Z’ev pulled his hand away and leaned back in his chair. But Nikki felt the withdrawal was more than just distance; his face changed as well. An expression of cool detachment dropped over him. The conversation was brief, consisting mostly of grunts and affirmations, but Nikki could see that dinner was over. He was already waving to the maitre d’, handing him his credit card.
“I have to go,” he said, tucking his wallet back into his breast pocket.
“I thought you had the evening off?” Nikki said, feeling slightly hurt.
“I did. Something’s come up.”
“Oh.”
“Do you need cash to get back to the hotel?”
“No!” she snapped, feeling offended, but unable to name the reason why.
“Sorry, Nikki,” he said. “But I’ve really got to go. Sometimes my job doesn’t really allow for a personal life.” He looked genuinely sorry for a moment, but then he walked out.
“Well, that didn’t end well. Where’s he going?” asked Val, dropping into Z’ev’s seat. Nikki stared at her in surprise.
“You’re following me?”
“Well, yeah. You didn’t really think I was just going to send a newbie out on her own, did you? Now, what’d you learn? Other than how to make googly eyes?”
“He went to the University of Arizona,” said Nikki, knowing it was extremely weak.
“Ah, the Devil Dogs,” said Val.
“Devil Dogs are Marines. You’re thinking of the Sun Devils, which is Arizona State. He went to the University of Arizona, and they’re Wildcats.”
“At least I didn’t waste a whole dinner to find that out, and at least my dates don’t walk out on me.”
“I don’t think he is up to anything,” Nikki said defensively. “I think he’s just a lawyer working with some weird guys. If he’s doing anything, it’s trying to figure out what that Victor and Sarkassian are up to.”
“Uh-huh. Yeah, right. Wake up and smell the curry, kid. He’s not just a lawyer.”
“Yes, he is,” said Nikki, throwing down her napkin and reaching a sudden decision. “And I’ll prove it to you.” She hurried to the front of the restaurant where Z’ev’s cab was just pulling away. She waved to a tuk-tuk and leaned in to negotiate.
“No!” yelled the driver, pointing at her in recognition.
“Hi, again,” Nikki said, recognizing the tuk-tuk driver from the elephant incident.
“What’re you going to do, kid?” Valerie asked, following her out of the restaurant. “Yell, ‘Follow that cab,’ and get into a wild chase across the city?” She made “wild chase” sound quaint.
“No!” the tuk-tuk driver repeated, hugging the steering wheel and glaring at Val.
“Maybe,” said Nikki. “What do you care? You wanted me to find out about him. So I’ll find out about him.”
“Determined to prove me wrong?” Val smirked in amusement, which only infuriated Nikki more.
“Yes,” she answered, which would have flunked her if she were still being graded on witty repartee. She turned back to the tuk-tuk, but the driver hugged the wheel more fiercely.
“OK, OK, you drive, but I want to follow him.” She pointed at Z’ev’s quickly disappearing cab. The driver looked suspiciously at the cab, but didn’t release the steering wheel. “Umm . . .” Nikki mentally rifled through the phrase book, trying to remember something useful. She couldn’t believe she was actually going to do this. Why did Val always have to be one step ahead of her? “Thaim laung ta-xi caun naun.” (Follow that cab.)
The driver screwed up his face in concentration, either considering her Thai or her request, then he jerked a thumb at the backseat.
“Keep in contact, Red,” Val said as Nikki jumped into the tuk-tuk. “Try not to do anything too stupid.”
The driver revved his engine and zoomed into traffic with a reckless abandon that sent Nikki spilling backward into her seat. She clutched the metal railing and hoped Z’ev wouldn’t notice her driver’s exuberance. She glanced back at Val, who was leaning against the awning post. Nikki waved, but Val was already turning away.
Nikki bit her lip and turned back to concentrate on her driver’s efforts. She hoped Val wasn’t mad at her.
Z’ev’s cab pulled up in front of a square, unassuming building about the size of a high-school gym, and Nikki’s driver pulled up a few cars back. Nikki squinted at the busy scene in front of her, uncertain of what Z’ev was doing.
“Muay Thai!” exclaimed her driver, pointing at the building and the myriad vendors and tourists outside. “Thai boxing!” He mimed punching, and Nikki nodded.
So Z’ev was going to the fights after all. Now, why couldn’t she have come along? Nikki thought about calling Val, but Z’ev was on the move again, his tall, muscular frame clearly visible as he strode through the milling crowd.
“Tickets?” asked Nikki, pointing after Z’ev.
The driver’s face lit up. Flipping off the engine, and carefully taking the keys with him, he hopped out of the tuk-tuk, beckoning Nikki to follow. He led her to a crowded plaza and pointed to where Z’ev was preparing to buy tickets. As with anywhere else in Bangkok, the building was crammed with people; it vibrated with a humming, raw energy. Z’ev was talking to a pretty girl in a traditional Thai costume. Nikki slipped her driver a tip, and with a wink, he gave her a thumbs-up before waving farewell.
Nikki hesitated before moving in on Z’ev, remembering Val’s parting words. She felt a strong urge to ignore Val’s command, but eventually she chose caution over her pride and quickly thumbed her location in a text to Val. She was certain that Z’ev was just a lawyer, but something bad could still happen.
“One ticket?” asked the pretty Thai girl. She held a roll of stickers in one hand.
“Make that two,” said Nikki, linking her arm through Z’ev’s. “He’s with me.” She handed the girl a wad of baht, and she deftly made change and slapped a sticker on each of them.
“This way,” the girl said, leading them into the mezzanine.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” Z’ev said, his voice dangerously quiet.
“And yet I am,” countered Nikki. “You said you would take me to the fights—I expect to go to the fights. Nobody ditches me in the middle of a date.” She tossed her hair as the doors opened and another girl in a Thai silk outfit gestured for them to follow her. Nikki set the pace, knowing that Z’ev would have no choice but to follow. They were led past rows of folding chairs to the very front row; it was only a few feet from the ring. A band was playing softly; the soft tap of drums and whistle of a flute echoed through the hall.
“I’m meeting someone, Nikki. You cannot be here. You have to go now.” Z’ev was wearing what might have passed for a smile from a distance, but Nikki knew it was really just a baring of teeth. He was genuinely angry. She hadn’t expected him to be this mad. Could Val have been right about him?
“Z’ev,” she said placatingly, laying a hand on his arm. “Whoever you’re meeting . . .” She paused, trying to frame a logical reason for him to let her stay. “Wouldn’t it be better to look like you had a date? There aren’t a lot of other single fight-goers here tonight.”
She watched as he looked around the room, taking in the crowd of couples, friends, and tour groups. He was hesitating. A couple walked in front of them, led to seats just down the aisle. The woman was complaining about going to something so boring and violent.
“You didn’t have to come,” the man snapped.
“And let you be here by yourself?” she snapped back. “With all the hookers? I don’t think so!”
“Look, you do your business, and I’ll just sit here and look pretty.” Nikki pasted on her best Carrie Mae smile. He had hesitated too long; she knew she had him.
“Don’t do that,” he said, leaning away from her.
“What?” she asked, tilting her head and adding a cheerful lilt to the end of the question.
“That smile scares me,” he said. “Makes me start wondering if you’v
e been invaded by the Body Snatchers.”
Nikki laughed, cracking the smile into a thousand pieces, as the first boxers entered the ring, while the referee stood, arms folded, in the center of the ring. Both fighters bowed to their respective corners and began a slow, solemn dance. The referee made no movement, but looked endlessly bored by the proceedings.
“All right,” Z’ev said, “you stay, but the second I say go, you go. And if I have to get up and leave, then you just stay put and wait for me to get back.”
“Do they always do that?” she asked, ignoring him and watching the fighters.
“Yes, it’s to show respect to the trainer and pull luck and power into themselves,” Z’ev answered. “Now, do we have a deal?”
“Yeah, sure,” Nikki agreed, feeling a guilty ping for what she was 90 percent certain would turn out to be a lie. “Can we get a program?”
For a moment she thought Z’ev was going to argue, but with a sigh he gave in.
“Sure, why not?” he asked, waving a vendor over and purchasing a program. He handed the program to Nikki, who smiled and impulsively kissed him on the cheek.
“Thanks! I’m sure this will be helpful,” she said brightly, pretending that she wasn’t nervous about his reaction. She flipped open her program, intending to bury herself in it, only to find that it was all in Thai.
Resolutely, she studied the program intently, determined to find something of value. The interior pages were filled with grainy photos of fighters and looping Thai script. The center spread was devoted to the main fight of the evening: two tough-looking men, one sporting a scar through his left eyebrow, and the other a shock of black hair that stood straight up. Z’ev leaned over her shoulder, examining the program as well. Nikki could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck and the strength of his leg pressed against hers.
“Well,” she said when she felt that someone had to say something before the moment got awkward, “I can’t understand a word of it, but the pictures are good, and I think this is where they say who’s favored in the betting.”
“Yeah, it’s here in this column,” agreed Z’ev, pointing to an inset box on the page. “That means that the guy in the green trunks is favored this match.”
They both looked back up to the ring to see if the odds would be accurate. The opening ritual had ended, and the fighters were now squaring off.
The ring was in the center of the room. Two sides had been filled with rows of folding chairs and the other two had concrete riser seating. One section had been cordoned off with a chain-link fence, and activity inside this area was fierce. Nikki decided it was the betting pool.
The fight proper had begun now, and the music switched to an up-tempo beat. Both fighters were small and wiry. They wore red and green trunks that to Western eyes looked as if they were on backward. Nikki knew it was nothing more than the fact that the Thai put writing across the front, instead of the butt of the shorts, but she couldn’t shake the feeling. The movements of the fight were quick and brutal, both fighters battering away with knees and elbows. The din of the stadium increased to a fevered pitch as the music and fight sped up. The fighters were rocking in blows now, with the sharp, stinging smack of flesh on flesh.
“Red Trunks is going to win,” predicted Nikki, drawing a strange look from Z’ev.
“Green’s got the reach,” he disagreed. “And he’s the favored man.”
“But Red has the kicks,” Nikki said, just as Red Trunks sent a roundhouse kick whistling in and landed it across Green’s temple. Green staggered backward and sat down, sprawling gracelessly upon the canvas. The ref called the fight, briefly raising Red’s arm in the air. The Green team hustled their fighter back up the ramp in a wheelchair.
“Yeesh,” said Nikki, “they didn’t even stop to wake him up—poor guy was seeing stars.”
“He’s still seeing stars,” Z’ev answered. “But they don’t waste time on seeing if you’re OK. They’ve got to get the next fight going. If you lose, it’s the Wheelchair of Defeat for you.”
“That’s not funny,” she said mid-chuckle.
“How’d you know he was going to lose?” Z’ev asked, distracting her.
“Oh, you know,” replied Nikki vaguely.
“No, I don’t,” he said, smiling, but insistent.
“I was a cheerleader in junior high and high school. You go to enough sporting events, you get good at picking the better athlete.” That was true as far as it went.
“What’d you cheer for? Football, I’ll bet.”
“Why football?” asked Nikki, puzzled.
“You knew that the U of A were the Wildcats. Plus, football always got the varsity cheerleaders. All the popular girls were on varsity. Simple equation, really.”
Was there a trace of bitterness there? She squinted at him. His analysis of her, while accurate, had revealed something about him—something he hadn’t intended to share.
“What makes you think I was popular?” she asked, challenging his rationale.
“Your underwear matches your shirt.”
Nikki blushed.
“So I’m color coordinated, that doesn’t mean I was popular,” she said primly. Z’ev was trying to hold back his smile, and Nikki laughed in spite of herself.
“Yes, it does. To be popular, you have to know how to dress. I bet you dated the quarterback.”
“Ha. No, I didn’t.” He looked skeptical. “All right, so I did date the captain of the baseball team for a bit, but it’s not the same thing.” Z’ev gave a small chuckle. “So I take it you didn’t play football?” she asked, choosing to ignore his laughter.
“No, my brother did,” he answered, shifting uncomfortably as if she’d asked something far more personal. “He was a regular all-American hero.” His tone was an odd mixture of pride and sarcasm.
Nikki was about to ask him about his high-school career when the next fight began. The sound of the band increased, and they had to shout a bit over the din of the arena.
The arena was underlit and the atmosphere was muggy and heavy with cigarette smoke and incense. Nikki knew that for proper femininity she ought to be deploring the violence or covering her eyes, but the best she could manage was to duck when sweat flew her way. Z’ev didn’t seem to notice, and in between fights, Nikki found that she was leaning comfortably into his shoulder, and the arm on the back of her chair seemed suspiciously close to being around her.
“The title fight’s up next,” Z’ev said, as two fighters marched into the ring. Scar Face and Electro Hair jostled past each other on the narrow ramp down to the ring. The audience was on their feet and cheering.
“Would you like a program, sir?” said an usher who had suddenly appeared beside Z’ev.
“No thanks,” Nikki said, looking up at the usher. “We already have one.”
“This is a special program,” said the usher, shoving the program at Z’ev. Nikki took another look at the usher and noticed that his white jacket was ill fitting—short around the wrists, tight in the biceps—and that his knuckles had the callused, scabbed look of a fighter.
Z’ev accepted the program with a nod, and the usher walked on. Nikki frowned as Z’ev began to flip through the pages. Looking around for the usher, she saw him hurrying up the ramp toward the fighters’ entrance. The title fighters were entering the ring–beginning their dance.
“I have to go now,” said Z’ev. “This is the part where you wait here until I come back?” He clearly had intended that to be a statement, but it came out as a question.
“Yes, all right,” she said, smiling, because she didn’t mean it. Val couldn’t be right about him, she would prove it.
As Z’ev hurried up the aisle, his tall figure easy to spot among the shorter Thais, Nikki heard her cell phone buzz. Digging blindly into her bag, she tried to keep one eye on the usher, who was now departing into the fighters’ area, and one eye on the rapidly disappearing Z’ev.
“Hey,” Nikki said, picking up the phone, expecting it to be V
al.
“Nikki, it’s Jane. I’ve deciphered a lot of the info you sent me from that SIM card. We’re still tracking down numbers and so forth, but we’ve come across something fairly disturbing that I think you should see. It’s a picture we found on Victor’s phone.”
A particularly resounding smack sent Scar Face to the floor, and for a moment Nikki stared directly into his face, with only a few feet separating them. The shock of eye contact made her focus on the fight.
“Jane, I’m a little busy at the moment. Can you tell all this to Val?”
“She’s not answering her phone. I’ll hang up, but I just wanted to warn you before I sent the picture.”
“Yeah, OK, send it my way,” said Nikki, looking for either Z’ev or the mysterious usher, but they were gone. She hung up the phone and threw it back into her purse. She had scooted to the edge of her seat, but was stalled temporarily, uncertain of her next move. Why wouldn’t Val answer the phone? She brushed the thought aside and tried to focus on Z’ev, ignoring the faint alarm bell in the back of her mind.
Scar Face had regained his feet and bounced back into action. Scar Boy, in her opinion, should have been spanking Electro Hair, but apparently he was having an off night because he was slow to reach for an opening and the lighter Electro Hair was walking all over him.
“So,” said Victor, suddenly sliding into the seat next to hers. “Who will be winning this one?” His dark hair was slicked back above his broad forehead and crooked nose, which gave him the air of having just slithered out of a swamp. An impression not helped any by his faux alligator skin button-up shirt with orange embroidered detailing. Nikki froze in position.
Bulletproof Mascara: A Novel Page 24
