I Shot You Babe (11 page)

[Dilios is putting a patch over his eye]

Spartan King Leonidas:
Dilios, I trust that “scratch” hasn’t made you useless.

Dilios:
Hardly, my lord, it’s just an eye. The gods saw fit to grace me with a spare.

—300

Veronica Gale spent the rest of the day tormenting me with her orange-silk-wrapped body. Odgerel actually did have a paste made of yak urine and some other questionable matter for my shoulder. Ronnie didn’t even wrinkle her nose as she smeared the gunk on my shoulder. To my amazement, it worked.

The two of us wandered through the festival atmosphere of the
naadam.
Tomorrow the matches would begin, complete with opening pageantry featuring the rich culture of Mongolia. As we made our way through the maze of musicians, dancers, food vendors and people, I realized that I wasn’t feeling homesick. Not that I ever did. But I always had a sense of the fact that I was away from home. To me, home was my trailer. It didn’t matter where it was; that was my home.

Strange as it seemed, whenever Ronnie held my hand, I was transported back to my sense of home. Apparently, a flesh-and-blood woman was taking the place of my sweet, tricked-out RV.

I pondered that idea only briefly. Philosophers, as I’ve mentioned before, have a tendency to overthink things now and then.

The sun was setting and we needed to head back to the campsite. There would be a loud, raucous dinner followed by an all-night party that would not include Zerleg, Zolbin or me. In fact, Yalta insisted that the three of us share a
ger
during the festival to eliminate any distractions. I had the sneaking suspicion he included Ronnie as a distraction. To her credit, she graciously accepted Odgerel’s invitation to stay with her family. There would be no sex tonight.

It was difficult to sleep with all the noise around us. Okay, it was difficult for me to sleep. The boys passed out immediately and snored like they were dying. I tossed and turned. It was weird to share my living arrangements. Even worse, Sartre was staying with Ronnie. Sansar-Huu’s children were smitten with her. I didn’t even have the comfort of my pig.

Well, I knew one thing that would help me sleep. And I was pretty sure Veronica would give in if I could just get to her. I slid on my sweatpants and a T-shirt and slipped out of the
ger.

In spite of the party that was still going on, it was pitch dark outside. No electric lights here. But that would make it easier to sneak into Sansar-Huu’s
ger.
Now, where was it?

I tripped over various things as I stumbled in the direction of the tent. Everyone must either have been asleep or have moved to another location. I hoped Ronnie had decided to get some sleep. Of course, if I had my way, there wouldn’t be much of that going on.

I was making my way around the side of the tent when I heard something behind me. There was nothing there. That wasn’t unusual. People were all over the place, and the ones still up were probably drunk. I turned my attention back to the door of the
ger.

I heard something whisk through the air and then my vision was flooded with stars and pain. I shot my arm out behind me instinctively, and I managed to grab the weapon. But whoever had been on the other end let go and disappeared before I could identify him.

“Cy?” Veronica stood in the doorway wearing a T-shirt and shorts. She was vertical, then horizontal. No, wait, I was horizontal. At least, that was what I was thinking as everything went black.

The
naadam
field was packed. Following an exquisite version of the eagle dance, I turned to face my opponent and slapped my thighs. The giant guinea pig before me did the same and we approached each other to begin. It was hard to get a grip on his silky hair. And he looked so cute I didn’t really want to fight him. But I was here to win.

“Cy!” Chudruk must have slapped me. As I looked up into his face, I realized I’d been dreaming.

“I’m okay.” I started to sit up but a blinding pain forced me back down. There was blood on my hands. I had been hit.

Sansar-Huu held up a thick branch. “He hit you with this. We found you when Veronica screamed.”

Veronica was sitting beside me, her face twisted with concern.

“Someone hit me?”

“I didn’t see who it was.” Veronica grabbed my hand.

Odgerel started examining the wound on the back of my head. I could feel the heat from the lantern she held.

“You won’t need stitches, I think,” she said slowly. “But you should not wrestle.”

Yalta came into the
ger,
and everyone went quiet. He examined my wound and looked into my eyes. Then he spoke to Chudruk in Mongolian. I think he said my testicles should be fed to the marmots. Man, I really needed to work on my language skills.

“Pop says you do not need to wrestle. The decision is up to you, though,” Chudruk said solemnly.

I looked at all of them. It was generous of my
zazul.
And he did have two more athletes competing. On the other hand, I came all this way just to do this. I had trained for a month for an event that happened only once a year. These people—my friends—gave their hospitality to me.

“You shouldn’t compete,” Ronnie said firmly. “You have a concussion at the very least. You need to see a doctor.”

Sansar-Huu nodded and Odgerel clucked sympathy. Sartre peeked out of Ronnie’s hands and gave a firm, loud, “Wheek!”

I got up and shook my head gently. “When is my first match?”

Yalta spoke to his son.

“Pop can arrange for you to fight later in the day. He has a friend here in Ulaanbaatar who is a doctor. I will go find him.” And with that, Chudruk left. I grinned. He knew me so well.

“No!” Veronica shouted. “He’s concussed! He could have brain damage.”

I shook my head, which, by the way, hurt considerably. “This is a grappling sport. There won’t be any more injury to my head. I can’t let everyone down.”

To my astonishment, Chudruk reentered the
ger
with a tall man in a red
deel,
carrying a satchel. How did he do that so quickly? Maybe I was really messed up to the point that hours had actually passed instead of minutes?

We were all quiet while he examined me. Dr. Baatar asked me the usual questions to determine my level of confusion. He looked at my pupils and inquired about the pain. When he finished, he closed up his bag.

“You seem to be all right. But I worry about that headache,” he said in perfect English. “Other than that, you have no symptoms of vomiting, confusion or memory loss. Your pupils are not dilated.” The doctor tapped his head. “But if the headache gets worse, no wrestling.”

I watched as Yalta slapped him on the back and Chudruk walked him out. Ronnie was staring holes into me. That was one thing about relationships I did not miss: having another’s will imposed on me.

“My friend.” Sansar-Huu sat down beside me. “Are you certain of this?”

“It is not necessary for you to fight,” Chudruk added. I hadn’t even noticed he’d come back.

“Guys, look. I’m fine. I’m going to participate,” I insisted. To my left, I could feel Veronica’s eyes go into laser-beam mode.

Yalta nodded and left, as did everyone but Veronica.

“You cannot wrestle,” she said once everyone had cleared the tent.

I reached around and gingerly touched the back of my head. It was tender, but the bleeding had stopped. The dried blood would have to be rinsed out before I fought. I didn’t want my opponent to know I’d been injured. Fortunately, the doctor had not wrapped my head.

“I said,” Ronnie repeated, “you are
not
going to wrestle.”

“I heard you.”

She sighed. “I can’t stop you, can I?”

I turned to her. “Look, has it even occurred to you to wonder who hit me and why?”

That stopped her short. “Is that even important at this point? Is that why you are doing this? To show whoever it was that he didn’t stop you?” Veronica threw her hands up in the air. “This is about pride?”

“Actually, no. I’m not that shallow. This is about the fact that I worked very hard to do this. It’s not even about winning. It is about following through.”

Her hands came to rest on her hips. “So it is about pride.”

“No. It isn’t. And don’t tell me what to do.”

“So you’re like a child who does it because the parent says not to do it.”

I cocked my head to the side. “You think of yourself as my parent? That’s kinky. Especially for you.”

“Uh, no. I don’t. I just think you are being unreasonable and immature.” Her voice took on a dangerous timbre.

“Or maybe I’m being responsible.” I rose to my feet. Daylight was sparking under the doorway, and I needed to get back to my cot to rest. It took all of my strength to stride nonchalantly to the door.

Unfortunately, Veronica followed. “You are just plain stubborn. What is it with men?”

Her questions came and went unanswered as I concentrated on walking casually to my tent. Whoever had hit me, for whatever reason, might be watching. And yes, my stubborn pride wanted them to think I was just fine.

I opened the door to the
ger
and slammed it behind me in Ronnie’s face. It was rude, but I needed some peace and quiet. The boys were gone, probably too excited about the festivities.

Ronnie didn’t take the hint and entered the tent.

“Don’t shut me out, Cy, just because I tell you something you don’t want to hear.”

I lay down on my cot and closed my eyes.

“Don’t lie down! Aren’t you supposed to stay awake with a concussion?”

“Veronica,” I said through gritted teeth, “my head hurts, so I doubt I will get any sleep. I just need some time to concentrate on my training. I don’t mean to be rude, but will you please leave me alone?”

The hostility in the air crackled expectantly. I wondered if Ronnie was the violent type who would hurl something at me. Instead, I just heard footsteps, then the banging of the door behind her.

I should’ve been focusing on my techniques and working out how I was going to fight with my balance off. Okay, so I had lied to everyone about how badly I was hurt. And yes, I was a stubborn bastard. The vanity of men…I’ve considered it personally and academically throughout my life. Well, at least I’d just given Veronica Gale, Ph.D. candidate, more material for her thesis.

This was exactly why I wanted to remain single. A relationship with a woman meant having someone around to tell me I was too weak or old or sick to do something I wanted to do. I liked danger. And a woman would try to talk me out of it. It was exhausting to think about.

What was I thinking, anyway? Getting involved with Veronica like that? It interfered with the basic tenet of my philosophy—freedom. The only female I was beholden to was an eleven-inch-long rodent who was dependent upon me for her needs. Sartre never criticized me. Okay, maybe I could tell the difference between her general noises and her unmistakable sarcasm. But she never held me back. Never pigeonholed me. Never, ever told me what I could not do.

Here I was, a free thirty-eight-year-old man. Sure, I had my Bombay job. But that allowed me freedom too. Freedom from a desk job and other responsibilities. And it paid very, very well. For the most part, I could come and go whenever I wanted to. I traveled the world to follow my interests on the slightest whim.

What the hell was I thinking, getting involved with Ronnie? A naive professional student with no tolerance for violence or the things I found interesting? What was I going to do when this was over? Move her into my trailer? Take her with me from carnival to carnival? The woman had goals! She probably wanted some professorship somewhere quiet and safe! I’d tried that once. It didn’t work for me.

So who was going to win here? No one. One of us would have to give up what we loved. It was against everything I believed in to do that. And I would hate myself if she compromised her dreams for me. Even though I was lying down, my head began to throb even more.

And what about my job as an assassin? There was no way in hell Veronica would ever be able to accept that. How could I tell her that I killed people for a living? I suspected that even though I only killed really bad people, she would still have a major problem with that. My very nature was in direct conflict with every cell in her sweet little body.

There was no hope for marriage. The council gave everyone in the Bombay family until the next family reunion to let their spouse know about their job. Even if I timed it just so and had five years (the time between reunions), I would never have the courage to tell her. And that would spell her death sentence. The Bombays were pretty black-and-white about spousal acceptance.

Damn. I really screwed up this time.

Indiana Jones: It’s not the years. It’s the mileage.

—
R
AIDERS OF THE
L
OST
A
RK

“Cy?” I could hear Chudruk’s voice from the doorway. How long had I been thinking about all of this?

“Come in.” There were other things I needed to be concentrating on.

“Pop got you a match for the end of the day.” Chud sat on Zerleg’s cot. “Veronica is watching the opening ceremony with the others.”

I sat up. “Thanks. I think I really pissed her off.”

He laughed. “Women, eh?” Chudruk scratched his chin. “You know, I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you with a woman for more than two hours.”

I tossed my hat at him. He ducked. “When do the boys fight?” I didn’t want to talk about Veronica.

“Zerleg fights in the first round. Zolbin later.” He looked at me thoughtfully for a moment. “Did Zerleg talk to you?”

I nodded. “About the girl? Yes.” I wasn’t sure I wanted to get into this conversation. It was a family affair, and I was the outsider. But it did give me something else to talk about than my problems at the moment.

“He’s a good kid,” Chudruk replied. He seemed to be talking to himself more than me. “I want to see him go to school in the States. He’s smart. He should go to school.”

“Well, you know how I feel about education.” If I gave too much of an opinion, I might insult the family’s stance.

“He said you encouraged him. I’m happy about that.”

“What does Yalta want?” I was going for noncommittal here.

“He thinks he should go. He thinks Sasug, the girlfriend, has the face of a camel.”

I laughed in spite of myself. “I guess some problems are universal.”

“Well, it will work out. My brother and his wife will come around.” He stood up and smiled. “You should get some rest. I’ll come back for you about an hour before your match.”

Chudruk left and I lay there in the muffled quiet. Then I reached for my cell phone and made a call.

“I heard you did well!” I slapped Zerleg on the back a few hours later as I stood in the arena with him and his brother. My head still hurt, but I had been energized at hearing how the boy won two matches that afternoon. Zolbin and I would fight later.

“Thanks, Cy!” Zerleg’s face was glowing with glee. I couldn’t help noticing he kept looking over at a small group of girls in the crowd. One of the girls was dressed in Western clothing, wearing a miniskirt, a black T-shirt and large sunglasses. She was a lovely Mongolian girl, probably from the city.

“Who is that?” I asked him.

“Oh!” His face turned red. “That is Opia! She is a university student here.”

“I see.”

Veronica was in the stands with the others. Only athletes and their
zazuls
were allowed on the field. Zolbin was jumping up and down. He was up next. I spotted Chudruk waving from the bleachers. Ronnie ignored me. I was grateful for that.

Yalta nodded at Zolbin and the two of them walked toward the field. Zerleg dragged his attention away from the giggling Opia. We watched anxiously as Zolbin did his eagle dance around his grandfather, then slapped his thighs and approached his opponent.

To my shock, it was Arje Dekker he was to fight. Looking quickly into the stands, for reasons I had yet to comprehend, I saw Veronica give the son of a bitch a little wave. Dekker nodded at her and my gut twisted.

Zolbin attacked aggressively, his usual modus operandi. Dekker did the same, refusing to take a defensive stance. This could go bad for the kid. Dekker had a lot of experience in offensive measures.

While the boy was younger and stronger, Dekker had presence of mind. Again and again I watched as Zolbin attacked, looking for cracks in Dekker’s facade. Arje countered every movement. He struggled to hold on, but maintained his stance. Zolbin was trying to wear him down. The two locked arms several times, holding still for agonizing minutes on end. My head pounded. I desperately wanted to see Dekker beaten. Zolbin pulled back, then charged again, nearly knocking his opponent off of his feet. The crowd was silent. No one seemed to know where this was going.

The boy reached for Dekker’s thigh, lifting his leg from the ground, and threw him. I watched with great satisfaction as the Dutchman fell to the dirt with a thud.

“You did it!” Zerleg bounced into his brother’s arms and the two embraced.

I didn’t take my eyes off the field. Dekker rose slowly to his feet and dusted off his knees. He slowly looked up into the stands and smiled and nodded. I traced his gaze to Veronica, who smiled back, concern playing across her face. Concern that had recently been on that face for me.

I watched as he made a signal, pointing off the field. Then, to my anger, she nodded, stood up and walked away. Perfect.

It was especially galling because Arje Dekker was the primary suspect in my attack. The last person I wanted Ronnie going off with was someone who had sneaked up behind me and hit me over the head, leaving me to bleed out, unconscious, in the dark.

Then again, Dekker had no reason to attack me. He barely knew me. He certainly had no idea I was going to kill him. The Bombays were pretty good about things like that. Maybe he wanted Ronnie for himself? It seemed hardly likely he’d resort to a cavemanlike approach to knock me out of the competition.

And what about the weapon? Men like Arje didn’t travel unarmed. If he wanted me gone, he would’ve stabbed me. It would be more effective and easier to make it look like some drunk tried to roll me for a few
tögrög
or even American dollars. Why use a tree limb? No, that didn’t seem very likely.

So maybe it was just a chance mugging. A Westerner would be a prime target in any country. Even though I’d been at a few local
naadams,
there were many people here who didn’t know I had Mongolian connections and would see me as an easy mark. It was late and dark when I had slipped from my tent. There were more than five hundred contestants and thousands of visitors here. Too many suspects to make it easy for someone to pursue.

“It is time, Cy.” Chudruk clapped me on my back, snapping me back to the present. I glanced at the stands. Veronica wasn’t there. She would not see me wrestle. Fine. It was going to be over after this anyway. So why did I feel so bad?

Making my way to the field, I tried to focus on the match. My opponent faced me and we slapped our thighs to begin. My mind fought to keep focused on what would happen.

He was a very large man, and in his eyes I could see he was ready. I had been careful to wipe away the dried blood from my wound. It would have stood out too much against my blond hair. My sore shoulder was red, but maybe he wouldn’t notice. If he grabbed too hard, I would wince and it would all be over.

Unfortunately, the first thing he did was grab both shoulders. Pain shot through the injured one into my arm. I stood as still as I could in an attempt to show no pain. My arms were beneath him, so I brought them together, up and through his hold to break it. Sweat poured down my face as I struggled with the agony of using that shoulder. As the hold broke, I reached for his knee and pulled it up as hard as I could. He fell. It was a miracle. I stared in disbelief as he sat on the ground. Instinctively I reached down to help him up. My opponent took my hand and yanked in an attempt to right himself. Unfortunately I had offered him the wrong hand and my shoulder screamed. He patted me on the back and I walked toward Yalta, my features placid, not betraying the twisting pain beneath.

“I cannot fight again today,” I said to Chudruk in short, gasping breaths.

“Is it your head?” he asked, his face dark with concern.

“No.” I laughed bitterly. “No, it’s the damned shoulder.”

“But you must fight again, Cy!” Zolbin cried out. “You have to win again to qualify for tomorrow!”

I understood that. But I also understood that I still had to kill Dekker. But now my shoulder was dislocated, and it would only get worse if I continued to wrestle. The
naadam,
for me, was over.