“Hell no, dumbass. You think I want a bunch of bikers in my town? No. But it’s a threat you can’t afford to ignore, ’cause I got media friends and ATF friends who might be interested in knowing where one of their own is holed up.”
Clay shook his head, not looking at the man who’d figured him out way too fast. “What do you want from me?”
“Want you to take on a couple of classes this old man doesn’t have the energy for anymore. Not a whole lot to ask.”
“Can’t you hire another teacher?”
“That’s what I’m trying to do right here, son.”
“Blackmail? That your recruiting technique?”
“I’m an opportunist,” Steve said, smiling. “You get to be as old as me, you’ll understand.”
How the hell’d I get here? Clay wondered a half hour later. For the millionth time.
The gym was packed, and Clay hated, among other things, the scrutiny. Because, once again, he was center stage, only this time it was different. This time, he was in charge.
Of a goddamned group of school kids.
“All right,” he said, gritting his teeth. “Now follow through, Carter.”
“What?”
“When you see the guy that close to you, it’s too late. You’re not gonna have time to just slap that foot away from your nut—”
“Groin!” yelled Steve. Didn’t the old guy have someplace he needed to be? He hadn’t budged since Clay took over the class.
Clay turned to him and stage-whispered, “Who’s teaching this fu—”
A loud throat-clearing from Steve this time, and Clay thought he might just give in to the irritation. Maybe throw a little fit and go for a run or a drink or something. Nobody had checked to see how Clay felt about kids or whether this was something he wanted to waste his Saturday on.
Right, because he had so much going on.
“Look, watch. Eyes on me!” he yelled, since the whispering had started up again. “From your passive stance, let’s go again.”
“What’s pass—”
“Neutral. From neutral. You know, like your basic jiu-jitsu stance or whatever it is you kids usually do here. Only, since this is self-defense, this is like…if you and your friends were hanging out on a street corner stance. Hands down at your sides, because we don’t all walk around in a fighting stance all the dam—all the darned time. Got it?”
He glared at the kids, got a few nods, and went on. “So, first, when I come at you, you’ve got to get out of the way, right? We’re not trying to get kicked in the nu—in the groin.” A few kids snickered, and Clay threw them a look. “So, I come in slow, giving you time to sliiide to the side. Just a quick step-step. Good!” The kid finally got it.
“All right, guys. Now that you’re out of immediate harm’s way, you hit my heel.” Clay kept his leg up in a low kick, but even that hurt like a bitch. “Yes! Smack it out of the way. Now punch me with your right fist and—yes! The best part is that you use your body movement and mine. You follow through, and I follow through ’cause I can’t help it since I’m recovering from my kick—and now I’m in pain, and you can run the hell away!”
Another throat-clearing from Steve, and Clay had had about enough. “Steve’s gonna come back up and run through it with you a few times,” he said evilly.
Clay got a drink of water, just as an excuse to escape. He fully intended to leave before getting snagged again. On his way to the door, though, Steve’s voice rang out good-naturedly. “Oh, I’m not sure that’s right, Becky.” He sounded old and a little frail. “I think you’ve just gotta use your right arm for that.”
“But I’m left-handed, Master Steve.”
“Oh, well, then I guess you’ll just have to… I don’t know, maybe you could—”
“They’re interchangeable,” Clay broke in. “And didn’t you have somewhere to be, Sheriff?”
“What?” asked Steve, and right then, Clay understood just how much he was being played. Christ. The old guy was worse than the most manipulative bastards he’d dealt with in the line of duty.
But instead of getting annoyed, he just shook his head and smirked a you dick smile at the guy. With a sigh, Clay bowed himself back onto the mat. “You’ve gotta run these drills on both sides. Over and over. But there’s a closer defense, using the outside arm, where you block and punch simultaneously. It’s one I’ve—” He cut himself off. One I’ve used numerous times in real life, he’d almost said, but what the hell kind of message was that for a class of kids this age? Like, You’ll need these moves, kids. It’s a shitty world out there. He lifted his eyes and met Steve’s and saw that the other guy knew exactly what he’d been about to say.
But the kids had already turned to him with what looked a lot like anticipation, and Clay let himself get wrapped up in the moves, running through the same sidestep and into the counter. “With this one, you punch with your left arm, while the right shoves the fu—shoves away.”
