19
From a distance, we could see Mrs. Lee throw the pit of her juicy fruit in the trash and wipe her hands on her sweaty pants. Maybe there was a naughty smile too, but maybe that was just my imagination. The parking garage isn’t too far from the park, but on the weekends, they turn off the elevators. She takes a deep breath and charges up the stairs, oblivious to the six thugs closing in right behind her. A few blocks away, the three of us move as one. A full sprint across the park, our legs pumping in perfect synchrony. Simon is glad he started to wear sneakers after he met me. Dr. L tries to keep breathing.
“Building is closed,” says an armed guard we could swear wasn’t there when Mrs. Lee walked in. Why would a police officer guard a garage building?
No time for that. Think, Yinyin.
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir,” replies Dr. Lambrechts.
What a sissy. There is a side door, I remember—Mrs. Lee and I used it when she gave me a ride a long time ago. And up the stairs. Fast. Too fast for the old man, actually. He stays behind. Third floor, that’s where she parks. I kick the door. On a regular business day, it would have been packed. Today, just big letters printed on pillars, a few cars scattered among yellow marks on the floor, a few stinky puddles of motor oil. There, under a lonely spot of light, her. Also there, below the other lit lightbulb on the entire floor, them.
“Yoo-hoo! Grandma!” calls one of the big guys. She turns around angry, “What did you say?” The thugs close the distance, surround her like a pack of wolves. With her purse pressed against her body, she recoils. “You got a present for me, old witch?”
“Hey!” I yell, and they all turn. What are you doing? My head asks. They all come in our direction. The original victim doesn’t matter anymore. That’s what I’m doing.
It’s just Simon and me. It will have to do. On my command, we widen our stances and raise our guard. We are ready, or at least want to look like it. Simon seems excited now, and I think I am too. Still no sign of the old man. Let’s do it.
On their side, a big Latino dude points at us, “Look, boys. The Power Rangers.” To which we respond in a single voice: “Look, boys. Clowns,” We take a moment to enjoy their bafflement, then continue, “Yes, clowns who are about to get slain.”
Because of either the synchronized speech or our stupid defiance, they pause. Six versus two. One of them picks up a pipe from the floor. The others punch their own hands and stretch their necks in an intimidating gesture. Let’s show them, Tigress, Simon thinks in my head. Where’s the old man?!
No time. We charge, screaming like lunatics. It even startles them for a moment, then they rush to the clash. That’s when we first notice the ceiling lights following both them and us like, like this was all choreographed. Is that you? I ask Simon. No, but I guess that’s not important right now. Indeed.
One of these teams is going to be really fucked today, I say in my head. Let’s make sure it’s them. We nod at each other, the adrenaline pumping so hard the world loses its sound, and life is now in slow motion. Simon, I know we can do the same thing, but can we operate independently while linked? We’re about to find out. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Their first move: a wild punch toward my head. I see it coming, calculate the direction and landing place. Every vector is clear—thanks, Simon. I duck under it, parry the arm downward to increase his momentum and finger-jab him in the eye. No mercy. He brings his hands to his face. Screams. I spray his torso with more punches than he can count. While he drops, I gift him with a beautiful teeth-crushing knee.
One down. Now, the other two.
Wait, what do I do?
Fighting is just a series of millions of calculations happening really fast, Simon. Go with it. Your head calculates, mine breaks their necks.
Fighting is different when you’re not in shape though, so I have to adjust. Simon, have you ever stretched your legs in your life? Can you kick higher than your own hips? He gives it a try, feet to the knees, of both of his guys. Their kneecaps give an audible pop. Both are out. Really? Simon is two-to-one on me? My next two guys. They are close, one raising a pipe, I aim at him, track his swing. At the right leverage point, my weight drops to the floor, and I pull his arm over mine. His head and shoulders are dragged by gravity’s effect on our combined masses. Suddenly chaos feels so freakishly…mathematical? Fractal, an inner voice says, there’s always order when you can see. I wonder what Shifu would think of this. Crash! The break ripples through his bones. Good job, Tigress! Was that me or you? That was you for sure, little girl. Need some help here. Wait…
It’s like I replaced one disorientation for another. I can map every move outside of my head, but inside, it’s a mess. I feel a drag. Another dude. Another attempt at a takedown. Why do they always do that? I sprawl back and hold him by the shoulders. He pushes, my feet slide backward across the ground. Fine, I can hold here for a while. A few feet away I see Simon trying a takedown himself. Are you stupid? The dude’s three times your size and probably wrestled his entire high school life.
Sorry, Claudia.
The distraction gets me tagged on the top of the head and the world takes a little spin. We are on the floor now, his entire weight is over my chest. Focus, Yinyin. I breathe, then find the one thing I can do to relieve the pressure. Thanks, Jason.
Oh, that’s cute.
Shut up, Simon!
Jason’s principles. He tried so many times to explain. Now, with the math, I get them. The physics of the leverages and wedges, the frames, his strategies to consolidate position before moving forward. All so alien for my martial upbringing. Follow me, Simon. I swim my arms between my face and his arm to allow some space, then around his waist. Somehow, I know Simon is doing the exact same thing. Now slide the head, under the armpit. Gross, sorry. We gotta climb on their backs, but wait…wait…Now! It works. That’s good, Simon, I say, like a silent corner coach in a big fight. He responds, That was all me. Shhhh. It’s like I can hear Jason showing me how to lay my chest on the opponent’s back then wrap my arms around the chest and hook the feet into his thighs, “like a blanket with seatbelts.” I follow the instructions, then slide the arm around his neck, under his chin. I know, I tell Simon, that’s an awfully giant neck, but we can do it. On my command, we hold the inside of our other elbow and the free hand pushes the back of his head again. Now relax the muscle and stretch. Let the pressure build.
Strange to see both our fights overlaid through different pairs of eyes. Lots of angles to explore. I feel dizzy. Maybe it’s the smell of car oil. Simon? Lightheaded too. We need some air, and glucose. Shit! Where is my guy’s leg? I can’t see from here. Simon? Thanks. A little yank to one side, then a swing of the hips and flop. Simon and I have our backs on the floor, our entire bodies bridged between our shoulders and toes. Hard to breathe, huh, big man? My guy struggles, tries to bounce off. “Not going anywhere, buddy.”
The other fight. Protect your eyes, press your head against the neck, yes. No, no, no, don’t open, keep pressing his neck. I am about to take over, but Simon bites the other guy’s hand. That’ll do too. We are back in the same position again.
We arch our backs, press their torsos forward with our abs, pull the leg and neck like a bow. Two bows, actually. Simon’s choke is a bit over the chin but still works. More pressure, Simon. Feel that crack? It’s his jaw. It feels so good, like a…Focus, Simon. Sense his veins pulsing inside our arms, their heads growing, red and stiff. That’s good. Hold there. I can feel Simon’s back burning and his arm going numb. Not the time to let go yet. I change the muscle groups. Pull from the back, not the arm. He will go to sleep, I promise. Three, two, one, zero, minus one, minus two…See? I told you. Now let go.
Simon, let go!
An extra voice joins our connection. Here! Are you Ok?!
We both turn back. Dr. L, panting his lungs out, his yellow eyes shining in the dark, the heart rate at 197 bpm. We got it, old man.
The joy. The thrill. It’s like you’re a savage. A beast. Out of control. Feels so good. Better than I remember. Maybe because this wasn’t in a ring, with rules etc. Maybe because…Simon, let go! You’re safe. Don’t want to kill the guy.
He releases the pressure and tries to stand but instead he throws up. I hold his forehead while Dr. Lambrechts checks the surroundings. No one left. Just a scared Mrs. Lee, leaning against the hood of her car, quivering like green bamboo on a stormy day. The hum recedes.
“Holy shit,” Simon mumbles to his hands. “I can do judo!”
Technically, that was Jiu-Jitsu.
“Hey,” Dr. Lambrechts screams and we look in the direction he’s pointing. On the other side of the floor, a man taking photos of us—or videos, you never know with these cameras. Has he been there the entire time? And did nothing?! We step in his direction but we are too tired to chase. Behind the heavy door leading to the stairs, he disappears with no effort.
“Raise his legs,” I say, pointing at the smallest of them. “He needs blood back in his head.”
“Let him be,” Simon broods for a moment, then follows my order.
Behind us, Mrs. Lee stands, patting her clothes to clean up the dust. She still seems shaken, so we ask. “I’m good, I’m good,” she insists, “You guys go! Whatever you are doing, get out of here.”
“Are you sure? Any clue why they were chasing you?” She shrugs, hence me turning to the waking one. “Who sent you here?”
“The…monkeys,” he says.
Mrs. Lee gawks down at him, confused. “Now animal rights are after me too?” She glares back at me and kicks the dude’s head.