Everybody Was Kung Fu Fighting
On my drive home from work, I swung by Flo Cash’s house to check on things. The blue tent was still draped over her residence, the mass execution of termites purportedly happening inside. But, in addition to the dead or dying bugs, did the home also contain a safe full of cash as Flo had told me? Or was it a lie, intended to put me off, string me along, buy Flo some time while she came up with a strategy for avoiding a tax assessment? I supposed I’d find out tomorrow when I met Flo at her house at 6:00 PM.
I took a left at the end of Flo’s street and continued on home. When I arrived at my town house, I found a small padded envelope addressed to Alicia in the mailbox, along with a larger one for me. Also a grocery store circular and a reminder that it was time to renew my salsa-of-the-month subscription. Next month’s can’t-miss flavor would be roasted corn and red pepper. Yum!
I tucked my package into my briefcase and hurried inside. Given that CPAs were enjoying a summer reprieve from tax-filing deadlines, Alicia had arrived home before me and was already lounging on the couch in a pair of yoga pants and a soft tee.
“Catch!” I called, tossing her package in the direction of the sofa.
She deftly caught the envelope and eyed the return address. “It’s my garter!”
While I slung my purse and briefcase onto the couch and kicked off my loafers, she tore into the package, dropping the wrap to the coffee table next to the glass of sangria she’d poured for herself.
“It’s perfect!” she squealed, holding the garter up, stretched between the thumb and index finger of each hand.
I stepped over to take a closer look. “It’s even prettier than it looked online.” I flopped down next to her and reached for her sangria to take a sip. Alicia and I had shared apartments, bills, and even some tears over the years. Sharing a few germs was nothing new, either.
She elbowed me gently in the ribs. “Maybe Nick will be the one to catch the garter. You two could be the next ones going down the aisle.”
Nick and I certainly seemed to be moving in that direction. The office had a pool and he’d even placed a bet that he’d propose in September. But that was still over three months away. Was I ready yet? Nick and I had often shared a bed, but was I prepared to share my bathroom and my closet space with someone else for the rest of my life? To wake up every day to the same face on the pillow next to time? To find Nick’s dirty socks on the floor? To accept that I’d never have another first date, another first kiss? To forsake all others?
I realized something big then.
I was.
Nick really was my knight in shining armor, though his typical “armor” consisted of a Western shirt, blue jeans, and a pair of scuffed cowboy boots.
I turned to my best friend. “You ready to be my maid of honor?”
“Matron of honor,” she corrected. She gave me a smile. “All you have to do is ask.”
“Well, Nick has a certain little question he’d need to pop first,” I replied. “But if and when he does, it’s nice to know you’re on standby.” I reached over, draped an arm over her shoulders, and pulled her to me for a sideways hug. “You’re the best.”
“Thanks, Tara. I feel the same way about you.”
When I reached for her sangria this time, she playfully slapped my hand away. “Friendship has its limits. Get your own glass.”
I stood, but rather than going to the kitchen for a glass of sangria I went upstairs. In my bedroom, I changed into a loose-fitting burnt-orange T-shirt with my college mascot, a longhorn steer, on the front. I exchanged my trousers for a pair of stretchy black yoga pants and my business loafers for sneakers. Strolling into the bathroom, I pulled my locks back into a high ponytail and rounded up a hand towel. Now properly attired and equipped for exercise, I went back downstairs, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, and bade good-bye to Alicia and my cats. “See you later!”
Returning to my car, I drove down the street to pick up Nick. As I headed up the front walk, Daffodil, his adorable Australian shepherd mix, pushed back the curtains in the front window, spotted me, and announced my arrival. Woof! Woof-woof! Or, in human terms, Daddy! The woman who makes me fried baloney sandwiches is here! Yippee! While I tended to be more of a cat person, I had to admit that canines had felines beat when it came to welcomes. My cats had never greeted me with such unfettered delight.
Nick opened the door and Daffy bounded onto the porch, running in three circles around me before slowing down enough that I could crouch down and ruffle her ears. “Hey, girl! Good to see you, too!” Before I could stand she whipped out her tongue and licked me from chin to cheekbone. “Thanks for the kiss,” I told her as I stood again.
Nick, too, gave me a kiss. When I stepped back, he offered a mock frown. “Aren’t you going to thank me for my kiss, too?”
“Hers are more enthusiastic,” I countered.
“I’ll work on it.”
Nick wore a pair of loose knee-length basketball shorts, a sleeveless Mavericks jersey, and running shoes. Like me, he’d brought a towel and a water bottle, geared up to tackle the MMA class. He rounded up his frisky pet, put her back in the house, and the two of us climbed into my car.
We sang along to the latest country hits as we drove to the martial arts studio, Nick doing his best falsetto to match Martina McBride’s voice as she belted out her hit “My Baby Loves Me.”
I sang along, too, adding commentary during the instrumental section: “I should have Alicia add this song to her wedding play list.”
“Heck, yeah,” Nick agreed.
We pulled into the lot of the strip center, took a space near the entrance to the studio, and gathered up our things to head inside. While I’d expected to find a group of people dressed in the standard white martial arts uniform, what I found instead was a bunch of beefcake in shorts, many of them shirtless, several sporting black boxing gloves. Only one woman stood among them, and she stood at least five foot eleven, her black hair shaved in a buzz cut a la Charlize Theron in Mad Max: Fury Road. The place reeked of sweat, the sound waves filled with grunts as men grappled on the mats and the bap-bap-bap of punches thrown against a heavy bag by a guy with six-pack abs and apparent anger issues.
“Yikes,” I muttered under my breath.
The woman cut a glance my way. “Yeah?”
“We’re here for the free introductory lesson,” I said. “I signed us up online.” Is it too late to back out?
A man with a shaved chest and head stepped up next to her and the two unabashedly looked Nick and me over. The guy snickered and tightened the wrist closure on his boxing glove. “You sure you’re up to this?”
Nick stiffened next to me. He might be more than ready, but I wasn’t. Still, after Flo Cash calling me a pipsqueak and her advertisers refusing to cooperate with me, I was tired of being bullied. No way was I backing down, even if they had to wheel me out of this studio on a gurney.
“We’re federal law enforcement agents,” I said with far more bravado than I felt. “We’re up to it and then some.”
The man and woman exchanged glances and smirks.
“Federal agents, huh?” The woman gestured to a shelf against the wall. “Grab some pads. We’ll see what you’re made of.”
“Don’t you need to teach us a few moves first?” I asked. “Maybe some blocking maneuvers? The proper fighting stance?” I’d picked up a bit of jargon while perusing the martial arts sites.
“We’ll get to that,” the woman said. “We need to get an idea of your agility and reaction speed first. See where you’re starting from.”
As Nick and I slid the pads onto our arms, I cut a look his way. “It was nice knowing you,” I said under my breath so the others wouldn’t hear. “Be sure to put some daisies on my grave once in a while.”
“You can handle her,” Nick whispered back. “I don’t doubt you for a second.”
“Are you crazy?” I angled my head to indicate the woman, who’d taken the brief respite while we put on the pads to engage in mortal combat with a man who stood six foot three and weighed 240 pounds if he weighed an ounce. “She’s got nine inches and fifty pounds on me. She’ll kill me.”
“You’re quick,” Nick said. “Crafty, too.”
I wish I had his confidence. At the moment all I had was an anxiety-induced urge to toss my cookies.
The shaved guy motioned for Nick to step over to the mat. “Let’s go, James Bond.”
Nick stepped over and positioned himself directly in front of the behemoth, instinctively offsetting his legs and bending his knees for more stability, no doubt muscle memory from his days going head-to-head with the opposing team on the football field. He’d barely raised his padded arm to his chest before the man erupted in a series of kicks, spins, and punches, landing them with such incredible force and frequency it was a wonder Nick managed to stay upright despite his linebacker experience. The guy landed a solid kick with his right foot. Thwap! Two rapid punches. Bap-bap! Another kick, this one preceded by a hop. Thop!
When the guy threw the next punch, he aimed not for the pad but for Nick’s face. Surely that wasn’t an acceptable move to make against an untrained novice. Wasn’t there some sort of code of conduct for this sport? Fortunately, Nick’s reflexives kicked in right away and he managed not only to raise the pad in time but also to deflect the punch to the side. Ha! Take that, jerk.
“Not bad,” the guy said, raising his gloved fists to bump knuckles congenially with Nick. How men could be at each other’s throats one minute and bros the next was beyond me.
“You’re up, ponytail,” the woman said, giving my hair a flick to set my ponytail swinging.
Once again my intestines tangled inside me. If she was going to kill me, I hoped she’d do it fast.
I raised the pad high in front of me, instinctively protecting my head. A person could go on after suffering cracked ribs or a broken leg, but a head injury might mean the end of life as I knew it.
I peeked at the woman over the top edge of the pad. Her upper lip quirked in a sneer and a glint of determination flashed in her eyes. She threw a punch. Bap!
Good. I’d managed to get the pad up in time to protect myself from the blow. Still, there had been quite a bit of strength behind the hit. We might just be practicing here, but this woman wasn’t holding back.
She spun and threw a kick in my direction. Again, I somehow managed to get the pad into place in time to protect myself, though the impact had me stumbling backward toward the wall. Before I could recover, Pow! She punched the pad so hard that my hand flew backward and I ended up hitting myself in the mouth. My lip split, blood trickling over my teeth and tongue, the copper taste and smell flooding my senses.
“Hey!” Nick called, stepping toward us. “Stop! Tara’s bleeding.”
But my wound only seemed to fuel this woman’s bloodlust. Before Nick could reach her, she’d kicked at me again, the force slamming me back against the wall, my elbows taking the brunt of the impact, my head hitting the painted cinder blocks a split second later with with a brain-rattling conk. Pinpoints of light danced around the periphery of my vision like tiny fairies. The next thing I knew, she grabbed my wrists and pinned them to the wall next to my shoulders, using her legs and body to full immobilize me. I was stuck flat to the surface like a human pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey game.
She laughed, the sound as evil and nasty as they come. Her face was only inches from mine and coming closer. I could see the dark hairs like parentheses framing her upper lip and count the pores on her nose. One. Two. Three. She put her sweaty forehead to mine, pinning my skull against the wall, too. “Not so tough now, are you, Miss Federal Agent?”
The smart thing to do would have been to cry, Uncle! But my mental faculties had been not only shaken by the blow but also fully taken over at that point by my sense of survival. Having two older brothers who’d lived to torment me when we were young had taught me a few things, made me scrappy. Nick was right. I was indeed crafty.
The only thing I could move at that point was my mouth. Just as Daffodil had licked me earlier in the evening, I whipped out my tongue and swiped it over the woman’s cheek, the copper taste of my blood now replaced by the salty taste of her sweat. Disgusting, no doubt, but effective. She cried out and backed away, wiping my bloody saliva from her cheek and giving me the opening I sought. With a primal cry, I pounced, catching her off guard, shoving her with all my might. Now it was she who was stumbling backward. And I’d give her no quarter.
I hooked a foot behind her ankle, angled my body, and rammed my shoulder into her chest. She lost her footing and fell back, her ass meeting the mat with an inglorious fwump. I teetered for an instant, momentum threatening to take me down with her, but windmilling my arms managed to keep me upright. When I regained my balance, I threw victorious fists in the air. “Yes-s-s!”
“Wow!” called the man who’d been working the heavy bag. “You took her down. Hell must’ve froze over.” He gave me a respectful nod while the other men murmured in surprise. Looked like I was the first to put this brutal bitch in her place.
Hell might have frozen over, but a fiery fury raged in the woman’s eyes. When she sprang from the mat to come after me, the hairless guy grabbed her and held her back. “That’s enough.”
“This is bullshit.” Nick jerked his head to indicate the door. “Let’s get out of here.”
He wouldn’t have to ask me twice. Casting the woman one last look that said, You got what you deserved, I ripped open the door and stormed out into the lot.
Once we were seated in my car, Nick turned to me. “I knew you’d show her up.”
“But at what price?” I said, putting a finger to my throbbing, oozing lip. “Alicia’s wedding is only a couple weeks away. A bridesmaid with a fat lip isn’t going to look good in the pictures.” I owed it to my friend not to look like a street brawler in her wedding photos.
I lowered my sun visor and examined my lip in the mirror. It wasn’t a pretty sight, but I had to admit I was proud of myself. I’d bested an MMA instructor and had a red badge of courage to prove it. Something must be seriously wrong with me to think such a thing, huh?
“Jack Smirnoff can’t be any tougher than that woman,” Nick said. “He better watch out for Tara Holloway.” Nick cast me that chipped-tooth grin of his, the one that made me feel soft and squishy and special. “Now let’s get you to the doc so he can take a look at that lip.”