Fighting (2 page)

He
ignored that altogether and told me more about myself.  "You're a good
person.  You have a conscience and morals, even if you are a bit of a thief. 
You work for your money, you teach kids in your free time, and you overcame the
obstacles in your life without encouragement from anyone else.  I bet you even
chose the people you stole from based off their appearances, only picking the
ones who seemed so well off, they probably wouldn't even bat an eye at a stolen
wallet."

I
didn't confirm his suspicion, but he was right.

"You
have a lot of potential to offer the world, and it's not from this book
shop." 

"Are
you trying to recruit me for the Super Thieves or something?  I'm not trying to
'offer the world' anything," I said.

"Maybe
you should."

"Are
you secluded in your little spy world?  Are you lonesome?  Bored?  Looking for
a challenge?" I lightly baited him. 

"Are
you?" he returned.  I said nothing.  "Our headquarters aren't too far
from here.  It's a compound disguised as a huge cabin in the woods." 

"That's
not comforting," I said.  "That's the setting for most horror
flicks."

He
continued speaking like I hadn't.  "There are other kids there, as well as
a few adults.  We've taken in those who otherwise have nothing in the world but
have talents that we tap in to --"

"And
exploit," I finished for him.

"Not
quite.  These people are whip smart.  They'd know if they were being
exploited," he said.

Hmm, interesting. 

"How
big of a thing is this?  Is it like a school of mutant teenagers or
something?"

"No. 
We're a relatively small unit.  There are only four others like you.  They've
all been there for a while, and would answer any questions that you don't trust
me to answer truthfully." 

I
raised my brows at that last bit.  At least he was aware that I didn't trust
him as far as I could throw him.

"What
does 'others like you' mean?" I asked.

"Intelligent,
well rounded.  Fast to learn and adapt to any situation.  Perceptive. 
Independent with little or no family.  Physically fit.  Quick on your feet.  An
aptitude for deception.  An appetite for retribution and adventure.  A sense of
right and wrong.  A craving for a bigger sense of purpose."  He paused. 
"I could go on," he offered.

"You
think I'm all of those things?" I asked skeptically.

"You
are
all those things, Alex."

"I
don't work well with others."

"You
would be surprised," was all he said.

I
could tell this guy got off on one-liners.  Not going to lie, I kind of liked
that about him. 

"I
think you would be an asset to the team.  You wouldn't be required to do
anything you're uncomfortable with, though we would push your boundaries and
limits.  You would live there at the compound, free of rent in your own room,
and of course be compensated for your contribution.  There are classes every
day, ranging from weapons training to general education.  After you graduate
the training, we'll send you out on missions.  You would be free to leave the
organization at any time.  We'll even take over the rent for your apartment for
you so that you always have some place to fall back to should you decide this
isn't right for you." 

I
stared at him, wondering how I found myself in a scene from a movie, being
propositioned by Morpheus. 

"Do
you kill people?  Fight them?" I asked.

"Only
the bad guys and only when necessary," was his surprising response.  I didn't
really expect him to answer that at all.

"Sorry,
Graham, still not sold on this."

A
pause.  "Call me Brooks.  Here's my card if you change your mind and want
to check things out."

I
looked down at it and saw his name and phone number.  Graham Brooks. 
So
that's his last name.  Wonder if it's his real name.  Probably not.  But he
seems a little off kilter, so maybe it is
, I thought.

*****

Brooks
continued to make regular visits to the shop over the next few days and I
somehow found myself looking forward to seeing him every day.  He never
mentioned his convoy of twelve year old spies again, which was deliberate.  But
then, everything he did was very deliberate, which kept me on my toes.

He
was pleasant company and refreshingly challenging as we both pushed and pulled
the conversation in different directions, testing and feeling each other out. 
His sense of humor was quick-witted and dry, and he didn't tiptoe around
sensitive subjects.  He asked what I thought about any particular topic, and
then respected my take on it rather than trying to convert my thinking to align
with his.  Though I should note that he nodded his head sagely as if he agreed
with most things I said, which was gratifying.

This
wasn't all fun and games though.  I knew what he was doing.  He was more or
less interviewing me for this job he wanted to give me, making sure I really
was who he thought I was.  Ordinarily, I would fuck with him a bit to throw him
off, but he wasn't actively trying to deceive me about it, and I (grudgingly) began
to like him (as a super curious, weirdly sage uncle, twice removed), so I let
it be.

On
his thirteenth visit (I was keeping track), he finally asked if I had thought
any more about his invitation to join his cult of misfits.

"Yep. 
I even watched a few spy flicks to see if I could integrate into your world.  I
do qualify, in that I wear a lot of black clothing and I'm pretty low
maintenance.  Sadly, I lack the sociopathic tendencies that often lead to
remorseless killing.  Even though it looks really cool, blowing shit up and
walking away completely unaffected, I don't have it in me.  And there's also
prison to think about.  Don't know if you know this, but murder is illegal in
most states," I quipped. 

"We're
not assassins."

"But
it does happen," I insisted questioningly.

"It
happens," he confirmed.

"And
the hero saves the day," I summarized.  "Me, I'm not the hero type. 
I don't want random people hugging me in desperate gratitude and naming their
children after me because I saved their lives.  I'd rather live in the
shadows."

"I
know.  That's part of the reason why you would be a perfect fit with us.  We
don't take the hero's spotlight.  We're behind the scenes.  Normally no one
even knows we're in the room, so to speak.  We don't do it for the glory."

"What
do you do it for, then?" I asked.

"Personally,
I found myself excelling at a specific skill set, and it gave me a certain
sense of power over others.  For example, if I were to fight that man over
there, I'd win because while he excels at carpentry, I excel at hand to hand
combat.  When you find yourself in a position of power, even if it's not a
position of control over others, you have a responsibility to use it.  We use
it for good."

"Well
said, Voltaire."  He smirked at me, appreciating the reference. 
"That, I get," I relented.  "But the killing . . . Yeah, don't
think I could hack that.  And I don't think I want to attend your classes so
that you can desensitize me, either."

"We
don't desensitize."

"Do
you sensitize?" I asked as if I were scandalized.

He
didn't bite.  He stayed on course, just like usual.

"You
would be surprised what you would be willing to do and the lengths you would go
to, especially when it comes to protecting those you love."

"But
I don't love anyone," I said before I could stop myself. 

Damn
it.  I was in a good mood and my guard had shifted down enough that I spoke
before I thought.  My face shut down.  I clenched my teeth and checked my
anger.  Score one for Brooks.  I narrowed my eyes to let him know that I wasn't
happy about that slip.  And he knew it was a slip, because he pushed my buttons
to make it happen.  He leaned forward and implored me with his eyes and his
words.

"You're
limiting yourself when you have so much potential," he said.  "Is
that what you really want?"

What
did I really want? 

I
couldn't come up with an answer. 

I
stared at him defiantly and after a few moments, his back hit his chair again. 
He fiddled with his coffee cup briefly before getting up and putting his jacket
on.

"I'll
see you tomorrow," he said.

I
didn't look away from the chair he vacated.

"Yeah,"
I clipped.

*****

It
was only a few days later that it happened. 

I
was sipping on a half-empty cup of coffee and checking the clock to see if it
was time for Brooks to show up yet or not when the bell above the door rang.  I
glanced up and was met with a guy holding, I kid you not, a gun.  And it was
pointed right at me.

My
heart tripped over itself, pumping adrenaline through my system at an alarming
speed.  I tried to take slow, deliberate breaths and was
really
hoping
it was time for Brooks to show up.  I could definitely call in a favor from my
favorite neighborhood spy.

"Nobody
move!" the guy yelled, swinging his gun in a wide arc to include everyone
in the store before refocusing on me.  I instinctively held my hands up in
surrender.  "You!" he yelled at me and I flinched.  I
never
flinched,
but I guess a gun changes things
. 
"Give me all the money in the
till."

I
didn't move right away because I didn't want to alarm him with quick movements,
meaning I'd get shot in the face.  I mentally canvassed the shop, remembering
who was inside while I kept my wide eyes glued to him.  There was a mother and
two small kids sitting by the bay window.  A regular customer, a man, was
stationed near where Brooks normally sat, near the wall.  And finally there
were two teenagers sitting on the couch, riffling through magazines.  Or they
were before the psychopath barged inside.

"I
said, give me the money!" he repeated at me, swiftly approaching the
counter. 

Great,
now he was agitated. 

"Hey
man, I'll get it.  I'll get it," I repeated soothingly.

I
edged closer to the till, keeping my eyes on him and hands in the air.  I
glanced down at the register and pressed the button that slides the drawer
open.  He handed me a bag and I started filling it with bills.  All the while,
my mind was whizzing in overdrive, constantly aware of the other people in the
shop.  Thoughts on them, one word kept dancing across the forefront of my
mind. 

Innocent
. 

These
people were innocently enjoying an afternoon of coffee and literature, and this
asshole comes in and threatens to shoot them?  What the hell?

I
was almost done emptying the register when the bell over the door rang, and the
gunman glanced in the direction of an unassuming new customer about to enter
the shop.  Before I fully contemplated what I was doing, I shifted slightly to
the side and placed a hand down on the middle of the counter and then like I
did it every day (which I did), I threw my entire body over the counter,
rotating my weight on my hand.  My legs flew through the air and I aimed my
feet at the guy's hand and kicked the gun out of his grip.  His head whipped
back to me, shocked but angry.  I landed by his side and as he turned his eyes
away to search for the gun, I drew my arm back.  I twisted my entire body back
and to the right, from my feet to the shoulders, before reversing to the left
and stepping into it as I planted my feet and jabbed his nose with my fist,
transferring kinetic energy from my feet all the way up to my hand in a
powerful right hook.  The jab was so forceful, his head snapped back and blood
instantly gushed from his nose as he staggered backward and to the side several
steps, crying out in anguish. 

That's
science for you, ladies and gentlemen.

His
hands rose to cover his definitely broken nose and I whirled to find the gun. 
I spotted it a few feet away from the New Guy who just walked inside and I made
a dash to grab it.  I turned and raised it just as he was shaking his head,
attempting to get his balance.

"On
your knees!" I yelled at him. 

What
can I say?  I watched a lot of cop shows on TV.

He
looked at me and seemed to hesitate, his eyes flicking between me and the door
trying to decide if he should rush me or run for it. 

"Get
on your knees!" I repeated.

His
body leaned a little toward me, and I knew he was going to rush me. 
Anticipating this, I slid my aim to the right a bit and shot out the coffee pot
I had left sitting on the counter just behind and beside of his left arm. 
Glass and coffee exploded in a loud shatter and naturally, he ducked for
cover. 

"Get
on your
fucking
knees
now
!" I shouted vehemently.