I Shot You Babe (7 page)

“Those who are easily shocked should be shocked more often.”

—
M
AE
W
EST

I decided to let Ronnie sleep in. She looked so comfortable snuggled beneath the wool blankets. Actually, I wanted to get in there with her warm, sleeping body. Wrap myself around her soft flesh…

Shaking my head to clear it, I shrugged on the rest of my clothes and, after chugging some tea and eating a couple of protein bars, went outside to meet Yalta at the stream.

“Pop says you did real good yesterday,” Chudruk said with a grin.

“I could’ve done better,” I replied.

He nodded. “Yes, you could have. But you were distracted.”

I could feel my face warming in the cool morning breeze. Was I actually blushing? I didn’t think I had it in me.

Yalta put his hand on my shoulder. He looked me in the eyes and spoke slowly so I would understand. Yeah, that made me feel better.

“You are good. You will do well at the
Naadam
Festival,” was all he said. At least, that was how I interpreted him. For all I know he called me an idiot unworthy of castrating sheep.

“
Tand bayarlaa,
” I thanked him, but wasn’t so sure I deserved the praise.

We trained for a few hours. This time, Yalta stressed technique more than strength training. I felt honored. He was showing me that I’d gone beyond his expectations. I was a Westerner who had made a good showing at the local
naadam.
We had another one in a few days, and Yalta told me he thought I could win at least one match.

I worked very hard. His faith in me was a great honor, and I wanted him to understand that I knew that. This was what I came here for: to test myself and learn. Maybe I wasn’t too different from Veronica after all.

As we made our way back to camp at midday, I noticed that my fair and lovely roommate was sitting on the grass with Odgerel, making cheese. The Mongolian was speaking English slowly, and Ronnie seemed to understand.

“There is your man now.” Odgerel pointed at me with a smile.

Veronica blushed a bright scarlet. “Oh! Um, he’s not…Well, we’re not…” She stumbled, at a loss for how to explain our situation.

“
Sain bainuu!
” I greeted the women, plopping down in the grass next to Ronnie. It was then that I noticed she had Sartre with her. The gluttonous pig was between the women, chowing down on the cool, damp grass.

“I hope you don’t mind that I brought her out here….” Veronica bit her lip.

I scooped up the pig. “Not at all. And you had her between you so the falcons wouldn’t get her.”

She nodded. “I was worried about that.”

Sartre squealed, struggling to get out of my grip and back to the juicy grasses. I returned her to her place between the women and she regally ignored me.

I stood. “I’d better get back to the
ger.
I want to have some tea during my break.”

Veronica looked at her hostess, then looked at me. She nodded and I took it to mean she was okay with that idea. Once in the tent, I stripped off the sweatsoaked shirt and replaced it with a dry one. After creating a fire on the stove and setting the kettle on, I lay on my cot to await the kettle’s whistle.

Every inch of my body ached. And I was extremely proud of that. Being here and working toward my goal gave me a sense of peace. Funny, isn’t it, how training for violence can make one feel that way? I stretched my legs out, kicking something with my foot. Odd. Everything should have been stowed in the trunks.

I sat up and saw that there was a suitcase with wheels and a briefcase sitting next to my bed. Must have been Ronnie’s. Sansar-Huu made good on his promise and brought back her things from the city. I chuckled, thinking of Veronica trying to roll a suitcase on the steppes. My laughter came harder when I thought of her trying to plug in her laptop.

“Is something funny?” The source of my amusement entered the
ger.
She was smiling. I loved it when she smiled.

“Sorry. I just noticed you got your things.” I pointed at the cases on the floor.

She rushed forward. “Oh! That’s great!” I watched as she opened the case and began sifting through it. I was hoping she might pull out a slinky negligee or thong. But not Veronica. All of her clothes were plain and practical.

“I guess I won’t need my laptop.” She frowned as she held the plug.

“Paper and pen will have to do.”

“I brought some, but not much.” She pulled four large notepads out of her bag, and I wondered what she considered a lot.

“How much do you actually need?”

Veronica sat on the bed, looking thoughtfully at the hole in the roof where the stovepipe went. “I need to make notes, and I have to do that interview….” She pulled a digital recorder out and checked the batteries.

I leaned back on the cot and closed my eyes. “If you need any help from me, I’ll be right here.”

There was no response.

The next two days were a blur of training. I noticed Ronnie watching me a couple of times but tried not to let her distract me. Most of the time I made it back to the
ger
I passed out before she showed up. This bothered me because I wanted to enjoy my time with her. And that bothered me because I was supposed to be focusing on training. Sartre spent most of her time in Veronica’s pocket. I woke up at one point to find her sleeping next to my neck, but that was the most attention I got from her.

The day of the
naadam,
I found my uniform washed and waiting on my trunk. I wasn’t sure whom to thank for that. After wrestling myself into it and putting on sweatpants and my
deel,
I headed outside to find everyone in the truck, waiting for me.

Veronica patted the front seat in the truck next to her. Yalta’s grandsons sat in the back with him and the rest of the family. Sansar-Huu was driving. I spent the trip chewing on protein bars while my friend told my alleged girlfriend about the scenery. My thoughts drifted to my training and the techniques Yalta had taught me in the last few days. I was so focused, I almost missed the conversation going on next to me.

“Cy was so drunk, we found him out in the fields, curled up and sleeping with two goats.”

Veronica laughed and looked at me. “You have interesting taste in females.”

“Well, I do find you attractive,” I replied, watching as her face reddened. “And that wasn’t my fault. It was my first time with
airag
and this bastard told me it wasn’t potent.”

Sansar-Huu nodded. “It was interesting how those two goats followed you around for days afterward.”

I remembered that. Coney’s concubines, they called them at the time. Nice.

“I take it you don’t date much?” Veronica asked with a little too much interest.

Chudruk chose that moment to pop his head through the little windows to the back of the truck. “You should see his little black book!”

I made a mental note to exact my revenge later.

“What little black book?” Ronnie’s eyes grew wide. Surely she wasn’t that naive.

Chudruk was practically bursting. “Oh, you know, the groupies. Cy has them in almost every city we hit.”

My gut twisted at the reminder. I was hoping Veronica wouldn’t ask about that.

“You brought that up when I interviewed you,” she started. I couldn’t decipher the look in her eyes. “Something about women with carney fantasies?”

This time, all three faces stared at me. I read amusement in Sansar-Huu’s and Chudruk’s faces. But Ronnie’s features had darkened. I wrestled with how much to tell her.

“Come on, spill it,” she said unconvincingly. “It’s for my research.” She didn’t look like she really wanted to know.

Chudruk settled himself in the window. He wasn’t going anywhere, which would make lying impossible. I sighed. There was no way out of this.

“There are some women who have a carney fetish.” That was simple. Maybe I could stop there. I looked around so I could distract everyone by shouting, “Hey, there’s a yak,” or, “Is that Genghis Khan?”

“And?” Ronnie asked, biting her lip.

“It’s usually bored, wealthy housewives. Something about having sex with a carney turns them on,” I started slowly. She continued to stare. Okay. Fine.

I went on. “I have a few women in some of the places we go who make sure I call them when I’m in town.”

“And you have sex with them?”

“Yes.”

Veronica looked like she wanted to punch me. “So you’re a slut.”

I shook my head. “No, I just have a casual sex life.”

“Why sleep with them? They are using you!”

She was going from zero to volcanic in five seconds. “Don’t take it personally, Veronica.”

Chudruk decided this was the time to intervene. “Cy is the most popular. He has all of his teeth and is very clean.”

Oh, yeah, that helped.

“You have the perfect life, my friend.” Sansar-Huu sighed, not helping at all.

“It’s no big deal,” I started to explain. “I only hit most of those towns once a year. And it’s not like I do it for money or anything.”

“But they are using you!” she repeated.

I shook my head. “I don’t see how. Seems to me I benefit from it as well.”

If we weren’t in such tight quarters, she might have put her hands on her hips. “And how do you do that? You are just a hollow figurehead…an object of desire to them.”

“I fail to see what is wrong with that,” I answered honestly. “I have no attachments in my life, and Sartre doesn’t seem to mind. Why can’t I have sex with anyone I want to?”

“What…what about diseases?” she sputtered.

“Believe me, these women take care of their bodies. And I always use protection.” I was starting to get a little annoyed by her anger. This was my life, wasn’t it?

Veronica folded her arms across her chest and stared straight forward.

Chudruk, on the other hand, didn’t shut up. “Do you still see that one blonde from California? Man, she is so hot.”

I turned to him. “You mean Katya?” I was pissed off by Ronnie’s holier-than-thou attitude. “Yup. Saw her last year. She’s very flexible.”

Ronnie practically screamed, “You are such a poodle!”

This caught me off guard. I’ve been called many things in my life, from a greasy goon to a coldhearted killer. But this was new.

“She just keeps you in her purse! On a leash!” Veronica was losing it.

I shook my head. “Not Katya.”

“Oh, and she’s special, huh?” Ronnie snorted.

“No. She’s just lonely. Her husband is an orthopedic surgeon who bought her online as a mail-order bride from the Ukraine. She has a master’s degree in engineering, but no options at home, so she hooked up with a doctor and thought she could have a professional life in the United States.”

Veronica was very silent.

“Unfortunately, her new husband is extremely possessive. Her bodyguards are like prison guards. Katya isn’t allowed to have a job or work.”

“But that’s illegal!”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But he’ll divorce her if she protests, and her citizenship could be revoked. She’d be right back where she started, in a Soviet-style crumbling apartment block, sharing her apartment with a family of eight.”

Ronnie’s anger had turned into interest. “How can you see her, then?”

“She takes her niece and nephew to the circus. Her sister-in-law picks them up there, she dodges the bodyguards and I usually find her in my trailer.”

Chudruk slid the window shut and Sansar-Huu seemed overly fascinated with his steering wheel.

“So, without you, she’d be nothing more than a prisoner in a gilded cage,” Veronica said slowly.

“Don’t feel that it’s all like that. She’s the exception. The rest are just hot lays.”

I could see her anger rising again. “Why would you tell me that?” she asked.

“Because for one thing, this is helpful to your research. And for another thing, I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea about me.” I grinned.

Needless to say, the rest of the ride was very, very quiet.

“I am the punishment of God….If you had not committed great sins, God would not have sent a punishment like me upon you.”

—
G
ENGHIS
K
HAN

Veronica ran off with Odgerel as soon as we parked the truck. Sansar-Huu walked with me to the fighting ring.

“Why did you tell her that last part?” he asked me.

“What?”

“Why did you tell her that most of the time you are just having sex for fun?”

“Because it is none of her business what I did in the past. And I didn’t like being judged.”

My friend nodded. “You are right, but you have a lot to learn about women.” I watched him as he walked away, knowing he was right. But it pissed me off that Veronica, who was supposed to be objective in her studies, would be so angry with the way I’d lived my life so far. This was the main reason I stayed away from attachment in the first place. And here I was, getting involved again.

I didn’t owe Ronnie anything. I was just an oddity she examined and judged…a footnote in a thesis. Actually, I was starting to get angry with myself for the feelings I had for this woman. What had I been thinking? That I could change her? Loosen her up? What an idiot!

Focusing on the competition was my main concern. That was why I was here. Right? I took off my
deel
and pants and started warming up. Yalta, Zerleg and Zolbin joined me. All three of our matches were in a few hours. We concentrated on watching the games, taking note of the other athletes and their weak spots. I was determined to forget about Veronica.

I was so wrapped up in the contest that I barely made it to do the eagle dance for my own match. Clearing my head as I moved around Yalta, I ran through everything that could happen and how I would counter it. I slapped my thighs and made my way into the ring, squaring off against my opponent.

This time I didn’t look him in the eyes. That barely worked last time. I wanted to try ignoring his face and concentrating exclusively on his movements. In fact, this strategy worked so well I had him on his back inside of a minute.

“Great job,” my opponent growled in English at my feet.

I offered my hand to help him up. He grabbed it and pulled himself to his feet. My competitor wasn’t Mongolian. Instead, I was staring into the face of Arje Dekker…my assignment.

“Don’t see many Europeans here,” he said as his eyes crinkled into a smile.

“I’m American,” I said smoothly, hiding my shock behind a warm grin.

“Well, you kicked my ass,” Arje answered. “Hopefully, I can regain my dignity later.”

“Good luck with that,” I said as I started to turn away.

He didn’t answer, just chuckled as I walked toward my coach. I was in shock. Even though I knew my vic was in Mongolia, I didn’t think I’d see him until the national event. It never occurred to me that he would be here doing what I was doing.

Yalta and the boys clapped me on the back, and Chudruk joined us.

“You followed his technique!” Chudruk noted. “Yalta is very happy with you.”

I nodded and tried to turn my attention back to the competition. In a few hours I would have to fight again. My brain was a hot mess, between Veronica and Dekker. Focus was looking like a pipe dream at that point.

Zerleg lost his match, but narrowly enough that his grandfather was very proud. Zolbin defeated his opponent easily, and I was once again starting to get caught up in the festive atmosphere. The
naadam
was going well for us. Too bad my professional and personal life sucked.

This was too much. I understood the idea of coincidence. But to have both Veronica and Dekker here? Maybe something else was going on. In the Bombay family, you knew that just about anything was possible. After all, I never did figure out how they got the assignment to me.

I pulled on my
deel
and joined the others, who were having tea about one hundred yards from the ring.

“Where’s Veronica?” I asked Odgerel. I don’t know why. I didn’t particularly want to speak to her.

Sansar-Huu’s wife pointed over her shoulder, and I looked but couldn’t see her. I stood chugging the hot tea and then wandered in that direction. Imagine my surprise when I spotted her talking to, of all people, Dekker. They seemed to be deep in conversation. This was bad. Dodging behind a
ger
(and feeling like an idiot for doing so), I tried to sort this out.

It made some sense to think they would spot each other. Caucasians tended to stand out here. If Veronica asked what he was doing at the competition, she’d have another guy like me to interview.

I peeked around the edge of the tent and saw that they were smiling. Damn. What if Dekker was hitting on her? What if Ronnie decided he would be better to hang out with than me? She didn’t know him. I didn’t know him either, but I had his number. Arje Dekker was one mean bastard.

I looked again and saw that they were gone. Shit. I walked over to where they had been talking, toeing the flattened grass where they had stood. I cursed Veronica for making me angry and for running off with a dangerous man she knew nothing about. Then I cursed myself for acting like a ten-year-old.

“There you are!” a male voice said behind me. I turned to find Vic and Ronnie standing there like old chums.

“You were looking for a rematch?” I asked casually.

“The two of you know each other?” Veronica asked.

Dekker nodded. “He tossed me to the ground like a rag doll earlier.” He stuck out his hand. “Arje Dekker.”

I shook it. It would look too strange if I didn’t. “Cy Bombay.”

“Ronnie tells me you are here for the same reason I am.”

Ronnie? He calls her Ronnie already? That’s my nickname for her!

“I figured that out when I helped you up earlier.” I forced a grin.

Something dark flashed in Arje’s eyes. I recognized it. I’d seen it many times before. People who didn’t have a conscience tended to look that way. I was grateful to see it. It reminded me who he really was.

“I thought it might be good to interview you to-gether.” Veronica held up her notebook as if that explained everything. “You might have some similar experiences.”

“Maybe later…” I mumbled.

“After your next fight then. Before we leave with the others,” she said firmly. At least I was happy to hear that she was still planning on staying with me.

“We’ll see.” I broke off and walked back to the others. I did not want to be around Dekker any more than I had to. The whole idea of being interviewed with that man was more than I could handle.

I thought of the look in Veronica’s eyes…like she’d just hit the jackpot. That was troubling. The fact that Dekker was in the country and would be around wasn’t the problem. The problem was Ronnie. She knew him now. When he died, she might even feel sorry for him. This was a complication I was not used to. Instead of just killing him, I’d have to find a way to make it look like something else. I’d done it before, but it was outside my comfort zone.

After rejoining Yalta and Zolbin, I decided to use my anger in the upcoming fight. The idea burned inside me like a white-hot brand. My energy started to rise and I pictured defeating Dekker over and over, using every trick Yalta had taught me. I knew I wouldn’t face him again—he’d lost his one chance. But pretending it would be that slime bag seemed to help. I could actually feel my aggression spiking.

My first chance at this contest was a lucky one. The next opponent would be much tougher, and I had to get it together. Forcing everything else from my thoughts, I concentrated on my upcoming match and allowed the bloodlust to take over my senses. I felt sorry for the poor guy who would get me. He might win, but he’d be missing body parts. And that felt a little satisfying.