Undetectable (Great Minds Thriller) (40 page)

“Hey,” the lead man said suddenly. They were stopped at an intersection, waiting for the light. Not something these three men would normally have done, but their man was in no rush. And Cristiana would kill them if they let him get hit by a taxi on the way home.

Kevin looked over at him. “What?”

“You can’t fight like that.”

“Like what?”

The lead man puffed his cheeks out. He didn’t know how to describe the problem, but he knew this big white guy would get his ass kicked again. And again and
again
. Cristiana said he had stopped a robbery at Alexi’s place, so now they had a  responsibility. They had to try to stop the next ass-kicking. Or at least soften it. “You fight like there’s a
plan
,” the man said. “This isn’t a movie. You looked surprised I didn’t bow to you first or something. My only plan was to kick the crap out of you, yeah?”

Kevin nodded. Any anger between them was gone now; everyone just wanted to get this walk done. Get it done and go home. “Yeah, I saw that.
Felt
it.”

“Where’d you learn to fight?”

“Never fought anybody. You’re my first.”

The man gave him a sideways look, as though the idea of a man with no fighting experience bordered on scandalous. “But you had your hands up. Looked like you had an
idea
how to do it, at least.”

“Got that from a book.”

“A
book?
” he said, in a tone implying that books were strange and mystical things.
Dangerous
things.

“I’ll throw it away.”

“No, that’s not – ” The man stopped himself. “A book’s better than nothing, sure. But maybe read a few more. They write books about fighting dirty?”

“I don’t see why they wouldn’t.”

“Get a few of those. And remember, there’s no routine. No plan. The only plan is to fuck ‘em up before they fuck
you
up, okay?”

Kevin nodded.

“All right,” the man said, sounding satisfied. He had done what he could. The light changed, and they continued on their walk.

They went the rest of the way without speaking.

Fighting Dirty

Andrew was waiting for him when he came into the apartment. When
the assistant
saw
Kevin’s
face, his expression turned from one of gentle disapproval to shocked concern. “Where have you
been
?” Andrew demanded.

Kevin smiled. “You sound like my mother.”

“Your mother would be appalled,” Andrew shot back. “Come into the kitchen and sit down.” He hurried off to fetch first aid supplies, muttering to himself as he went. Kevin walked slowly to the kitchen, and he lowered himself gently into one of the chairs in the breakfast nook.

Andrew returned immediately. He had a box full of tape, hydrogen peroxide, bandages, and Neosporin, along with several small vials and syringes that didn’t look like standard first-aid kit equipment. “What are
those
for?” Kevin asked.

“No idea,” Andrew said briskly, and he set himself to cleaning up Kevin’s face.

“Easy,” Kevin said.

“It’s broken.”

“I know.”

“Sit still.”

“Stop pushing at my face like you’re mad at me.”

“I
am
mad at you.”

“You’re supposed to be helping me. Isn’t that your job, to help me?”

Andrew sat back. He stopped trying to treat Kevin’s nose, and he sighed heavily. He looked down and closed his eyes. Then he looked back at Kevin. He seemed to be struggling with himself. “You have no routine,” Andrew said slowly. “The only thing I know is that you go to work each morning. Beyond that, I’m at a loss. You don’t sleep. You
sometimes
eat, but I can never be sure. I thought you were starting to develop a nighttime-rest routine, but then this morning you were gone without warning. I don’t even know when you left the house.”

“I have to notify you?”

Andrew took another slow breath. “
You do
not. Your decisions are your own. But I
want
to help you; as you have said, that
is
my job. I pride myself on being good at this job, but lately I have felt incapable. I do not seem to be helping you. I don’t know how. And now you are injured.” Andrew gave him a helpless, apologetic look. “Hence my distress.”

“I’m fine,” Kevin said, trying to reassure him. “Just plug up my nose and give me a Band-Aid or two. My plan for the next few hours is to have some food, take a rest, and then maybe take a run before bed. Does that sound reasonable?”

“It does, except for the run,” Andrew said. He returned to bandaging Kevin’s face. More gently this time. “What did you do?”

“Stood on the wrong street corner.”

“Which corner would that be? I’d like to avoid it if possible.”

“Way uptown. Not sure which one. If you go up there, maybe just keep moving.”

“Good plan.”

“There’s no plan,” Kevin said quickly.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just some advice someone gave me.”

“This looks okay now,” Andrew said. He gave the bridge of Kevin’s nose a light tap as though testing the structural stability of the bandages. “I’m going to make your lunch, so leave my kitchen.”

Kevin smiled. “
Your
kitchen?”

“Mine. Until you fire me. Go wait in the living room. Find a good book and lie down
on the couch. Try not to get bea
ten up in the next ten minutes. Can you manage that?”

“Maybe.”

He went first to the bookcase, just as Andrew had advised.
Books on fighting dirty,
he thought.
That seems pretty specific. I don’t know if we’ve got any of those in stock at the moment.

He searched anyway.

There was nothing that seemed quite right, though the sheer size of his bookcas
e – and its lack of any discerni
ble organization – left open the possibility that he had missed something. Not that he came away empty-handed; he was able to find several volumes on fighting and self-defense, and if they weren’t actually
dirty
, they seemed at least practical.

The 286 Best Fighting Moves, Third Edition.

Ultimate Defense: Blocking and Striking on the Street.

10 Key Targets in Self-Defense.

How to Fight Like a Scared and Dangerous Woman.

Kevin took an extra moment to stare at the last one, which featured a cover picture of a woman who did not looked scared at all. Her head was down and her hands were up. She looked ready to maim anyone who came near her.

He put the four books in a little stack on their own next to the couch, and then he returned to the bookcase for more.
O
f anything. After a few minutes he had made a sizable collection by the couch, and then Andrew appeared with lunch.

“Come eat, and then you’ll lie down.”

Kevin didn’t argue.
As he ate and drank,
he could feel his energy returning almost as if he were a bucket being filled.

He thanked Andrew and went to the couch
,
being
careful not to move too quickly.
His body was
still in pain after his street-corner encounter.

“How long?” Andrew asked.

“Just a nap,” Kevin said. “Three hours.”

“
Fine
.”

Kevin reached for the top book, the one with the dangerous-looking woman on it. “Would have been good to have
you
with me,” he said to her as he opened
the first page. The fatigue was heavy in his legs, and he was glad when the grayness crept in from the sides. He needed the rest.

Andrew’s hand was on his shoulder, and Kevin felt pain go shooting through him. It seemed to come from everywhere at once, from his thighs and back and nose and stomach. Especially his stomach.

Moron
.

He hadn’t taken anything before lying down. No Tylenol or Advil or even an aspirin. If this had been the night after a big game at UNH, he’d have already taken three or four ibuprofen
pills
to reduce the swelling, not to mention the pain. But no, he was an idiot now. An idiot who now knew roughly five hundred new ways to attack or defend in a street fight, but who couldn’t remember to take a simple anti-inflammatory after getting the snot beaten out of him.

I can’t fight if I can’t move.

He groaned.

“Sore?” Andrew asked.

“You can’t imagine.”

“You’ll keep resting, then?”

“I have to get up. If I stay like this, by tomorrow morning I’ll be a full-on cripple.”

Andrew said nothing to this, and Kevin tried to reassure him. “I promise I’ll rest tonight. But I’ve got to get outside
first
, even if its just to stretch.
”

Andrew nodded his agreement. He seemed to appreciate the effort. The
attempt
at normalcy. He turned and retreated to the kitchen.

Left to himself, Kevin now began the excruciating process of getting up from the couch. He had to do it in stages. He thought he had been in pain before, but now it was different.
Everything
hurt, as if the soreness from each bruise had spilled over and infected nearby areas of muscle and bone. He managed to swing his legs over and plant his feet on the floor, and then he stopped to catch his breath. Then a slow lean forward, followed by an even slower rising up onto his feet.