the ribs to the right of his breastbone. Charlie flinched.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I’m fine,” he responded, but still wincing.
As Charlie said this, I looked at his forearms. On the outside of each arm, from wrist to mid-arm, was a row of amorphous, dark purple blotches.
“Do you have arm pads?” I asked, pointing to his bruises.
He nodded.
“Use them, please. Let your arms heal until you learn to position the block better. Block with the back of your wrist, not the edge of the bone. You won’t get hurt that way.” I held out my left arm, showing him the back of my wrist. “Now extend your right punch.”
He extended his right arm. I let my left hand come around his extended punch, so that contact for me was on the back of my wrist, not on the edge of the bone. “Do you see what I mean?” I asked. “This way you won’t bruise your bone, and the block remains extremely effective. Got it?”
Charlie nodded.
“Good. I’ll tell your dad that you have to use your pads.” I didn’t raise the issue of his bruised ribs. That was for another time. The two of us crossed to where Charlie’s father stood waiting. I saw that he was my height, clean-shaven, with a round face and hard, clear blue eyes. I wondered if he was a litigator.
“How’s he doing, Sensei?” the parent asked, using the Japanese version of my title.
“He’s doing great, but he has to use arm pads until he learns the blocks better.”
“I want to toughen him up.”
I shook my head. “It’s not the way…not just yet.”
“But to my way of thinking--”
“No. Not a good idea.” I looked into his eyes and I could see he really wasn’t listening.
“What about his tolerance to pain? I want to increase--”
I just shook my head.
“Okay. I guess we have a difference of opinion.”
I let that pass. “More importantly, you shouldn’t be working with him.”
He looked at me. “What do you mean?”
“Let him do his partner work here.”
This time there was no response from the dad. He just put his arm on his son’s shoulder, and said, “C’mon, Paco, the afternoon is still ahead of us. We have a lot to do and we have to pick up Grandma at 6:00 for dinner at Frere Jacques.” He looked at me again, and with that the two of them walked to the exit.
I headed back across the room to Jon, and he met me halfway.
“So?” he asked.
“He’s still going to work with Charlie.”
“Did you mention his ribs?”
“No.”
“What are you going to do? He can’t keep pounding him.”
After thinking for a moment, I just looked at him. “I’ll figure something out.”
We moved into my office. I sat down at my desk and Jon took an upholstered seat nearby. We looked at each other. Jon was one of the few people I was fairly candid with about both my Israeli army experience and pre-army background. He was my first black belt, a hardworking kid – if he were younger than me then he was a kid – who had been into a lot of shit in earlier years…bullying, alcohol, drugs. His dad had pulled him out of a party where he was half-stoned and brought him to me. I basically presented him with some personal challenges, and he rose to my expectations. In other words, I beat the crap out of him as I worked him out.
“So, let me tell you the latest,” I said. “See what you think.”
I told Jon about my adventures at the rabbi’s house last night and about the murders in the ambulance. He had two questions.
“What do you think the deal is with the Mandels?”
“I don’t think they’ve consciously done something wrong…like committed a crime or anything. But someone is after either both of them or one of them for whatever reason, and it’s intense enough to send assassins.”
“And what are you going to do about the guy in the Buick?”
“I’m hoping he’ll show up again so I can have a conversation with him.”
He smiled. “Can I come?” Considering the events of last night, he knew that the hypothetical conversation would be less than polite.
“He may have taken off already. He killed the connection to him – that guy in the ambulance – or had it done, so maybe he left town.” I actually didn’t think he had. “Have you ever heard the name ‘Mazhar’?”
He shook his head.
“Me either.”
I turned on the computer at my desk, and while it booted up, went back to an earlier subject: “This issue with Charlie is troubling.”
“He’s a good kid. If his dad is hurting him, that’s pretty messed up.”
I just nodded. On the monitor meanwhile, the icons had settled in. I pulled up Google and typed in “Mazhar.”
“Okay,” I read to Jon, “I’ve got some Pakistani stuff, a tambourine used in Arabic music, and a Turkish name. I imagine Nate is in the process of getting more information from the guy’s fingerprints. He’ll call when he has something.”
“You think this Mazhar guy was just the hired help?”
“Yep. But the nationality makes things interesting, doesn’t it?”
After looking at the screen again, I felt something… almost like a pressure change or a shift in presence.
Jon caught my distraction. “What?”
“Someone just came in the front door.”
We both stood up. “I didn’t hear anything. How do you do that? Can you also tell if there’s a disturbance in the Force?”
“My teacher could.” I grabbed a sharpened letter opener and we headed into the practice hall.
Approaching us from the front was one of our students. She was the redheaded college girl with the short messy hair style. I moved the letter opener behind my leg, out of her line of sight. No need to show it. As the redhead came closer, she looked from Jon to me.
“I’m sorry, Sifu,” she said. “I have a question for Sensei Jon.” I could see her blushing slightly and I stepped away from them. “Sensei Jon, would you like to join me and some friends tonight? We’re going to the Mount Vernon Tavern at about midnight?
He
