“Hey,” I said. “Keep it down. I’ve got neighbors, you know?”
He swore under his breath and then glanced around as if my neighbors might even now be dialing his superiors to complain. Satisfied that the hall was empty and quiet, he said in a half whisper, “Sorry. Are you Melina Markowitz?”
Bummer. I’d been hoping he had the wrong apartment. Although I’d also been hoping he wasn’t here to visit Ben downstairs. I’d be okay with it if he was paying a visit to the skinny little dude across the hall. The guy looks like a ferret, and I am none too happy about the way he leers at Norah when she takes out the garbage. It skeeves me out, and consequently, I feel compelled to take out the garbage to protect her. It’s not like me to willingly take on more household chores. “That’s me,” I said, trying to sound cheerful and unconcerned.
“May I come in?” he said.
I really didn’t want him in the apartment, but I more didn’t want him out in the hallway broadcasting whatever he was here about to all the neighbors. I sighed, shut the door and took the security chain off and then opened it. “Come on in,” I said, feeling as though I should be humming a Grateful Dead song. I do like to get some sleep before I travel.
He stepped in and looked around, then he stuck out his hand. “Officer Ted Goodnight.” He had a nice shake. He didn’t try to break my hand, but he wasn’t weird either. He was, however, tall. I was pretty much staring at the third button down on his uniform shirt.
“You’re kidding,” I said, shaking his hand.
“No. Not kidding. Why would I be kidding?”
Super. A cop with no sense of humor. At seven thirty A.M. He made up for it in the eye-candy category, though. The peephole had not done him justice. Gotta love that California-dude bronzed skin, pouty lips and sunshine-and-surf good looks. And solid. His uniform shirt clung to his shoulders and biceps in a way that left no doubt about what kind of shape this guy was in. Plus, he smelled good. I sniffed. I wasn’t sure what it was, but it made me think of muffins and cookies.
Norah stumbled from her room in boxers and a tank top, her hair rumpled in a way that reminded me of a hair product ad. “Cops? In the morning?” She looked at me blearily and not a little affronted.
“I’m sure it’s nothing, Norah. Go back to bed.”
She nodded. “Don’t tell him anything. You want Ned’s business card?” Norah’s cousin Ned had recently passed the bar and was constantly letting us know that he was available to deal with all our legal needs, should we have any. Since he could barely even parallel park his car, I wasn’t sure he was who I’d want representing me in anything that came up, but the offer was kind.
“It’s all right. I’m sure it’s nothing.” I shooed her back to her room, then turned back to Surfer Cop. He was cute enough to make me acutely aware of the fact that my hair was still wet and that I hadn’t put on any makeup yet. At least I’d brushed my teeth, although maybe high-octane morning breath would get him to keep his distance. “It is nothing, right? I’ve got a parking ticket that I haven’t paid or something?” Please, please, please let it be an unpaid parking ticket or a solicitation to buy a ticket to the annual picnic.
“Not exactly. Where were you at . . .” He pulled a little notebook out of his pocket and flipped it open. “Ten o’clock last night?”
I blinked. Where had I been at ten last night? Oh crap. I’d been running away from where evil creatures were ripping cholos limb from limb and eating them like overcooked beef
machaca
. “I’m not exactly sure,” I said.
“Let me refresh your memory,” Officer Goodnight said. “Someone driving your car and looking a heck of a lot like you on the store’s security camera made a 911 call from the 7-Eleven on Fruitridge regarding some kind of gang fight a few blocks over.”
“Really?” I said. “Are you sure?”
Officer Goodnight all but rolled his pretty blue eyes. “I’m sure.”
“Well,” I said. “There you have it then.”
“Not exactly,” he said. “What were you doing there?”
“At the 7-Eleven? Being a good citizen and calling in a problem, obviously.” I smiled brightly and cursed my do-gooder inclinations. What did I care about a bunch of gangbangers, right? I only spent the entire night having nightmares about their deaths and felt like there were stones in my chest every time I thought about them. That didn’t constitute caring, right?
Now he did roll his eyes. “Ms. Markowitz,” he said.
“Melina,” I told him. Ms. Markowitz made me feel old. People call my mother Ms. Markowitz.
“Melina, look, I don’t care why you were down there. Something pretty heinous happened there, and we’re trying to get more information. No one down there is talking. We’ve got some dead kids and a lot of blood and a lot of people looking really scared. It would be helpful if you could stop playing games and cooperate a little. What exactly did you see?”
I tried to remember exactly what I’d said to the 911 operator. If I stuck to the script maybe I’d get out of this without being hauled off for psychological evaluation. “I saw a bunch of guys fighting. I heard gunshots. I didn’t stick around to see or hear anything else. I hightailed it out of there and called you guys. I figured it was your job.”
He nodded and jotted something down on his notepad. “You weren’t involved with this group of guys you saw in any way?”
“No! Of course not! I’m an innocent bystander. I was driving by and tried to do what was right as a citizen.” Who knows? Sometimes people back down in the face of self-righteous indignation. It was worth a shot.
“None of them were, say, your boyfriend?” Officer Goodnight seemed amazingly unimpressed with my righteous indignation. In fact, instead of backing off, he moved a little closer.
“No boyfriend,” I said, perhaps a little too quickly. Have I mentioned my total lack of social life? Having a dream about Alex last night was the closest thing I’d had to a date in months and that was only a dream and it was about a guy who was undead. Admittedly, very sexy, but still completely undead. Although I have heard that vampire sex is supposed to be pretty damn good.
Officer Goodnight was trying not to smile. I bet a lot of girls managed to work their lack of a boyfriend into conversations with him. I bet those pouty lips set in that very square-chinned face had women of all ages telling him they were single. He sat down on one of the stools at our breakfast bar. Some of the starch left his shoulders, and he rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. Then he looked up at me, totally nailing me with those bright blue eyes. “Melina, if you’re involved with this in some way, we can help. That’s what we’re here for.”
I looked into his eyes and believed that he actually believed what he was saying. He really thought the police were here to protect and serve. Wow. How charmingly naïve. “I’m not involved,” I repeated. I wasn’t. Whatever was going down out there was none of my Messenger beeswax.
“If you’re worried about retaliation, we can protect you.” He had a nice voice, low with a touch of sand in it. A little scratchy, but not like a smoker’s rasp. He put his hand on my forearm. His touch was warm and strong and very, very human.
I sighed. Pretty much the only human touch I got these days was at the dojo, and that generally didn’t feel very good. This felt a little too good coupled with that scent of baked goods he seemed to carry with him. “I don’t need protection,” I said. Sadly, that was true. I could almost certainly do a better job of protecting myself from what I’d seen last night than any police force in the country, assuming they’d even acknowledge that there could be something like whatever it was I saw marauding around in their streets.
Too bad, though. I liked the way his hand felt on my arm, and I could easily start to imagine what it would feel like other places. Something inside me tingled, and it wasn’t just the remnant of last night’s dream. Nightmare, I reminded myself. Call it a nightmare.
He thought for a second and then took his hand away, which was a bummer. I wondered what I would have to do to get him to put it back. “Okay, Melina. Whatever you say.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his card. He jotted a few numbers on the back. “Here are all my numbers. Seriously, all of them. You can reach me day or night. If you change your mind, let me know.” He stood up and headed back to the door to the apartment.
I glanced down at the card with its police department seal on it. That was enough to remind why I didn’t want that hand on me or anywhere near me. Cops were trouble for someone like me. There was no way around it. “There’s nothing to change,” I said. “I’m telling you the truth.”
“Yeah,” he said, opening the door, looking faintly disappointed. “Sure. And flying unicorns are going by the window.”
I knew that wasn’t true. Unicorns can’t fly. It’s a common misconception. People seem to mix them up with Pegasus all the time.
“Hey.” I stopped him. “The reports you’re getting. What exactly do they say happened?”
He sighed. “You would not believe it if I told you.”
Oh, if he only knew.
5
I MADE IT TO THE DOJO IN TIME TO OPEN IT FOR THE LITTLE Dragons class, but just barely. I managed to change into my
gi
and be on the mat as they arrived. Mae teaches the early morning adult classes during the week and the Saturday afternoon classes, too, so she often has me take the Saturday morning Little Dragon class on my own.
I wished she was here now, though. I would have liked to have told her about what I’d seen the night before and asked her what it all might mean. I wouldn’t mind having a little advice on what to do about Mr. Yummy Surfer Cop, too. It would have to wait. Maybe I’d come back later in the afternoon and tempt her with some turtle candies. Any attempt at resistance withholding information would be futile once I waved a combination of chocolate and caramel in front of her.
The kids streamed in. Little dark-haired boys with cowlicks sticking straight up. Little blonde girls in ponytails. Brown kids. White kids. All wearing blazingly white
gis
and gap-toothed smiles. The heavy load in my heart began to lighten a little. There was still good in the world somewhere, and it was somewhere that I actually belonged. Like me, the dojo existed at some kind of strange juncture between a lot of different worlds. Like me, it didn’t always look pretty and had taken a few knocks. There was no other place like it.
I started them racing across the padded floor doing a worm crawl. Marco Torres was the first one to make it to the mirror and back again to the wall. “Marco,” I barked. “Step forward.”
Marco did. I put a sticker on his chest. Before I could straighten back up, he threw his arms around my neck. “Thank you, Sensei,” he lisped into my ear.
I was enveloped in the scents of green grass, bubblegum toothpaste and little boy. The load in my chest lightened that much more. “Thank you, Marco,” I whispered back before I straightened up to teach the rest of the class, hoping that nobody would notice the sudden moisture in my eyes.
I TAUGHT BOTH THE LITTLE DRAGONS CLASSES. WE OFFER beginner and advanced kids’ karate at River City. By the time I finished the second class, Mae had arrived. I waited with more patience than I thought I had in me as the kids left, and then I cornered Mae in her office.
The second the door was shut, I spilled everything. The release was incredible. Mae listened, her eyes slightly narrowed as she focused on what I said without interrupting. When I was done, she asked, “They hopped?”
“They hopped. Have you ever heard of anything like that?” I leaned my elbows on her desk, halfway exhausted from my recitation.
She shook her head. “And they had yellow things on their foreheads? And you think you heard bells?”
“Yep.”
“And you didn’t get kicked in the head during a sparring session recently?” She leaned back in her chair, looking at me with a frown on her face.
“Nope.”
“I don’t know, Melina. I’ll look into it.” She stood up and walked out of the office and into the dojo.
There wasn’t much more I could ask. Well, there was one more thing. “What do you know about Frank Liu?” I asked, following her out.
“Frank Liu? Pretty much anybody teaching tai chi chuan in this city either learned it from him or from one of his students.” Mae sat down on the mat, stretched her feet out as far as they would go to either side of her and laid her face down on the mat.
I sat down next to her. “He’s missing,” I said.
She sat up. “Frank Liu is missing? Where did you hear that?”
“From my grandmother,” I said, stretching my legs in front of me, grabbing onto my toes and pulling my nose down to my knees.
Mae sank back down. “Are you sure she didn’t just forget he was going someplace?”
I didn’t even bother dignifying that one with an answer. Grandma Rosie may take forty-five minutes to walk two blocks these days, but there’s nothing wrong with her mind. “Does he teach anyplace besides the retirement center that you know about?”
“I can find out,” Mae offered. “Do you think it’s connected to this other stuff?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But it seems to me that it’s got to be more than a coincidence that I get beat up by a bunch of dudes doing tai chi and the city’s most prominent tai chi master is missing.”
Mae nodded as best she could with her face pancaked down on the floor. “I’ve got his home address if you want to stop by there.”
I looked across the mat and cocked my head at her. “You couldn’t have mentioned that earlier?”
