Darcy purrs, and I can't help but feel a little jealous. A husband, a child, a dog even... she's got a pretty ideal situation. “He does like doing that, that man and his... well, never mind me. Who was your visitor?”
“Jackson actually,” I say, clicking save on my file and putting it on the same thumb drive she gave me the initial information on. “Seems your prediction was right, Peter sent Nathan Black after me. But Jackson sort of deflected Nathan, somehow.”
“Wanna talk in person about it? I can come by this evening.”
I think about it, then nod. “Yeah. You sure Jeff and Henry won't be upset?”
“Nah girl, tonight's Daddy Night before Jeff goes on night shift for the next month. The two of them are going to stay up and watch the game, so they won't mind, and Jeff and I will have our time after Henry goes down. When you want me to stop by?”
“How about seven? I've got class downstairs from five thirty to six thirty.”
“Cool. So do those parents know just how badass you are?”
I chuckle and think about my class. “They have no clue at all.”
“Front kick series three... ready, go!”
I'm actually wearing a karate gi right now, even though nothing I've ever studied was called karate at the time, but after I kicked the ass of the third person who came in trying to call my teaching skills into question, nobody says a thing.
The fifteen little kids, ranging from ages six to ten in the class, from white belt up to what I'm calling a purple belt, all strike the right pose as they bear down, throwing their rear leg thrusting kicks before following with a straight jab, a strong side elbow smash, and finally pretending to grab their opponent and kneeing their 'head' with a loud shout. One of the boys, a new kid named Dylan who's only been in class a few months, shouts louder than normal, and I notice that he's sporting a black eye. He's a thin kid, the sort that just puts off an effeminate air, mostly because of the fineness of his features. He's a cute kid, and I know that in about seven or eight years he's going to have a look that's going to turn teenage girls weak in the knees, but for now he's probably getting picked on.
“Okay, grab shields, I want you to pair off and practice that sequence and the reverse. Dylan. Up front with me.”
The other fourteen pair off pretty quickly, but Dylan's dragging a bit as he comes up. Still, he assumes the proper posture that I taught the kids for using when speaking to me, and his eyes are clear, even though it's more obvious than ever he's sporting a shiner, and what looks like the remains of a fat lip. “Yes, Teacher?”
I don't use foreign languages in my classes, even though some parents expect it. “You put a little extra into your combination today. Nice. But what's with the eye?”
Dylan shifts side to side, and I kneel, looking the seven-year-old in the eye. “Who did it, Dylan?”
“Bradley,” Dylan says quietly. “He's in my class.”
I nod, even though I have no idea who Bradley is. “What happened?”
“He made fun of me,” Dylan says heatedly. “He made the other kids laugh at me.”
I nod, then lower my voice. “And did you start it?”
He goes red, but nods. Dylan's a good kid. He doesn't lie to me. “Yes, Teacher. I know you said not to, but I tried to kick him.”
“Tried? Then I take it you lost the fight?”
Dylan nods, and he's turning redder now. “Yes. I'm sorry.”
“Losing a fight is part of life. I've gotten my a... my butt kicked plenty of times,” I tell him gently. “But I have a more important question. What was your goal, to hurt Bradley?”
“No. I wanted the other kids to stop laughing at me.”
I figured as much. Dylan's a good kid, not a bully, and doesn't have a natural killer instinct. He hasn't had enough pain in his life yet to develop one either. “And did you accomplish your goal?”
“No. They laughed at me more after Bradley beat me up.”
I nod and lean in. “Then perhaps you need to change tactics. Focus on your goal, and not on the immediate target in front of you. Now go join Patience and Callie on the end, work as a three-person group.”
My own words to Dylan keep coming back to trouble me as I finish up class and go upstairs, and I'm still troubled when Darcy comes by. “Hey, Darce.”
“Hey... got your cash for you,” she says, handing over a paper bag while I pass her the thumb drive with my report. That's how we work, cash and carry only. It's one of the ways I've ghosted the system for so long. “So how was Jackson?”
“Arm locked,” I say with a laugh before becoming more serious. “And pissed about what I did to him.”