The hostility in the air crackled expectantly. I wondered if Ronnie was the violent type who would hurl something at me. Instead, I just heard footsteps, then the banging of the door behind her.
I should’ve been focusing on my techniques and working out how I was going to fight with my balance off. Okay, so I had lied to everyone about how badly I was hurt. And yes, I was a stubborn bastard. The vanity of men…I’ve considered it personally and academically throughout my life. Well, at least I’d just given Veronica Gale, Ph.D. candidate, more material for her thesis.
This was exactly why I wanted to remain single. A relationship with a woman meant having someone around to tell me I was too weak or old or sick to do something I wanted to do. I liked danger. And a woman would try to talk me out of it. It was exhausting to think about.
What was I thinking, anyway? Getting involved with Veronica like that? It interfered with the basic tenet of my philosophy-freedom. The only female I was beholden to was an eleven-inch-long rodent who was dependent upon me for her needs. Sartre never criticized me. Okay, maybe I could tell the difference between her general noises and her unmistakable sarcasm. But she never held me back. Never pigeonholed me. Never, ever told me what I could not do.
Here I was, a free thirty-eight-year-old man. Sure, I had my Bombay job. But that allowed me freedom too. Freedom from a desk job and other responsibilities. And it paid very, very well. For the most part, I could come and go whenever I wanted to. I traveled the world to follow my interests on the slightest whim.
What the hell was I thinking, getting involved with Ronnie? A naive professional student with no tolerance for violence or the things I found interesting? What was I going to do when this was over? Move her into my trailer? Take her with me from carnival to carnival? The woman had goals! She probably wanted some professorship somewhere quiet and safe! I’d tried that once. It didn’t work for me.
So who was going to win here? No one. One of us would have to give up what we loved. It was against everything I believed in to do that. And I would hate myself if she compromised her dreams for me. Even though I was lying down, my head began to throb even more.
And what about my job as an assassin? There was no way in hell Veronica would ever be able to accept that. How could I tell her that I killed people for a living? I suspected that even though I only killed really bad people, she would still have a major problem with that. My very nature was in direct conflict with every cell in her sweet little body.
There was no hope for marriage. The council gave everyone in the Bombay family until the next family reunion to let their spouse know about their job. Even if I timed it just so and had five years (the time between reunions), I would never have the courage to tell her. And that would spell her death sentence. The Bombays were pretty black-and-white about spousal acceptance.
Damn. I really screwed up this time.
Chapter Twenty
Indiana Jones: It’s not the years. It’s the mileage.
– RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK
“Cy?” I could hear Chudruk’s voice from the doorway. How long had I been thinking about all of this?
“Come in.” There were other things I needed to be concentrating on.
“Pop got you a match for the end of the day.” Chud sat on Zerleg’s cot. “Veronica is watching the opening ceremony with the others.”
I sat up. “Thanks. I think I really pissed her off.”
He laughed. “Women, eh?” Chudruk scratched his chin. “You know, I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you with a woman for more than two hours.”
I tossed my hat at him. He ducked. “When do the boys fight?” I didn’t want to talk about Veronica.
“Zerleg fights in the first round. Zolbin later.” He looked at me thoughtfully for a moment. “Did Zerleg talk to you?”
I nodded. “About the girl? Yes.” I wasn’t sure I wanted to get into this conversation. It was a family affair, and I was the outsider. But it did give me something else to talk about than my problems at the moment.
“He’s a good kid,” Chudruk replied. He seemed to be talking to himself more than me. “I want to see him go to school in the States. He’s smart. He should go to school.”
“Well, you know how I feel about education.” If I gave too much of an opinion, I might insult the family’s stance.
“He said you encouraged him. I’m happy about that.”
“What does Yalta want?” I was going for noncommittal here.
“He thinks he should go. He thinks Sasug, the girlfriend, has the face of a camel.”
I laughed in spite of myself. “I guess some problems are universal.”
“Well, it will work out. My brother and his wife will come around.” He stood up and smiled. “You should get some rest. I’ll come back for you about an hour before your match.”
Chudruk left and I lay there in the muffled quiet. Then I reached for my cell phone and made a call.
“I heard you did well!” I slapped Zerleg on the back a few hours later as I stood in the arena with him and his brother. My head still hurt, but I had been energized at hearing how the boy won two matches that afternoon. Zolbin and I would fight later.
“Thanks, Cy!” Zerleg’s face was glowing with glee. I couldn’t help noticing he kept looking over at a small group of girls in the crowd. One of the girls was dressed in Western clothing, wearing a miniskirt, a black T-shirt and large sunglasses. She was a lovely Mongolian girl, probably from the city.
“Who is that?” I asked him.
“Oh!” His face turned red. “That is Opia! She is a university student here.”
“I see.”
Veronica was in the stands with the others. Only athletes and their zazuls were allowed on the field. Zolbin was jumping up and down. He was up next. I spotted Chudruk waving from the bleachers. Ronnie ignored me. I was grateful for that.
Yalta nodded at Zolbin and the two of them walked toward the field. Zerleg dragged his attention away from the giggling Opia. We watched anxiously as Zolbin did his eagle dance around his grandfather, then slapped his thighs and approached his opponent.
To my shock, it was Arje Dekker he was to fight. Looking quickly into the stands, for reasons I had yet to comprehend, I saw Veronica give the son of a bitch a little wave. Dekker nodded at her and my gut twisted.
Zolbin attacked aggressively, his usual modus operandi. Dekker did the same, refusing to take a defensive stance. This could go bad for the kid. Dekker had a lot of experience in offensive measures.
While the boy was younger and stronger, Dekker had presence of mind. Again and again I watched as Zolbin attacked, looking for cracks in Dekker’s facade. Arje countered every movement. He struggled to hold on, but maintained his stance. Zolbin was trying to wear him down. The two locked arms several times, holding still for agonizing minutes on end. My head pounded. I desperately wanted to see Dekker beaten. Zolbin pulled back, then charged again, nearly knocking his opponent off of his feet. The crowd was silent. No one seemed to know where this was going.
The boy reached for Dekker’s thigh, lifting his leg from the ground, and threw him. I watched with great satisfaction as the Dutchman fell to the dirt with a thud.
“You did it!” Zerleg bounced into his brother’s arms and the two embraced.
I didn’t take my eyes off the field. Dekker rose slowly to his feet and dusted off his knees. He slowly looked up into the stands and smiled and nodded. I traced his gaze to Veronica, who smiled back, concern playing across her face. Concern that had recently been on that face for me.
I watched as he made a signal, pointing off the field. Then, to my anger, she nodded, stood up and walked away. Perfect.