Caffeinated Kender? What's that, a berserk spell?" -
Tribble, Kender Warrior of the Celestial Kingdom
Signed
He of Too Many Names (Thrythlind/Thryth/Luke/Hyperbole/Pika/Pooka)
http://members.aol.com/thrythlind/snake.html
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