Kung Fu High School

by Ryan Gattis

  "Can't I, China Boy? Look, why don't you do us both a favor and save this righteous shit for the real bad guy, huh? The Evil Ridley's in the theater. It's Fred's drama period. I suggest you head on over there before he, a. escapes, or b. finds out you're both still alive. It really is the only way to stop this thing. You want more people to die?"

  Jimmy kept walking. Dermoody smacked another Wolf, this time in the jaw. I kept my distance, moving right, around the perimeter of the action and behind a table. I didn't believe Dermoody was gonna cap us, he needed us. Then again, I wasn't about to get shot if he changed his mind, but maybe I could flank them if I went slow enough. So Ridley wanted me transferred? I didn't know if Dirty Dermoody was lying or telling the truth. I wouldn't put it past either of them. Both were more than capable of lying convincingly to complete the angle. And yeah, I did believe that if Ridley couldn't have me he'd end me. Some fucked-up romantics are like that.

  "Why don't you just go take care of Ridley for me so I don't have to handle you and him at the same time, huh? Thanks. Oh, and P.S., Ridley just sent out the biggest shipment he's ever produced. Just now, within the last twenty minutes. That fleet of trucks must've had everything on it. I'm talking tons. Everything was a ploy. Wipe out the opposition and cash in on the ensuing chaos at the same time? Why not? Greedy bastard." Dermoody turned his back on Jimmy and Cap'n Joe stepped between them.

  From where I was standing, the cafeteria kitchen looked like it had been ransacked. Pots and pans were scattered across the floor in front of the door, which was nearly off its hinges. So that was what brought Dermoody and Cap'n Joe to the cafeteria, to see if it was true, to see if they'd truly been cut out of the biggest deal ever. So there they were, blowing off steam, coming down on us.

  Made sense though. Ridley trying to kill two birds with one stone, except we were one of those birds. What a diversion. Hell of a game to play. The guy thought of everything, up to and including how to play me against Melinda and Dermoody. There was only one problem: he'd overextended himself. I was wondering why it'd been so simple for us to fight our way out. I mean, why he hadn't sent huge squads after each of us individually, why we weren't crushed by one, or even two, hundred kids each. That was our answer. He needed the hands to load the trucks and create the diversions elsewhere to keep those trucks moving. For real though, that sure was some bold shit. I had to give it to him.

  "Look, now, I'll make it easy." He pointed the shotgun at Melinda's gasping body; she'd rolled over onto her chest with her arms out like a scarecrow that had only just been blown over in a strong wind.

  "You leave, and she lives. Stay, and everyone dies." He said it slow.

  I suppose that was the point it occurred to me that a red Dermoody shotgun shell was homemade, but the yellow one most likely wasn't. That it was probably something nasty. Something to suit his temperament, I don't know, flechettes or punkin balls or disintegrator slugs. The kind of crazy shit Remo heard the coroner pulled out of dead bodies from time to time. Black market, illegal stuff that outsiders tried to peddle to all the families. But I don't think Jimmy knew that because he kept walking. Dermoody placed the double barrel of the shotgun on Melinda's back, caressing the ridge of spine between her shoulder blades.

  "Son, I wouldn't walk much farther, if I were you. Joe?" the principal said.

  "Easy there, brave," Cap'n Joe whispered.

  Probably Cap'n Joe's biggest mistake was going for Jimmy with one hand. Maybe he figured that because Jimmy was so small, he could just knock him flat with one fist. And really, the Cap'n wasn't even trying to punch Jimmy, just put a paw on his shoulder and stop him from walking forward but see, he got too close. Before that enormous hand of Cap'n Joe's clamped down on his neck, Jimmy grabbed the fingers and bent them back and the hand was next, then the wrist.

  The exact moment after Cap'n Joe's wrist snapped and dangled, Dermoody pulled the trigger and Melinda's back exploded. Like a waiter carrying a huge plate of pasta marinara in a restaurant that slipped on the newly washed kitchen floor and threw the whole thing in the air and the chunky red sauce got everywhere when the big dish hit the floor. Whatever Wolves were left standing around ran for the door without ever once looking back. I didn't blame them. I felt like running too. There was just nowhere else to go.

  Really, I don't even think Dermoody meant to do it. That it just kind of happened, an unintentional reflex. He was scared of Jimmy. Might sound funny to say that about a former military man who saw combat action, but Jimmy was no ordinary adversary. Shit, I would've been scared too if I was a fifty-something-year-old man staring down one of the youngest and most experienced kung fu fighters around, shotgun or no fuckin' shotgun.

  Dermoody must've thought he had a better chance pointing the gun at Melinda and "convincing" us to go take care of Ridley rather than actually pointing the gun at Jimmy and making him mad, or worse, missing with a huge scattershot if the kid did his mythic disappearing thing. But there was only one problem now. He was out of shells and had no time to reload. That was when Jimmy took his gun away.

  Quicker than a cat, he yanked it out of Dermoody's hands and threw the metal thing so far that it clunked on the floor and slid to a stop right in front of me, dinged against the bloodied nails protruding from my boots. It took effort to pull my eyes from it. Part of the shrapnel from the shot must've hit the floor and rebounded back and hit Dermoody too because he was holding his face and not looking quite so tough when Jimmy knocked him to the ground. In fact, he just looked like a sad old man, covered in fake-looking blood.

  THE SHOWDOWN

  I don't care if it was two against one essentially, I'd've bet on Jimmy ten times out of ten. I think it was just the look on his face as he set his body between the two men and slightly bent his knees, kept his hands up, open palmed. A look of crystal-clear determination wrinkled his chin around the duct tape and bloody chin patch that made him look tougher than I'd ever seen him. Stay out of this. That's what his eyes told me.

  So I lingered where I was, behind the table that Dermoody had been on when we rushed in. Every part of me wanted to steam in on Cap'n Joe and clip him from behind before he even saw me coming. I had plenty of room to do it in. But I didn't.

  Tables had been pushed away from the entrance leaving a big open area, apart from the bodies. I had a strange feeling then. That was for sure, standing in the cafeteria and seeing bodies on the floor and somehow trying to merge it with the same big room I'd spent some part of almost every day in for the last two years. They had to be fake, those bodies. Even though I'd seen it happen, they couldn't be real, could they? Melinda wasn't really dead. Right? My gut knew the truth. My brain just hadn't caught up yet. Guns didn't make any sense to me. How they could kill without effort.

  I could see right out the big glass entryway, the six black-trimmed bulletproof doors, and into the quad. And there was something strange going on because there was no one in it. It was absolutely deserted. Pretty much the only sign that someone had been there was my dripped bloodstains on the concrete right by the flagpole. Probably left a good bit of skin on that metal rope too.

  It gets dark real early in the winter and twilight was ending outside. What was more, it was snowing and had been doing so for about five minutes if I had to guess by the real light dusting on the big, squared-off sections of concrete. Bound to be a heavy one, most likely. At least, judging by what I could see of the fading sky. The dark gray clouds that were floating in low and bloated, like a bunch of B-52s, heavy with a cargo of moisture that would freeze as soon as it left the millions of tiny bomb bay doors and dropped to the ground to accumulate instead of explode. It'd be a hard, dry snow. Especially with the sun gone.

  It occurred to me that Cap'n Joe was like most big men as he lumbered into position across from Jimmy. One little scratch and they were worthless for the rest of the fight. I mean, there he was, all of six foot eight and way over two hundred pounds, cradling his broken wrist and hand like it was a kitten that needed to be prote
cted at all costs and not something that would heal eventually. Jimmy knew this. All it would take was a feint to get Cap'n Joe to spin away and not go through with a planned move.

  If there was anyone to be worried about, it was Dermoody, big and angry, having picked himself up off the floor. His fighting style was completely unorthodox. Which is not to say that it was bad, because it wasn't. If he had anything going for him, it was unpredictability. He lined up like a boxer. His strengths were throwing and holds. Jimmy just needed to make sure he didn't get close enough to get thrown. Not a problem.

  It started quickly. As far as Cap'n Joe was concerned, Jimmy was merciful. He faked like he was going after Dermoody and then spun and paralyzed Cap'n Joe. So quick. Just like that. I mean, I was behind Cap'n Joe and I thought Jimmy was just punching him real fast but then the big guy stopped moving and I knew exactly what'd happened.

  That was it. Only him and Dermoody then. It wasn't even a fair fight. Dermoody, all bleeding from his cheek and squinting, kept lunging forward and trying to grab Jimmy. But my cousin was too quick, skipping to the side and unloading on his kidneys, chopping his neck. Jimmy dodged an awkward punch and swept behind Dermoody, kicking his legs out, dragging him to what was left of Melinda's body and smothering his face in her still-flowing blood like a dog owner would do to a puppy when trying to train it not to pee in the house.

  He shoved Dermoody's nose in it and the warm liquid must've gone up into his nostrils when he tried to breathe and he had to cough the flecks and lumps of bone or organ out. But the slightly metallic taste must've lingered on his tongue. Just like the taste of Cue's blood and spinal fluid cocktail surged on the crease in mine. How it seemed connected to the nightmares I'd had every night, and every morning I'd awaken with the same taste in my mouth. Like it never went away. But I couldn't let it take over me. I had to stay focused. Present.

  Jimmy hauled Dermoody to his feet. It was still a sight seeing such a small guy drag people bigger than him around. Dermoody's last words before Jimmy froze him were aimed at me with big pleading eyes like he wasn't even the same person that pulled the trigger earlier: "Don't you want to be free, Jen?" And then he was a human statue.

  I closed the distance between us and spat in his face. The mucus I summoned up dragged a path down his cheek, like a slug, revealing his mottled skin underneath Melinda's blood. This killer was going to get what he deserved. I pawed the shotgun up from the floor and lunged for Dermoody clumsily, fishing in his -p^NWl^ back pocket for the shells, the yellow ones. Then I cracked open the stock, tipped out the empties, and tried desperately to shove the new shells in just like I'd seen my beloved principal do. Took me four tries before I got them using the back of my numb left hand.

  "No, Jenny, please." Jimmy's voice sounded so normal compared to the rest of him. His face was contorted all up and his knees and forearms were coated with a thickening mess of Melinda's blood. The cougar and the letters on his shirt weren't even visible anymore. For the most part, it looked like he was wearing a red shirt and red shorts. I couldn't believe it was the same person that had just mashed Dermoody's face into the reddest part of the floor.

  "Dammit, Jimmy, you fuckin' heard him! How's he ever going to be punished? They're going to call him a hero for defending the school and he's fuckin' right." I was screaming the words, I didn't know where it came from, all of sudden I couldn't stop the anger in me. "If Ridley's gone and he stays, the students'll be worse off than we ever were before! He's got to go!"

  "You still can't do this," Jimmy said. He held up crimson palms. Like that was going to convince me.

  "But no one else will!" My words were shrill, it didn't even feel like me talking, like something had been opened inside and was talking for me. "How can you fuckin' say that? Donnie is deader than a bucket of shit because of you, and probably a few more people too, and now one of the people that deserves it the most isn't going to get it? Fuck that, I'll do it myself!"

  Jimmy swiped the gun from me so easily. I think I kind of wanted him to. With my hands the way they were, I could never have pulled the trigger. Not even with a thumb. It was physically impossible. All the drama wasn't strictly for Dermoody. I knew it. He was just a nice unmoving target. It was for everything, everyone. It would've been for never seeing my mom again, for never being able to see my brother again, for only seeing my father having control over half a body, for the storm of confusion that was Jimmy good and bad, for the stupid terrible fuck-up that was me.

  That was when one of the doors to the quad opened behind us. Like a bad surprise. Like a fuckin' gameshow. And what do we have behind door number two? Why, the mystery guest, of course! He's head of the Whips! He's acting like a vulture, waiting for others to do his dirty work! He's cleaning up the mess, tying up loose ends, because Ridley told him to! Would those of you who can still clap please give a warm round of applause for ... Bruiser Calderón!

  Jimmy and I both jumped back at the same time, ready to defend ourselves. Jimmy pointed the gun at him but Bruiser just put his hands up.

  "You goin' after Ridley? Good. Go right ahead, kids. Don't let me stop you. I got a feeling his time is up." He entered the cafeteria and held the door open for us to walk through and out. Into the snow.

  When he saw we weren't taking him up on his offer, he backed off and let the door close with him inside. He left two wet boot prints on the tile.

  "Don't worry, I'll take care of them," he said.

  Jimmy must've believed him because he broke open the stock and dropped the shells onto the ground, kicked them away underneath a far table. Then he set the gun on the floor and we backed toward the doors. It seemed like a hell of a risk to me with Bruiser right there. But as soon as the gun was unloaded and down, Bruiser stopped paying attention to us. Besides, if he was gonna do us in, it sure as hell wouldn't be by gun.

  "Yoo hoo." Bruiser dipped his shoulder as he said it to Dermoody. "Remember me? ¿Recuerda mi hermano metior? Remember what you did to him? I know you can hear me, jefe. I could hear everything when I was like that too. That's why this is gonna hurt a whole lot worse. ¡Vas a sufrir mucho dolor y entonces una muerte fantastical. Because you'll know it's coming."

  Bruiser leaned close and whispered the last part right into Dermoody's ear just as jimmy dragged me out the door and the air, below freezing, slid over my wounds, making me forget how hot they were for a moment. Like a clear plastic bag. Like that boy in the bubble.

  ACROSS THE QUAD

  We trudged out into the snow, nearly a quarter-inch deep. We did it fast. Like we were running away. Not sure what to expect. What was Bruiser going to do? Was he going to come after us with the gun once he did whatever he had to do to Dermoody and Cap'n Joe? It didn't look like it. The second we left it was like we were never there. Bruiser was talking to them, those statues, moving his mouth, strutting as he picked up each shell that Jimmy had kicked. I could only look behind me as we made our way across the quad, at Bruiser as he put the shells in the shotgun and dipped his shoulder, threw his head back, laughed. I was a water skier cruising on the wake of Jimmy's speedboat. I didn't even turn around when I heard fighting in front of me. I couldn't look away from the scene in the cafeteria.

  Jimmy punched throats. Jimmy kicked ribs. I could hear it. I could see the bodies fall past me like broken mannequins failing miserably at making decent snow angels. Jimmy froze them: ice sculptures. But I still couldn't tear my eyes away from the rectangular glass entryway. In the dark, it looked like a fluorescent strip of light boxes, all lined up in a row, pouring yellow out the cafeteria entrance and into the quad around me and illuminating the falling snow. Bruiser wiped the stock of the gun, then the barrel, then the trigger with his shirt. He was getting smaller as I got farther away. The whole scene was. I couldn't tell if he was smiling anymore.

  I barely felt the snow on my skin, on my hair, melting and joining my sweat. The thought of running away, running home, only briefly occurred to me as the shrinking Bruiser twisted the gun into Dermoody'
s hand and aimed it right at Cap'n Joe. Then POW. Even through two barriers of bulletproof glass and some twenty yards or more of distance, I could hear it like a muffled sonic boom: Cap'n Joe went over on a right angle, a tipped-over nutcracker.

  Bruiser wasted no time pointing the shotgun up, maneuvering it into Dermoody's mouth, still smoking, had to be. I winced, imagining a burning hot gun barrel in my mouth, blistering my lips immediately. It would sink into my gums like that hot knife and that butter. Some things had to be seen all the way through to the end. That was my thought when tiny Bruiser must've pushed his finger into tiny Dermoody's finger and pulled the tiny trigger that I couldn't even see anymore, just had to imagine was there, and then Dermoody lost the top part of his head and then rocked but just kind of stayed standing up like an inflatable bop bag. The gun dropped to the floor beside him. Then Bruiser sat down on the bench of one of the tables.

  It was like watching a play. I expected the bright yellow rectangle of lights across the quad to go out, click off, or fade down so I could be a regular audience member and clap and thank god that the tour-de-fuckin'-force was over and I could go home and purposely not think about the shit I saw. But when I heard the sound of Jimmy throwing open the door to the theater building, heard metal slam hard against brick, I knew we still had one more act.

  THE BRASS SECTION

  I still hadn't completely regained my composure when we entered the drama building. But then I got wrecked. My head caught a blow right above and behind my ear: right in my parietal, right in my Germany. It definitely rang in my ears, deep down, both of them. I must've been holding my head. I was probably on the floor. Didn't really notice the difference between up and down for a moment. Was just trying to find my Rhineland.

  Then Jimmy was next to me. "You okay?"

  "I'm okay." I shook my melon before I said it. Everything appeared to be in the right place. Checked my head. I wasn't bleeding. Nothing was loose.