Orphan X

41 Emotional Centers

Evan squared up in the narrow space between vehicles as Johnny shuffled forward. His eyes were bloodshot; one lid throbbed spasmodically. Evan’s own eyes stayed on the fighting knife, waiting for it to rise, but Johnny held it low at his belly. Only secondarily did it strike Evan that he’d brought nothing but fists to a knife fight.

He gauged the angle to collapse Johnny’s throat with a finger-thrust strike, but then Johnny’s arms went loose at his sides. Unexpectedly, he started to cry. “I don’t know what to do,” he said. “I don’t know what to do.”

Johnny’s parking space was two slots over, the trunk of his BMW open. He hadn’t been lying in wait, Evan realized, but he’d been interrupted from something.

“What happened?” Evan asked.

“It was in the combat-training room last week,” he said. “I broke a guy’s nose. It might have been after the whistle. He’s got older brothers. They’re serious fighters. Grew up with it, I mean. It’s a bad fucking scene. I thought we were cool, but I showed up today for belt testing and they were waiting. All three of them. I took off, but they followed me back here. I don’t want my dad to know. Jesus — if he found out…”

Evan exhaled, frustration seeping in. First he’d made a quick exception to help Mia, and now here Johnny was, whining like a slapped bully. Maybe that’s what real life was, one problem bleeding into the next. How had Mia put it? Life would be boring if we didn’t have other people around complicating everything. He had Mia to worry about now in addition to Katrin. The last thing he could do was add Johnny to the mix.

“Listen,” Evan said. “I have to get back to work.”

Johnny lowered his head and began sobbing.

Evan looked at the ceiling.

Fuck.

“Where are they?” he asked. “These guys.”

Johnny pointed up the ramp. “Outside. Just waiting.”

“Put the knife away.”

“Look, man.” Johnny wiped at his cheeks. “This is seriously dangerous, street-level shit. Be grateful you don’t deal with this kind of stuff.” The flush had crept up his face, turning his forehead shiny, making the hair plugs stand out. “I’m not really a tough guy. If I don’t bluff ’em down, they’ll fuck me up bad.”

“Call the cops.”

“I can’t do that. That’s a pussy move.”

“You’re gonna talk yourself right into a body bag.”

“You don’t understand these guys, Evan. They’ll just wait. They’ll just wait and come back for me later.”

Evan took a breath. Exhaled through clenched teeth. “Then I’ll go with you. To talk to them.”

Johnny’s laugh turned to another sob halfway through. “Evan. This isn’t some … some business dispute like whatever you’re used to. These guys are savages.”

Already Evan was walking toward the slope. Johnny followed him up, still pleading with him. Evan waved his foot in front of the sensor, and the gate rattled open.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Johnny said. “Oh, Jesus Christ.”

They emerged into the midday sun. Up on the sidewalk, three men in their twenties waited, wearing sleeveless shirts despite the cool weather. Wiry builds, compact muscles, gelled hair. They looked to be of Indonesian descent. The smallest wore a protective nose splint.

Evan gestured to the loading-dock area behind the building, and the brothers drifted in that direction, keeping a good distance ahead, disappearing around the corner.

“You don’t want to do that,” Johnny said. “You really don’t want to go back there where no one can see us.”

They stepped around the corner. Midway down the rear façade of the building, the brothers had assembled. Arms crossed, matching scowls, like something out of a bad import rap video.

As Evan approached, Johnny lost a half step, edging behind him. The men stood in formation, stone-faced.

Evan said, “I understand my friend here screwed up.”

The oldest-looking brother’s lips pursed, anger piercing the mask. “He broke Reza’s fucking nose. I’d say that qualifies as screwing up.”

Reza, his lips twisted in a scowl, lifted a hand to the splint, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath the thin shirt. His shoulders were glossed with perspiration.

Evan looked from brother to brother, taking his time. “You’re hoping for fight or flight,” he said. “But there are other options here, and to be honest, I don’t have time for this right now. Let’s find an easier solution.”

A vein pulsed in the middle brother’s arm. “We’re not here to fucking talk.”

Johnny’s voice, husky with fear, came from behind Evan’s shoulder. “I told you.”

Evan stared at the oldest brother. “I know you think you’ve got this under control. But you’re breathing hard. Your heart rates are up right now. Blood pressure, too. You’re sweating, all three of you. The emotional centers of your brains are going haywire. Your stomachs are tightening as we speak, all those stress hormones coursing through you.” He stepped forward. “You’re not in control as much as you think you are. If a fight breaks out, you won’t be happy with the result. You’ve got numbers, yes, and you’re hoping I’m as nervous as you are, that I’ll fight rashly, that I’ll make mistakes. But I want you to look at me. And tell me: Do I look scared?”

The siblings’ heads swiveled as they regarded one another, some unspoken communication passing between them.

“Andreas already told you,” the oldest said. “We’re not here to talk.”

They fanned out, forming a semicircle around Evan. Their hands came up, open, ready to throw.

Evan released a breath, annoyed. “Really?”

He oriented toward the oldest, knowing he’d be the first to engage. He watched the man’s feet shuffle, read the positioning. He anticipated the low, sweeping kick before it came, a test-the-waters first strike, and he simply raised his own leg and pivoted it outward. Evan’s shin shield hammered the driving ankle, sending a painful vibration up his attacker’s leg. The oldest brother skipped back on his good foot.

The lesson would be simple: Every time one of the brothers struck, he would feel pain.

Andreas threw next as predicted, a right cross, but Evan shot his elbow up into a spear and leaned into the punch. As Andreas swung, the soft union of his pec and shoulder impaled on the bony tip of Evan’s ulna, and Andreas gave a cry of pain, his arm dangling numbly at his side.

Reza was in motion already, pivoting into a roundhouse kick. Evan caught the leg softly with both of his hands and slammed it down into the top of his own rising femur, the knee smash bruising the tibia and gastrocnemius, stunning the limb into uselessness.

The oldest had rebounded to attack again, Evan stepping into his punch, driving the heel of his hand hard into a shoulder post before the arm could swing around. The brother staggered back, then recovered, countering with a tight jab. Evan’s hands moved like horizontal buzz saws in a kali deflection, clapping the arm from either side, his palm slap-guiding the fist, his knuckles digging into the soft meat of the biceps. The oldest brother grunted and spun away, Evan letting him tumble into Reza, knocking him over.

Andreas had already wound up for a high kick, but Evan shot his lead leg up and straight out, letting Andreas’s momentum carry his crotch into Evan’s foot.

A clod of air left Andreas in something like a bark. “Ouch!” he said, and sat down next to his brothers.

Evan had responded only with blocks and deflections, making not a single offensive move.

From somewhere behind him, he heard air hiss through Johnny’s teeth.

The brothers cradled various limbs and breathed raggedly, more stunned than injured.

Now Evan stepped forward and offered Reza a hand. Reza looked to his oldest brother, who nodded, and then Reza grasped Evan’s hand and allowed himself to be helped to his feet. The other brothers stood on their own.

“Okay,” Evan said. “Let’s try this again.” He turned to Johnny, who was watching, mesmerized, his mouth slightly ajar. “Johnny?”

No response.

Evan snapped his fingers in front of Johnny’s face, and Johnny reanimated. “Yeah? What?”

“Apologize to Reza for punching him after the whistle. It was a dishonorable thing to do.”

“I’m sorry,” Johnny said. “Really sorry.”

“Shake his hand.”

Johnny held out his hand, and Reza took it.

“That nose has been properly reset,” Evan said. “By a doctor. You will pay all his medical bills. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Johnny said. “I agree.”

Evan looked at the oldest brother. “Are we done here?”

The brother stared at him for a time, trying for implacable, though everyone knew it was already over. “Yeah,” he said. “We’re done.”

Evan gave him a nod, then turned and hustled back for the garage.

Johnny followed at his heels. “Holy shit holy shit holyshitholyshit. How’d you do that?”

They rounded the corner of the building, moving toward the porte cochere.

“I fought some as a kid,” Evan said, giving the valet an affable nod.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Evan halted, Johnny bumping into him from behind. Evan turned, his eyes inches from Johnny’s. “This never happened. Understand me?”

Johnny held out his hands. “I understand.”

Evan slipped through the glass front doors, leaving Johnny in the shade of the drive-through.