(LB2) Shakespeare's Landlord (15 page)

“So, Carlton. Remember the subduing hold we practiced last time?” I asked. Carlton scrambled to his feet.

“Ah…no. I had so much to learn that one night.”

Marshall was laughing with a knot of the younger men in the class.

“Okay. Reach out to grab my gi with your right hand…. That’s right. Now, grip hard.” Apparently scared he’d pull me off balance, Carlton barely took hold of the loose material. “No, Carlton. You really have to hold on, or you’ll think I was able to do this because you weren’t exerting full strength.”

Carlton, while increasing the force of his grip, looked distinctly anxious. “Oh, I wouldn’t think that!” he protested.

“Now, remember? I reach up with my right hand, like so…. I sink my thumb into the pit between your thumb and forefinger, to hit the pressure point—I got it, I see—and then I twist your hand so that the outside of it, the side of your little finger, is pointed toward the ceiling…. Of course that rotates your whole arm, right?”

I could tell Carlton was remembering.

“Now I press your knuckles to my chest, being careful to keep your arm rotated. My fingers are wrapped around your hand, to keep the tension on…. My thumb’s still applying pressure…and now I—”

“Nooooo,” moaned Carlton, dropping to his knees as I applied counterpressure with my left hand on his upper arm and then bent over from the waist.

“Remember the distress signal Marshall showed you last time?” I asked.

Carlton shook his head, deeply involved with his pain.

“Slap your thigh with your free hand.”

He lost no time slapping, and I let go instantly.

He looked up at me, his brown eyes wide in a pleading spaniel look that I suppose had been very effective on other women.

“That really hurt,” he said after a significant pause.

“We don’t apologize, Carlton,” I said gently. “I taught you something. We all get hurt.”

Carlton stood up, shook himself. He was having a little struggle with pride; his sensible side won.

“Well, here I am, learning,” he said ruefully. “So I assume, to show you I learned it correctly, I get to do it to you?”

I reached out and grabbed his T-shirt.

I had to talk Carlton through the steps of hurting me enough for it to count. “Sorry, I don’t have to go down…. Twist my hand a little more…. Now go slow. You really don’t want to break my arm. Wait for a real fight for that…. Raphael, what is Carlton doing wrong?”

“He’s not keeping you close enough,” diagnosed Raphael.

“Okay, Carlton, you’re backing off, which means I can get free, or I can at least kick you and make you let go….” To demonstrate, I lashed out with my foot suddenly, but I pulled back in time just to tap Carlton’s groin.

With a gasp, Carlton let go.

“We’ll practice later,” I said. “You might feel better doing this with Raphael or one of the other guys, because most men get so anxious about hurting a woman partner that they don’t give it their best shot.”

“That bother you?” he asked.

“It used to. Now I think that in the real world, it would work to my advantage, and since women don’t have men’s upper-body strength, I need all the edge I can get.” I eyed Carlton with my own curiosity. “Why’d you really start coming?”

“I wanted to see what you were so gung ho about. Three nights a week, for years…never missing, always on time. I thought it must be something that was a lot of fun.”

“It is,” I said, surprised that it could be seen differently.

“The fun is not apparent yet,” Carlton said. I hadn’t known his voice could be so dry.

“Oh, it will be. You just have to learn a little, and it won’t be so confusing.” Marshall was about to begin class, so I went to my place in line. I wasn’t convinced that Carlton found me of such overwhelming interest that he felt like following my schedule, especially after our little exchange at my house earlier in the week.

“Kiotske!” Marshall called, and the class came to attention.

At water-break time, after calisthenics, Marshall drifted over to me. I could tell he was aiming for me, I was aware every minute of what he was doing as he said a word to this student or that. I was excited by his nearness, but I had not the slightest idea what to say to him.

“Did you hear anything else about what happened to Thea?” I asked after we’d given each other a little nod of greeting.

“No. The police said fingerprinting the doors didn’t bring up anything unusual, and none of her neighbors saw anything. That little house has a grown-up backyard, so that’s not too surprising. At least the rat was probably just caught in a trap, not tortured or anything.”

“Was she very shook-up?”

Marshall’s expression was peculiar. “Thea’s pretty emotional,” he said.

I wondered if Thea had pleaded with him to come home for her protection, a thought I found distasteful. I didn’t want to set foot in the situation between Marshall and Thea. But of course if you have sex with a man, I told myself wryly, you’re part of the situation between him and his wife automatically.

As I practiced buntai with Janet Shook, the only other woman who consistently came to class, it occurred to me that the hideous practical joke played on me at the Drinkwaters’ might be related to the equally hideous prank played on Thea. Was someone else so enamored of Marshall that she was doing horrible things to women she perceived as being involved with him?

As much as the thought made my skin crawl, it at least made some kind of sense out of an otherwise-bewildering incident.

“Lily!” Marshall called. Janet and I stopped our striking-and-blocking practice, and I bowed to Janet briefly before running over to Marshall. He was standing with Carlton, and he looked a little exasperated. “You’re a good teacher, Lily. Carlton and I are not—we’re not meshing gears on star drill, and I need to help Davis on his kata. Could you…”

“Sure,” I said. Marshall patted my shoulder and moved on to Davis, a weedy twentyish man who sold insurance.

“Sorry you’re stuck with me,” Carlton said, though he didn’t look particularly sorry.

“What part of this exercise are you having trouble with?”

“The whole thing.”

I sighed, not too quietly.

“Okay, specifically, I’m having trouble remembering the sequence.”

“All right. Get in shiko dachi…. No, turn your feet out…. Now squat some more.”

Carlton moaned.

I dropped into position facing him. “Now,
you
face that way,” I told him, pointing to my right, “and
I’ll
face this way…. No, keep your hips in position; just turn the upper torso….”

“Explain to me again why we’re whacking our arm bones together,” Carlton said pathetically.

“To make them tougher. So we don’t feel as much pain when we fight.”

“We go through it now so we don’t feel it later?”

“Ah…right. Now, forearms down, up…switch sides! Forearms down, up, switch!”

“So,” he puffed after a few more seconds, “what would you do right now if I leaned over and kissed you on the neck?”

“Well, you’re standing in a position that leaves your genitals wide open. So I’d probably strike you seiken—that is, with a powerful jab, in the groin, and then when you doubled over, I’d get you with an elbow to the back of the neck, and when you were all the way on the floor, I’d kick you repeatedly.”

“Better not do that, then.”

“Better not.”

“Just wanted to find out.”

“There is something else I want from you.”

“Name it.”

“I want to know who’s inheriting the apartments and all Pardon’s other land holdings, if he has any.”

Carlton grunted as I accidentally elbowed him. “A niece of Pardon’s, the daughter of Pardon’s dead sister. She called Pardon’s lawyer yesterday, who called me, since she’s going to be coming to town day after tomorrow to arrange for Pardon’s burial. Ow, Lily! Not so hard! And go over his books with me. This gal lives in Austin, Texas. I’m sure you’re gonna love her. She’s a tae kwon do instructor. Pardon had mentioned her to me one time.”

“Could that be why you’re suddenly interested in coming here, rather than curiosity about my schedule?”

“Fifty-fifty, I’d say.”

“I’d better warn you, goju is really different from tae kwan do. Philosophy, fighting technique, stances.”

I shut up and accelerated the star drill until Carlton suddenly gave out. I’d been picking up the signals (shaking legs, increased sweating, a desperately determined set to his mouth) but had ignored them ruthlessly.

“Give me a break!” Carlton said, and I felt a little shame at driving him so hard.

“Don’t scare him away, Lily,” Marshall said behind me.

“No, sir.” I tried to look repentant.

“Back in line,” Marshall called to the paired students, and we scampered (or hobbled) back into place.

“Kiotske!” We came to attention. “Rai!” We bowed. “Class dismissed!”

“My favorite words,” Carlton murmured to Janet, who laughed—too much for such a feeble joke, I thought.

Marshall came up to me and said very quietly, “I’ll pick you up at your house,” which answered all my questions.

I sat on the floor to pull on my shoes. After I tied them, it was an effort to get up smoothly, but it was also a point of pride. Carlton was sitting in one of the folding chairs that lined the room, his head cocked. He was looking at me as if he was examining a suspect hundred-dollar bill.

“Good night,” I said briefly.

“Good night,” he answered, and bent to tie his sneakers, a scowl on his handsome face.

I shrugged and went through the double doors, passing Marshall’s office and waving to him. He was looking at employee time sheets. The main room was empty except for Stephanie Miller, one of Marshall’s hired hands who teaches some of the aerobic classes. Stephanie was running the big industrial vacuum cleaner over the worn green carpet. I gave her a casual nod and passed through the front door and over to my Skylark, one of four cars left in the parking lot. There was something on the hood of my car.

I wouldn’t let myself stop, but I slowed down to get a better look. It was a…doll?

Then I was standing a foot away and I dropped my gym bag. It was a doll, a Ken doll.

The eye had been defaced with red nail polish. It was fresh. I could smell it from where I stood. It had been used to create artistic drops of blood down the doll’s face. Someone had made the doll look as if it had been shot in the left eye, the eye I had hit when I shot Nap.

I remembered exactly how it had looked, the sound the man had made, the way he’d hit the floor. He hadn’t looked anything like a Ken doll….

“What’s wrong?” Carlton asked. “Car trouble?”

I was glad to be dragged back from the edge of the nightmare. I stood back so Carlton could see.

“Was this on your car?”

“Yes. I left the car locked, so someone put it on the hood.”

I shivered at the malignancy of the “gift.”

“What’s up?” Marshall asked. He’d just locked the front doors of the gym. Across the parking lot, Stephanie got in her car and pulled out to go home.

I pointed to the doll. I couldn’t bring myself to touch it.

“Oh, Lily, I’m sorry,” he said after a moment.

“I get the feeling there’s something about this I don’t know?” Carlton asked.

I puffed out my cheeks with a gust of air. I was so tired. “I guess I ought to take this by the police station,” I said.

“Lily, let it wait until tomorrow,” Marshall said. “Go on home now. I’ll see you in a little while.”

“No. I want to get rid of it. I’ll call you when I get home.”

“Lily, do you want me to go to the police station with you?” Carlton asked.

I had almost forgotten Carlton was still there. I found myself feeling the unaccustomed emotions of warmth and gratitude toward my neighbor.

“That’s very kind of you,” I said stiffly, wishing I could sound more gracious. “But I think I better go by myself. Thank you for offering.”

“Okay. If you need me, call me.” Carlton hobbled over to his Audi and went home, doubtless anticipating a hot bath and a welcoming bed.

I watched him go because I didn’t want to turn to meet Marshall’s eyes.

“I’m wondering,” I said, still looking into the night, “whether you have a secret admirer—someone who could find out my history and leave these little gifts for me, someone who could kill a rat and leave it on Thea’s table.”

“So, it’s scaring you off, and we should forget about us?” Marshall leaped to the thought. He was upset and angry.

Well, I’m not exactly happy, either, I fumed to myself.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Are you saying you don’t want to see me tonight?”

“I don’t know. No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’ve been looking forward to it as much as you have.” I raised my hands, palms upward, in a gesture of frustration. “But this is bad, isn’t it? To think someone’s watching me? Sneaking around with things like this?” I waved my hand toward the doll. “Thinking about what to do to me next?”

“So you’ll let that person make your life even more miserable?”

I swung around to face Marshall so suddenly that his shoulders tensed. I had so many thoughts, it was a struggle as to which one would be voiced first. “I think I gave that up a good many years ago,” I said. I was stiff with fury, felt like hurting him. “And while I looked forward to screwing you tonight, missing it would not make me miserable.”

“I wanted to sleep with you, too,” Marshall said, equally angry now. “But I also wanted just to be with you. Just talk to you. Have a normal conversation with you—if that’s possible.”

I struck, aiming for his diaphragm. Like a senseless person who didn’t want teeth anymore, I told myself later. Quicker than I could block with my left arm, Marshall’s hand shot out and gripped the wrist of my striking right arm when my knuckles were within an inch of his abdomen. His other hand had formed the knife, and was starting for my neck. For a long moment, we stared at each other, eyes wide and angry, before coming to our senses. His hand relaxed and he placed his fingers gently against my throat, feeling my pulse racing. My fist uncurled and fell to my side.

“Almost got you,” I said, embarrassed to find my voice was shaking.