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CHAPTER 9

“Yield!” Gabe yelled hoarsely, unable to slap the mat.

Chaim released his holds and helped push Gabe to his feet, only to be grabbed in a fierce hug by the Brazilian. “Good fight, man,” Gabe said as he pushed back from him. “You’re the first person to put me in a full nelson since I was fourteen. I’ve got to figure out how you did it to see how to get out of it.”

“Thanks,” Chaim said, grinning in triumph. “You gave me more trouble than anyone else.”

Gabe beamed at the compliment and turned away as Bob pushed forward, still holding a bloody towel in his left hand as he held out his right. “Great fight, man,” the bigger man enthused. His already misshapen nose was definitely pointing in a new direction.

“Sorry I broke your nose,” Chaim said as they shook hands.

“Nah, not to worry. Not the first time, obviously.” Bob grinned and laid a finger on the abused appendage. “Besides, I’m officially retiring this week. Getting married in a few months, and my girlfriend wants me to get my nose fixed. Now I’ve got an excuse to do it without looking like a wuss.”

Gil pushed forward long enough to hand Bob a card. “Send your bills here. We’ll take care of them.”

“You don’t have to,” Bob said with another grin, “but I’m not going to argue with you. Great fight,” he said again to Chaim as he turned away.

Aaron was next, smiling as he held out one hand and held the other over his groin for a moment. “Good fight, man. You’re like Mr. Machine out there. But I know one thing—if I spar with you again, I’m wearing two cups.”

“Sorry about that,” Chaim said, taking his hand for the shake.

“No, you’re not. And it was within tonight’s rules.” Aaron’s face was serious now. “Always push the envelope, man. Always take it to the edge.”

“I told you not to depend on those flashy kicks, dude,” Eric said as he pushed forward with a backhand to Aaron’s shoulder.

“Yeah, pendejo, you just keep telling yourself that,” Aaron said as he moved back toward the counter.

“Some righteous fight, there,” Eric said with a solid handclasp. “Dynamite moves, that second round. From what I saw tonight, you may not always win your first fight with someone, but you’ll damn sure take him the second time. And you,” he said, turning to Gil, “if you can take a grass-green newbie to this in three months, it’s no wonder the Israeli army kicks ass. Seriously, if you ever get this way again, I’d pay good money to sit in a masters’ class under you, or even take some private lessons.”

“Not this trip,” Gil said. “I’m flying back to Israel shortly. But if I’m this way again, it could happen.”

“Seriously,” Eric said, shaking hands with the instructor. “Please. Call Rob. Any day, any time, even if it’s only for an hour. I really want to work with you.”

“We’ll see,” Gil said.

As Eric headed back over toward the counter where the rest of the guys were gathering their stuff, Gil looked around. “Any chance I could get a couple of you to do a two-on-one with Chaim? Just for a few minutes?”

Aaron looked back. “If he promises not to hit me in the balls again.”

Gil looked at Chaim with a grin. Chaim nodded.

Aaron looked at Eric. “You up for it?”

“I am if you are.”

“Let’s do it.”

The two of them set their bags down and walked back to the mat. They took up positions at the far end of the mat with Eric at twelve o’clock and Aaron at three o’clock and stood waiting.

Chaim looked at Mordechai, but didn’t get a sign, so he shrugged his shoulders, flexed his hands a couple of times, and stepped onto the mat at about the eight o’clock position. Immediately the others stepped forward together side by side, shuffling not in unison, but enough together that they presented a consistent front to him. He stepped back in reflex, then realized that they had almost forced him into the corner of the mat. He stopped in place, but before he could move again they were on him.

Eric was throwing left jabs at his face in rapid-fire mode. None of them hit his face; most of them glanced off his glove or shoulder, but they were always there. Aaron was alternating heavy punches at his gut and his head, all of which were landing somewhere, and all of which hurt. It was impossible to focus on two at once, he decided in distraction, and his eyes shifted as he prepared to deal with Aaron first, as he was getting tired of the hard hits. Just as he was about to launch off, Eric delivered a right-hand bomb to Chaim’s head. He caught it coming out of the corner of his eye. He wasn’t able to duck it entirely, so he did get hit hard, but it didn’t hit square on. It did, however, about tear his left ear off his head—or that’s what it felt like. And it knocked his head into the path of one of Aaron’s punches, so he got rocked twice in less than a second.

Feeling something akin to desperation, Chaim launched forward and burst between them, probably showing more speed and strength than Mordechai wanted, but he had to get out of that corner. He reached the other end of the mat and spun on the ball of one foot to face the others.

With a quick headshake, Chaim started back toward them, trending toward Eric. Two steps away he darted toward Aaron, only to shift back to Eric next step. He ducked one punch, slapped another aside, and drove his right hand into Eric’s solar plexus.

Feeling Aaron behind him, Chaim threw his left hand behind his head as he ducked and spun, feeling a punch glance off his hand.

There were several seconds of flurried movement and punches as Chaim drove inside. He managed to hook Aaron’s ankle and send him down. There were several more seconds of movements that ended with Chaim on Aaron’s back, legs around his waist and left arm wrapped around Aaron’s throat like he was going for a rear naked choke hold. As Aaron’s hands both tried to grip Chaim’s arm and pull it away, Chaim brought his right hand up and over and hooked the tips of his index and ring fingers in Aaron’s orbital ridges, pulling Aaron’s head back.

“You’re blind,” he said in Aaron’s ear. Aaron froze, then reached out and slapped the mat. Chaim released his holds and pushed the bigger man off of him, then rolled to his feet, breathing heavy himself, and walked over to where Eric was on his knees, one hand pressed to his sternum.

Chaim reached out and touched the knuckles of his right hand to Eric’s larynx. “You’re dead,” he said. Eric said nothing—he probably couldn’t—bur raised his other hand in acknowledgment. Chaim stuck an arm under Eric’s armpit and hauled him to his feet, helped by Aaron on the other side. “Can you breathe?”

After a moment, Eric nodded. “Yeah,” he husked. “Didn’t quite pass out, but God, that hurt.”

It was another minute or so before Eric’s breathing evened out and he dropped his hand. He turned slowly and moved over to the counter to pick up his shirt and put it on. The others made way for him.

Aaron looked at Chaim. “No offense, man, but forget what I said about sparring with you again. You’re scary.”

That wasn’t an easy thing to hear, but Chaim just nodded. There really wasn’t anything he could say in response. The fact was, he wasn’t really comfortable with what he had just done. The sheer violence against multiple people for the last hour had his composure broken, and the fact that he had actually done fairly well, from what he could tell, was perhaps even more disturbing.

Gil had moved over to Eric and handed him one of the medical cards like he’d given Bob, quietly urging him to see an orthopedic doctor soon just to make sure there were no lasting effects. Then he stepped back a few steps.

“Thank you, gentlemen, for your time tonight. It is very much appreciated. Even though we didn’t go the whole two hours, we’ve decided to pay you an additional five hundred dollars apiece. Rob will have your checks tomorrow. Again, thank you for participating, and have a good evening.”

Four very solemn faces had lit up a bit at the mention of the additional money, but the only one who smiled was Bob Martin. The rest just nodded, and they gathered their stuff. A minute later, Rob, Gil, Chaim, and Mordechai were left in the gym.

“Well,” Mordechai said, pushing away from the wall he had been leaning against for the last hour, “that was an interesting exhibit. But let’s see what you’re really capable of.” He picked up the bag at his feet and tossed it to Chaim. “You should probably put that on.” The older man stripped off his windbreaker to reveal a sleeveless black tee that clung to him like paint. “You’re going to need it.”

Chaim looked at Rob and Gil, then at Mordechai. “You sure about this?” Receiving a nod in return, he unzipped the bag and pulled out what proved to be a weighty black vest. “Armor?” he guessed.

“After a fashion,” Mordechai said as he moved to the mat. “More protection than that T-shirt, anyway. Have you worked with it before?”

“No,” Chaim said.

“I don’t drill with armor,” Gil interjected. “You know that. As far as I’m concerned, pain is a teacher.”

Mordechai nodded, turned to face Chaim, and beckoned to him with one hand. Gil and Rob looked at each other, and moved over to lean back on the counter.

Chaim figured out how to put the vest on and fasten the straps. He shrugged his shoulders a couple of times to settle the weight, and swung his arms to check his freedom of movement, then stepped onto the mat.

“In the words of a certain movie”—Mordechai reached up and mimed pulling on a rope—“ding, ding.”

Chaim never was certain about how long that bout lasted. He really didn’t have very many concrete memories of it—just the sense that he was in the center of a storm that was battering him from every direction. Fists, knees, feet, they seemed innumerable, flicking in and out, impacting like a sledgehammer, then moving on to let the next one in.

He did know that toward the end of it, he began to develop a sense of the…rhythm, one might say. He began to feel a bit more…effective, maybe. The only clear memory he had came at the end, when he drove a fist past a block and put a scrape on Mordechai’s cheek.

Mordechai stepped back and held up both hands. “Enough. That’s good enough. Well done, Chaim.” Chaim stood still for a long moment, fists still raised, eyes boring into Mordechai’s, chest heaving as he fought for air like he hadn’t done in months. “Well done,” Mordechai repeated as he lowered his hands.

Chaim lowered his own hands and stood, still breathing hard. He began to catalog the aches and pains he was feeling. There were definitely more than he’d had when he’d started. He wasn’t sure that Mordechai had left any part of him untouched except for the soles of his feet and the top of his head.

When his breathing had slowed to close to normal, Chaim looked at Mordechai. “Was that necessary?”

“Yes.” Mordechai walked over to his windbreaker, picked it up and put it on. “We both need to know what you’re capable of, and you need to have some idea of what your limits are.”

Chaim shook his head. “Right. Let’s not do that again any time soon, okay? I haven’t felt like this since Mike Olmstead beat me up in seventh grade.”

“Wow.” That came from Rob in a quiet voice. They both looked toward the counter to see Rob standing there wide-eyed contrasted with Gil’s narrowed eyes glaring at them above his folded arms.

The Israeli said something in rapid Hebrew that Chaim didn’t catch.

“Speak English,” Mordechai replied.

“So he’s another you,” Gil spat. “You knew that, and he knew that, and you didn’t tell me. I don’t appreciate the joke, old man.”

“No joke, Gil.” Mordechai shook his head. “Serious business.”

“Right. If you knew he could do that, why did you have me train him like a rank newbie? And why did he hold back?”

“Because he was a rank newbie, as you put it. He wasn’t lying when he said he had no training or experience. And he held back on my instruction, partly to avoid hurting you, and partly because you have no experience in training someone like him…or me. If he’d tried to train all out, you wouldn’t have known what to do and most likely would have been hurt in attempting it. No, we…I…decided to have him train at a nominal level, and then try to figure out how to ramp it up from there. Which he managed nicely toward the end of our little bout.” He pointed his razor grin toward Chaim.

“So what are you? Space aliens? Fallen angels? Homo superior? The next great mutation?” Gil’s voice was dark, and his expression wasn’t any lighter.

“None of the above,” Mordechai answered evenly. “If you need a label for a group of two, how about homo insolitus, which carries the sense of unusual, extraordinary, uncommon, or odd.” He grinned. “Personally, I like that last one. Odd Man.”

The grin switched off and the voice got serious again. “And in case there was any doubt in your mind, Gil, the events of this evening are definitely covered by the nondisclosure agreement you signed.”

“Who would I tell?” Gil said bitterly. “Even the IDF wouldn’t believe this. ‘There are two supermen in the world, both of them Jews, but I don’t know where they came from, I don’t know how they got that way, and I don’t know how to make more of them.’” He snorted. “I’d lose my security rating and be assigned to be a security guard at a bakery.”

“Ironically, the men who created the Superman story were both Jewish,” Mordechai said. “Nice story, but a bit unreal.”

Pot calling the kettle black. Chaim’s lips quirked.

“Regardless,” Mordechai forged on, “you and Rob knew a little bit before this, and you both know a little bit more now. And neither one of you can say anything about it to anyone else, but at least you know you’re not alone in that.”

Gil looked over at Rob. “So where do you know this maniac from?”

Rob laughed. “He’s my business partner. I always knew he was weird, but I guess he’s a little weirder than I thought.”

Gil’s eyebrows lifted. “So how did that come about?”

“Long story, man. Long story, but if you want to hear it, I’ve got Kentucky bourbon, Tennessee rye, some Canadian scotch, and even some local white lightnin’ back at my place.”

Gil looked at Mordechai from under lowered eyebrows, then returned his gaze to Rob. “If you’ll let me crash the night, I think I want to hear that story.”

“Deal. It’s a bachelor pad, but it’s clean. Come on.” Rob clapped Gil on the shoulder. “I’ll get you to work tomorrow.”

Gil glowered at Mordechai and Chaim one more time. “Deal.”

Mordechai grinned again. “Come on, Chaim. We can tell when we’re not wanted.”

Chaim stripped off the vest and threw it, his gloves, and his mouth protector back in Mordechai’s bag as he followed him out the door. He climbed in the front seat, but said nothing as Mordechai backed up and then drove out on the street.

The ride back to the center was quiet. Chaim was still processing the evening’s experiences, and it seemed Mordechai was going to respect that. Chaim didn’t stir until Mordechai parked his car and turned the engine off.

“We need to talk.”

“Tomorrow,” Mordechai said. “Rabbi Avram wants to give you the latest details on the tests, and there are some decisions that need to be made. So bring your questions and issues then. They may overlap with some of his and mine.”

Chaim followed the other vampire into the building and made his way to his room. He stripped off his clothes and showered, even though he didn’t feel dirty or sweaty. Something else the conversion had changed, it appeared. But the act of letting hot water run over his body from head to foot seemed cathartic or cleansing, and after the evening he’d had, he definitely needed that.

He’d intentionally hurt people tonight. That thought circled through and through his mind as the water poured over him. He’d never in his life expected to do that. First following his father’s wishes that he become a rabbi, then his own wishes that he be a doctor…it had never been part of his thinking that he’d intentionally try to injure someone. Oh, sure, he knew that was the intent behind the training. He’d seen enough martial arts bouts on YouTube to understand that. But somehow it had all been one big kung fu movie in his mind, full of leaps and hits and people flying through the air and bouncing back up again. Until tonight.

Tonight it was his hands and feet that had made the hits and hurt Bob and Eric and Aaron. Tonight it was his mind that directed his actions. Tonight it was his will that had basically said “Do it.”

He lifted up the Gibborim medal that hung around his neck, that never left his body anymore, and touched the magen to his lips. If the God that said “Let there be light”; if the God that created Adam and Eve; if the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob; if the God who delivered Moses and the Hebrews from Pharaoh in the waters; if the God of David, Solomon, and Daniel—if that God had made him to be a Protector like Mordechai, then he would accept it.

Sh’ma, Israel, Adonai elohenu, Adonai echod.”

Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One.

Chaim touched the magen to his lips again, then let it drop to the chain as peace filled him.


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