“Sit down!” Ronnie motioned me toward her.
“Dekker.” I nodded my greeting and extended my hand. I had promised Veronica I would help her, and a simple courtesy was as much as I could do. Besides, the sooner she interviewed him, the sooner I could kill him.
“Bombay.” Dekker took my hand and shook amiably enough, but there was a deadly caution in his eyes. I couldn’t blame him. Why shouldn’t he be suspicious of me? If he really knew what I was going to do to him in the next two days…
“I told him about my thesis, and Arje agreed to an interview,” Ronnie was saying to me. I pulled myself out of my thoughts of murder and became the nice guy she knew me to be.
“So, Ronnie says you’re a carney?” Dekker asked.
It pissed me off that he used my nickname for her. And it pissed me off that she didn’t mind it.
“Yes. A carney with a strange obsession for fighting methods.” I laughed forcibly. “So what is it you do?” Normally I don’t ask Europeans that. They consider a question like that to be extremely rude. For once, I didn’t mind playing the obnoxious American.
“Oh, I’m in the military…” he answered blithely.
Of course he wouldn’t say he was a bloodthirsty mercenary who had taken the lives of women and children for the highest bidder. The intel I’d had on him mentioned an episode of ethnic cleansing he’d engineered in Africa that involved mutilated mothers and children who had been left to struggle for their next breath as he fled the country to his vacation home in the Bahamas with a suitcase full of euros.
“Really? That’s amazing!” Veronica cried. “I could use a proper military perspective on my thesis.”
I hated that she gushed over him without knowing the monster he truly was. It took everything I had to remain calm and casual on the outside.
“Damn,” Ronnie said. “I wish I’d brought my digital recorder.” Her face brightened. “I could run back and get it!”
I interrupted before she could leave me alone with this bastard. If she did, she’d just find him in pieces when she returned. And I couldn’t have that.
“Let’s just make plans to meet up again,” I said quickly. “I’d like to get back to camp and rest for a bit.” I turned to Dekker. “My zazul’s been working us since we got here. Don’t know about you, man, but I’m too old for this shit.”
Dekker grinned. “I’m right there with you on that, Cy.” He looked at Ronnie, taking her hand in his. “Say tomorrow around noon?” Before I could crush his spine (something my grandmother taught me how to do using my elbow), he bent to kiss her hand and strode off.
“You aren’t jealous, are you?” Veronica asked as we made our way to the camp.
“Of course not,” I answered. But I was. The thought of Dekker speaking intimately to her, touching her, drove me crazy.
“I think you are,” she teased, and took my hand in hers. It was soft and warm. Just like her body that first morning after making love all night. The tension in my shoulders released a bit.
“My shoulder is just bothering me,” I lied. “Zolbin threw me and I think I sprained it.”
Veronica frowned, then looked at my right shoulder. “Oh. Well, I’ll take a look at it when we get back.”
I laughed. “And just what are you looking for? Have you ever seen a sprained shoulder before?”
“No.” She winked. “But I’m sure Odgerel has something involving goat intestines and yak urine that I can put on it to make you feel better.”
I tightened my grip on her fingers. “Oh, I think you can do something better than that.”
“No. I promised Chudruk.”
This caused me to jerk to attention. “Chud? Why did you promise him that?”
“Because he has some money riding on your performance here.”
I looked at her sidelong. “I didn’t think a girl like you approved of gambling.”
“Well, let’s just say I’ve loosened up a bit in the last few weeks.”
“Maybe you could give me a demonstration of how loose you are willing to be?”
She pushed me away. “Not if I want to lose the money I’ve bet on you too.” Veronica laughed and ran toward our group. All I could do was stare. That woman was full of surprises.
Chapter Nineteen
[Dilios is putting a patch over his eye]
Spartan King Leonidas: Dilios, I trust that “scratch” hasn’t made you useless.
Dilios: Hardly, my lord, it’s just an eye. The gods saw fit to grace me with a spare.
—300
Veronica Gale spent the rest of the day tormenting me with her orange-silk-wrapped body. Odgerel actually did have a paste made of yak urine and some other questionable matter for my shoulder. Ronnie didn’t even wrinkle her nose as she smeared the gunk on my shoulder. To my amazement, it worked.
The two of us wandered through the festival atmosphere of the naadam. Tomorrow the matches would begin, complete with opening pageantry featuring the rich culture of Mongolia. As we made our way through the maze of musicians, dancers, food vendors and people, I realized that I wasn’t feeling homesick. Not that I ever did. But I always had a sense of the fact that I was away from home. To me, home was my trailer. It didn’t matter where it was; that was my home.
Strange as it seemed, whenever Ronnie held my hand, I was transported back to my sense of home. Apparently, a flesh-and-blood woman was taking the place of my sweet, tricked-out RV.
I pondered that idea only briefly. Philosophers, as I’ve mentioned before, have a tendency to overthink things now and then.
The sun was setting and we needed to head back to the campsite. There would be a loud, raucous dinner followed by an all-night party that would not include Zerleg, Zolbin or me. In fact, Yalta insisted that the three of us share a ger during the festival to eliminate any distractions. I had the sneaking suspicion he included Ronnie as a distraction. To her credit, she graciously accepted Odgerel’s invitation to stay with her family. There would be no sex tonight.
It was difficult to sleep with all the noise around us. Okay, it was difficult for me to sleep. The boys passed out immediately and snored like they were dying. I tossed and turned. It was weird to share my living arrangements. Even worse, Sartre was staying with Ronnie. Sansar-Huu’s children were smitten with her. I didn’t even have the comfort of my pig.
Well, I knew one thing that would help me sleep. And I was pretty sure Veronica would give in if I could just get to her. I slid on my sweatpants and a T-shirt and slipped out of the ger.
In spite of the party that was still going on, it was pitch dark outside. No electric lights here. But that would make it easier to sneak into Sansar-Huu’s ger. Now, where was it?
I tripped over various things as I stumbled in the direction of the tent. Everyone must either have been asleep or have moved to another location. I hoped Ronnie had decided to get some sleep. Of course, if I had my way, there wouldn’t be much of that going on.
I was making my way around the side of the tent when I heard something behind me. There was nothing there. That wasn’t unusual. People were all over the place, and the ones still up were probably drunk. I turned my attention back to the door of the ger.
I heard something whisk through the air and then my vision was flooded with stars and pain. I shot my arm out behind me instinctively, and I managed to grab the weapon. But whoever had been on the other end let go and disappeared before I could identify him.
“Cy?” Veronica stood in the doorway wearing a T-shirt and shorts. She was vertical, then horizontal. No, wait, I was horizontal. At least, that was what I was thinking as everything went black.
The naadam field was packed. Following an exquisite version of the eagle dance, I turned to face my opponent and slapped my thighs. The giant guinea pig before me did the same and we approached each other to begin. It was hard to get a grip on his silky hair. And he looked so cute I didn’t really want to fight him. But I was here to win.
“Cy!” Chudruk must have
slapped me. As I looked up into his face, I realized I’d been dreaming.
“I’m okay.” I started to sit up but a blinding pain forced me back down. There was blood on my hands. I had been hit.
Sansar-Huu held up a thick branch. “He hit you with this. We found you when Veronica screamed.”
Veronica was sitting beside me, her face twisted with concern.
“Someone hit me?”
“I didn’t see who it was.” Veronica grabbed my hand.
Odgerel started examining the wound on the back of my head. I could feel the heat from the lantern she held.
“You won’t need stitches, I think,” she said slowly. “But you should not wrestle.”
Yalta came into the ger, and everyone went quiet. He examined my wound and looked into my eyes. Then he spoke to Chudruk in Mongolian. I think he said my testicles should be fed to the marmots. Man, I really needed to work on my language skills.
“Pop says you do not need to wrestle. The decision is up to you, though,” Chudruk said solemnly.
I looked at all of them. It was generous of my zazul. And he did have two more athletes competing. On the other hand, I came all this way just to do this. I had trained for a month for an event that happened only once a year. These people—my friends—gave their hospitality to me.
“You shouldn’t compete,” Ronnie said firmly. “You have a concussion at the very least. You need to see a doctor.”
Sansar-Huu nodded and Odgerel clucked sympathy. Sartre peeked out of Ronnie’s hands and gave a firm, loud, “Wheek!”
I got up and shook my head gently. “When is my first match?”
Yalta spoke to his son.
“Pop can arrange for you to fight later in the day. He has a friend here in Ulaanbaatar who is a doctor. I will go find him.” And with that, Chudruk left. I grinned. He knew me so well.
“No!” Veronica shouted. “He’s concussed! He could have brain damage.”
I shook my head, which, by the way, hurt considerably. “This is a grappling sport. There won’t be any more injury to my head. I can’t let everyone down.”
To my astonishment, Chudruk reentered the ger with a tall man in a red deel, carrying a satchel. How did he do that so quickly? Maybe I was really messed up to the point that hours had actually passed instead of minutes?
We were all quiet while he examined me. Dr. Baatar asked me the usual questions to determine my level of confusion. He looked at my pupils and inquired about the pain. When he finished, he closed up his bag.
“You seem to be all right. But I worry about that headache,” he said in perfect English. “Other than that, you have no symptoms of vomiting, confusion or memory loss. Your pupils are not dilated.” The doctor tapped his head. “But if the headache gets worse, no wrestling.”
I watched as Yalta slapped him on the back and Chudruk walked him out. Ronnie was staring holes into me. That was one thing about relationships I did not miss: having another’s will imposed on me.
“My friend.” Sansar-Huu sat down beside me. “Are you certain of this?”
“It is not necessary for you to fight,” Chudruk added. I hadn’t even noticed he’d come back.
“Guys, look. I’m fine. I’m going to participate,” I insisted. To my left, I could feel Veronica’s eyes go into laser-beam mode.
Yalta nodded and left, as did everyone but Veronica.
“You cannot wrestle,” she said once everyone had cleared the tent.
I reached around and gingerly touched the back of my head. It was tender, but the bleeding had stopped. The dried blood would have to be rinsed out before I fought. I didn’t want my opponent to know I’d been injured. Fortunately, the doctor had not wrapped my head.
“I said,” Ronnie repeated, “you are not going to wrestle.”
“I heard you.”
She sighed. “I can’t stop you, can I?”
I turned to her. “Look, has it even occurred to you to wonder who hit me and why?”
That stopped her short. “Is that even important at this point? Is that why you are doing this? To show whoever it was that he didn’t stop you?” Veronica threw her hands up in the air. “This is about pride?”
“Actually, no. I’m not that shallow. This is about the fact that I worked very hard to do this. It’s not even about winning. It is about following through.”
Her hands came to rest on her hips. “So it is about pride.”
“No. It isn’t. And don’t tell me what to do.”
“So you’re like a child who does it because the parent says not to do it.”
I cocked my head to the side. “You think of yourself as my parent? That’s kinky. Especially for you.”
“Uh, no. I don’t. I just think you are being unreasonable and immature.” Her voice took on a dangerous timbre.
“Or maybe I’m being responsible.” I rose to my feet. Daylight was sparking under the doorway, and I needed to get back to my cot to rest. It took all of my strength to stride nonchalantly to the door.
Unfortunately, Veronica followed. “You are just plain stubborn. What is it with men?”
Her questions came and went unanswered as I concentrated on walking casually to my tent. Whoever had hit me, for whatever reason, might be watching. And yes, my stubborn pride wanted them to think I was just fine.
I opened the door to the ger and slammed it behind me in Ronnie’s face. It was rude, but I needed some peace and quiet. The boys were gone, probably too excited about the festivities.
Ronnie didn’t take the hint and entered the tent.
“Don’t shut me out, Cy, just because I tell you something you don’t want to hear.”
I lay down on my cot and closed my eyes.
“Don’t lie down! Aren’t you supposed to stay awake with a concussion?”
“Veronica,” I said through gritted teeth, “my head hurts, so I doubt I will get any sleep. I just need some time to concentrate on my training. I don’t mean to be rude, but will you please leave me alone?”
The hostility in the air crackled expectantly. I wondered if Ronnie was the violent type who would hurl something at me. Instead, I just heard footsteps, then the banging of the door behind her.
I should’ve been focusing on my techniques and working out how I was going to fight with my balance off. Okay, so I had lied to everyone about how badly I was hurt. And yes, I was a stubborn bastard. The vanity of men…I’ve considered it personally and academically throughout my life. Well, at least I’d just given Veronica Gale, Ph.D. candidate, more material for her thesis.
This was exactly why I wanted to remain single. A relationship with a woman meant having someone around to tell me I was too weak or old or sick to do something I wanted to do. I liked danger. And a woman would try to talk me out of it. It was exhausting to think about.
What was I thinking, anyway? Getting involved with Veronica like that? It interfered with the basic tenet of my philosophy—freedom. The only female I was beholden to was an eleven-inch-long rodent who was dependent upon me for her needs. Sartre never criticized me. Okay, maybe I could tell the difference between her general noises and her unmistakable sarcasm. But she never held me back. Never pigeonholed me. Never, ever told me what I could not do.
Here I was, a free thirty-eight-year-old man. Sure, I had my Bombay job. But that allowed me freedom too. Freedom from a desk job and other responsibilities. And it paid very, very well. For the most part, I could come and go whenever I wanted to. I traveled the world to follow my interests on the slightest whim.
What the hell was I thinking, getting involved with Ronnie? A naive professional student with no tolerance for violence or the things I found interesting? What was I going to do when this was over? Move her into my trailer? Take her with me from carnival to carnival? The woman had goals! She probably wanted some professorship somewhere quiet and safe! I’d tried that once. It didn’t work for me.
So who was going to win here? No one. One of us would have to give up what we loved
. It was against everything I believed in to do that. And I would hate myself if she compromised her dreams for me. Even though I was lying down, my head began to throb even more.
And what about my job as an assassin? There was no way in hell Veronica would ever be able to accept that. How could I tell her that I killed people for a living? I suspected that even though I only killed really bad people, she would still have a major problem with that. My very nature was in direct conflict with every cell in her sweet little body.
There was no hope for marriage. The council gave everyone in the Bombay family until the next family reunion to let their spouse know about their job. Even if I timed it just so and had five years (the time between reunions), I would never have the courage to tell her. And that would spell her death sentence. The Bombays were pretty black-and-white about spousal acceptance.
Damn. I really screwed up this time.
Chapter Twenty
Indiana Jones: It’s not the years. It’s the mileage.
—RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK
“Cy?” I could hear Chudruk’s voice from the doorway. How long had I been thinking about all of this?
“Come in.” There were other things I needed to be concentrating on.
“Pop got you a match for the end of the day.” Chud sat on Zerleg’s cot. “Veronica is watching the opening ceremony with the others.”
I sat up. “Thanks. I think I really pissed her off.”
He laughed. “Women, eh?” Chudruk scratched his chin. “You know, I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you with a woman for more than two hours.”
I tossed my hat at him. He ducked. “When do the boys fight?” I didn’t want to talk about Veronica.
“Zerleg fights in the first round. Zolbin later.” He looked at me thoughtfully for a moment. “Did Zerleg talk to you?”
I nodded. “About the girl? Yes.” I wasn’t sure I wanted to get into this conversation. It was a family affair, and I was the outsider. But it did give me something else to talk about than my problems at the moment.
I Shot You Babe Page 11
