Grave Truth

Chapter 2

2

“You’re not doing it right,” Glenn observed, gruff voice emotionless.

For some reason that annoyed me. Not that Glenn was critiquing my technique, but that he was doing it so calmly.

“It worked, didn’t it?” I demanded, feeling a sudden impulse to grab the large man by the reddish-brown braid hanging down his back and swing him around the dojo like I was some bad-ass ninja superhero. I grinned at the image.

Glenn’s eyes twinkled in response, either because he read my mind, or because he was teasing that he had other athletic pursuits in mind.

“It worked on Doug,” he said, in the same tone of voice one might use to say you beat Charlie Brown. He pushed the cuffs of his long-sleeved T-shirt up to reveal fuzzy, golden arm hair, then reached down and pulled my chunky classmate to his feet. “That doesn’t mean it’ll work when you really need it to. No offense, man.”

Doug had lost a few pounds since we’d started this small special class together last year, but it’s true that he still was not the most physically adept person I’d ever met. He paused on one knee on the mat to catch his breath.

“No offense taken,” he said, standing, face flushed. “I’m here to learn. And after all, she is a PI.”

Doug believed my job was like an 80s television show with a catchy theme song. Bless his heart.

Our sensei Vince approached with another student, Maria, and said, “Glenn’s right. Sometimes poorly executed technique is worse than no technique at all.”

He motioned for the former biker to join him on the mat, and I felt a thrill of anticipation, as I always did watching the two men spar. Glenn had half a foot of height and fifty or sixty pounds on our pale, dark-haired sensei, but Vince always came out on top in the end. Sometimes it took some time, and a fair bit of trash talk, for him to get there, though. I wished I had popcorn.

This time was disappointing, all methodical demonstration of technique. Glenn and Vince faced each other, Vince in his black martial arts uniform and Glenn in dark-gray sweats. Glenn grabbed the smaller man’s arm.

“You’ll want to soften him up first,” Vince said, slowly thrusting the heel of his hand toward Glenn’s nose. “Head butt, kick, strike to the face. Whatever you can do in the situation. Then the wrist lock.”

Vince moved from the strike to grab at Glenn’s hand on his arm. “As you peel his fingers off, you’re moving into the wrist lock. You need to get a feel for this. Your hand’s probably gonna be sweaty, and it’s probably gonna be smaller than your attacker’s.”

Glenn twisted away as Vince wrenched his wrist and used his other hand to push Glenn’s arm, and with it the rest of his body, toward the ground.

“Be careful with the arm bar,” Vince said, pressing his forearm against Glenn’s upper arm while he gripped Glenn’s twisted hand. “You have to control him—”

Vince slid his forearm lower, toward Glenn’s elbow and then past it. Glenn demonstrated that the elbow was now free to move, flexing it first toward Vince’s face, then toward his body. Finally, Glenn dropped the elbow, regaining the upper hand as he pivoted and faced Vince with a scary smile. “Or you’ll regret it,” Glenn said.

They walked through it again from the beginning, slightly faster, but this time Vince maintained control of Glenn’s arm.

“Take him all the way to the ground, onto his belly. Then you can dislocate the shoulder,” Vince said, demonstrating the motion, “or—”

He executed a series of blows to Glenn’s back and head, slowly at first, then faster and faster, alternating flashing forearms, stiff hands and fists.

Glenn blinked hard when Vince offered him a hand up, as though something may have landed. “Show-off,” he said.

I worked with Doug and Maria and a couple of newer students a little longer, but we’d hit our usual finish time and most of our energy was spent. Class drifted apart rather than officially breaking up ten minutes later.

“Remember, Red, this isn’t theoretical for you,” Glenn said, meeting me at the door.

“It’s not theoretical for anybody in here,” I said, avoiding his eyes while waving goodbye to Doug. “That’s why we’re the special class.”

“Yeah, well, you’re extra f*****g special,” he muttered.

I didn’t want to risk stinking up my jacket by putting it on over my sweaty shirt, so when I stepped outside, the cool, humid night air slapped my damp skin like a pissed-off prom queen.

Walking next to me, Glenn drawled, “Who gets hijacked in a canoe?”

“On a first date,” I added softly, tracing the dojo’s brick exterior with my fingertips and trying to make out the vague, sweet scent of something blooming.

The once exuberant posters in the window of the Indian travel agent next door had faded to various shades of blue in the streetlights, making every destination look vaguely intergalactic. We’d both parked on the street, and though it was mostly deserted now, my little Cabrio, Cecil, was invisible tucked in front of Glenn’s ginormous dark tank. Glenn reached out as we drew alongside his truck and gently held my arm to stop me. “How are you holding up?”

“Well,” I said, turning to him, “Mike and I have been out a few more times, and we have plans for this weekend, so no real harm done.”

Glenn shook his head. “I’m not talking about your goddamn love life. I’m talking about what’s in here,” he said, tapping a finger to my temple.

I resisted the temptation to lean into his touch, replying, “I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, nodding, suddenly finding the pavement beneath us very interesting. “Did you tell him?”

“Tell him what?” It took me a moment to clue in (oh, about our relatively recent absolutely illegal excursion that resulted in a dead bad dude but a still living us). Blood and heat rushed to my face. “Is that what this is all about? You’re afraid I’ll rat you out?”

Glenn pressed his palm against the passenger door, my instinct said to prevent him from punching it. “You’re the most goddamned, hardheaded… do you really think that? After everything we’ve been through, do you really think I’m worried about covering my own ass?”

“No,” I admitted, my facial flush transitioning to one of guilt. Which is just as red as indignation, but not nearly as righteous.

“I’m not even saying you shouldn’t tell him,” Glenn said, leaning against the truck. “But be careful. Always consider the consequences a step past where you think you need to. I’m just trying to watch out for you, Syd. You’re like the kid sister—”

“You had a wild night of passion with?” I asked, forehead wrinkling, voice faux confused.

A soft laugh fought through his mustache. “Yeah. I realized that wasn’t the best metaphor as soon as it left my mouth. But you know what I mean.”

I scooted next to him, resting my backside against the truck. “I do. Back at you, big guy.”

We stood in companionable silence, nodding at Vince and Maria as they left the dojo together. Vince wasn’t much taller than Maria, who was in the neighborhood of my own modest height. Both had dark hair, but Maria’s tended to curl, and a few waves crossed her face as she leaned slightly toward Vince.

“What do you think?” I asked softly. I had the impression Vince and Maria had been spending a lot of time together lately.

“I think I maintain good relationships with my friends by not getting involved in their love lives,” Glenn said.

His voice was even, but I thought I heard a hint of reticence that was not theoretical in nature, something specific to Maria. Maybe because she had a law enforcement background she never talked about. She was just as close-mouthed about her current job, which was probably still as a law enforcement officer. Glenn had a complicated relationship with LEOs, and the law in general.

Come to think of it, that relationship meant he often had good insights—or actual information—about other people who shared complicated relationships with the law.

“So I’m looking for this kid,” I said.

“Go on.”

“A teenaged runaway, in Tallahassee with an older boyfriend—”

“How much older?” Glenn interrupted.

My mouth twisted. “I don’t know. I just got the case today, and I haven’t decided whether to take it or not—”

“Ha!” he boomed.

I rolled my head on my shoulders, stretching out my neck, and didn’t bother arguing. “I haven’t had a chance to track down his particulars yet, but my impression is early twenties. He might be using or dealing, but if so, I’d say he’s a bit player. Either way, they’re up from Ocala, so he’ll want to hit the party scene.”

“And you want to know where they’ll go,” Glenn finished.

“The big man isn’t just a pretty face,” I said.

“Indeed,” he replied, and I smiled as he smoothed his mustache ostentatiously, the moisture in his eyes and sweat at his temples reflecting the nearest streetlamp. “I can pretty well guarantee I won’t be seeing your guy at Cooper’s, but beyond that, it depends on whether he has connections. If he doesn’t, he’ll probably be like any other young man with more testosterone than sense and go for the flash.”

That made sense to me.

Bars in Tallahassee occur in clusters, like an infectious disease. Some cater to the wine-and-cheese crowd (adults associated with state government and in denial about living in a college town), but more serve the I-swear-I’m-21 crowd. Although young when I moved to Tallahassee, I’d been past the first flush of legal drinking, so I didn’t know the scene very well. Glenn suggested a couple of clusters, one almost equidistant from the Florida State University and Florida A & M campuses, and another out on Tennessee Street that made me shudder. It was an area of town I avoided.

“Don’t suppose you’d want to go with me?” I asked.

He leaned in and raised his caterpillar brows. “You really think anyone will talk while I’m hanging over your shoulder?”

“Good point,” I admitted reluctantly. More than a decade older than me and much scarier (imagine that, a grizzled biker dude who’s scary), Glenn didn’t exactly fit the club demographics. I pushed off the truck to stand on my own two feet. “All right, I gotta go.”

“I hope you’re headed for your refrigerator,” Glenn said, circling his truck as I fumbled to get in my little hatchback. He continued, “Little as you are, you still scare me when you’re hungry.”

I tossed off a quick one-finger salute and heard his rumbling chuckle as I closed the door behind me.