Good Girl Bad Girl

by Ann Girdharry

  “Hey! Look out!” A shout rang out, bouncing from the grey walls.

  The call came from the other end of the alley and sounded young, like an adolescent. Kal swivelled. From the far end, two teenagers were sprinting towards her. In the same instant, her pursuer took off. Jettisoning her shoes, Kal catapulted after him, sprinting so fast she didn't take breath. The man was as swift as she was, fit, in peak condition and he ran like a pro. Her lungs burned and she kept it going but it was no good, he was away. Shit! At the end of the alley, Kal punched the air and pulled to a stop.

  “Damn you!” she shouted into thin air.

  She didn't even get to see his face.

  The two teenagers ran up to her. One of the boys had an array of nose piercings and he was out of breath.

  “Are you okay? That guy was after you. You shouldn't come down here. It's dangerous.”

  The second boy wore a hoodie and he had a long, thin scar down his cheek, probably a souvenir from a knife fight. The two of them looked like archetypal hoodlums and here they were thinking they’d saved her from a mugging. Kal made a huge effort not to vent her anger.

  “Gosh, lads, thanks.”

  She felt like screaming. Felt like pummelling her fists into something and smashing it to pieces. Felt like keeping going until her knuckles bled. The chances were slipping through her fingers. Her mistakes were costing her time she didn’t have.

  The boys insisted on walking back to retrieve her shoes and afterwards, with gritted teeth, Kal even let them escort her to the end of the alley.

  ***

  Kal went down to the main road to take a bus back to 701. As she approached the bus stop, a man stood up and gave her his seat, careful not to make eye contact. The elderly woman on the bench inched away. Then a toddler took one look in Kal’s direction and burst into tears. She realised then that she couldn’t keep it in, of course, half-bottled fury and tension must be cascading off her like water. She’d screwed it up - let her best bet at gaining information slip from her grasp.

  Likewise, on the bus, people gave her a wide berth and Kal spent the ride reflecting. There was one person she could confide in, Marty, her old girl friend and martial arts training partner. Arriving back at the apartment, Kal kicked the door viciously shut and took out her mobile. Marty’s number went to answerphone.

  “Hi, Marty, it's me. If you're around give me a call. I'm in town.”

  By the time she walked to the main room, Marty called back.

  “Great to hear from you. How're you doing?”

  “Mum's gone missing. Someone's stalking me. And I’m in danger of losing it.”

  There was a brief silence.

  “When should we meet?” Marty said.

  “Straight away and if I don’t get a good kung fu session, I’m going to do something I regret. Can we meet at the training centre?”

  Chapter Eleven

  It had been a huge old wardrobe, grand and heavy and large enough for a small boy to crawl inside with ease.

  Every Saturday evening, the boy hid there, ready to watch the spectacle. He crouched, breathing in mothballs and heat and dust. The anticipation made him salivate. Did his father know? The boy wasn’t sure. At times, he thought his father performed for him - writhed and twisted and groaned for his audience. At others, the man became so transfixed his glazed eyes showed nothing but ecstasy.

  And they never spoke of it.

  It was this Saturday night that changed everything. A crescent moon night. Silvery light glanced onto the bed and in the middle of his father’s groans the boy had seen a shadow step through the window. The shadow crept silently. It bent. A quick glint of metal against his father’s throat. And with one stroke, the boy’s father slumped on the covers, his head almost severed. Blood gushed out. Cascaded onto the floor. The boy saw it all. Knew his father had looked up and in a split second faced his own death. And like a coward the boy stayed hidden, wetting himself, hunched amongst the coats and his father’s smartly pressed trousers.

  Chapter Twelve

  Tucked along a suburban street in the midst of a row of houses, her old training centre had a new sign. It read, ‘Kung Fu and Self Defence - Master LeeMing Yeu’. It had been her club for years, from age six all the way to age twenty. Now, evidently, they had a new lead trainer.

  A ramp led to where twin red dragons decorated each side of a swing doorway. The dragons’ fire-breathing heads met in the middle. Marty waited at the top of the ramp, with her hair cropped short and wearing those loopy, silver earrings that suited her so well. Kal’s heart gave a skip. They’d met at the kung fu club in their primary school years and become firm friends right from the start. Without Marty Kal would never have made it through adolescence. Not in one piece anyway. Her weird father, his death, Kal’s habit of rubbing kids up the wrong way and always feeling like an outsider - Marty could always calm her down. Could always cut to the chase with no bullshit and she’d lost count of the number of times Marty talked sense into her. Just seeing Marty standing there made everything more bearable. A characteristic frown creased her friend’s forehead.

  Kal gave Marty a long hug. Or was it the other way around? That Marty hugged her, whilst she sagged? They’d reported her mother missing twenty-four hours ago. It seemed like a lifetime. In Marty’s arms, the knot in Kal’s diaphragm loosened and it felt as if weight lifted from her shoulders. She had to rip herself away.

  “What the hell’s happened? You said Alesha’s in trouble? You'd better fill me in, and if some oink is following you, never mind the ethics, I'll tackle them,” Marty said.

  “I tried that already. I screwed up and they got away. If I don’t hit something soon my brain’s gonna fry.”

  “You wanna talk first?”

  “I can’t.”

  The frown on Marty’s brow deepened. “Okay, hard session then we talk.”

  Both beyond Black Sash level, she and Marty trained side by side, coming up the ranks together. They’d both competed in the regional Championships. Kal had one winner’s cup but Marty had three and Marty had gone on several times to compete in the national Championships. Now Marty poked Kal in the stomach.

  “Maybe you’ve gone soft,” Marty said, her pearly teeth contrasting with her black skin.

  “No. It’s complicated. Mum’s disappeared and it seems she had a serious love interest. I'll fill you in straight after.”

  From the taut musculature Kal felt in the hug, it was clear Marty kept herself in excellent shape, despite having a demanding position on the security team at Wimbledon Lawn Tennis Association.

  “Okay,” said Marty, “and do me a favour and tell me the truth - have you missed me?”

  Kal couldn’t miss the double bluff. Marty feigned sounding piqued, which meant she was, and most likely much more than she pretended. At one time, the two of them had been inseparable.

  “Of course I have.”

  “I dropped a hot date to meet you,” Marty said.

  In the past, that would’ve made Kal jealous and perhaps it still did.

  Two other students came up the ramp and squeezed by to push through the dragon doors.

  “I need your help, Marty, I can’t get a grip on what’s going on. Things are sliding away, like I’m scrabbling to catch up with something that’s already way out of range.” And the feeling in her gut kept getting worse and worse - her instincts were screaming at her.

  “Doesn’t sound like you, shit, you’re serious, aren’t you? And if you need that mat session we'd better get a move on, LeeMing hates people turning up late.”

  The training room was just as Kal remembered - light and airy and the floor carpeted wall to wall with padded mats. Well-kept, clean, treated with respect, it had been her second home. This was a place where she could let all her frustrations fly. A two-hour session of kung fu would clear her system. She could spill her sweat and her emotions onto the mat. If she didn’t, Kal didn’t know what would happen.

  Other students were already coming
out of the changing rooms.

  “What's the new lead trainer like?”

  “He's not bad.”

  Scant on compliments, a ‘not bad' from Marty meant he must be pretty damn good.

  She and Marty were the only members from the old days on the mat. A few minutes into the warm up, a young man, a similar age to them both, came out of the changing area. LeeMing Yeu, she presumed. He had the lithe build and fine features Kal associated with Chinese ancestry.

  She’d been expecting an older man like their previous trainer. A senior. Someone to look up to, not someone attractive. Kal threw a wordless question at Marty, and Marty pursed her lips and shrugged.

  A sleeveless top flattered LeeMing’s chest and shoulders. On his way to the front, he glanced in Kal’s direction, showing his striking, green eyes. Without speaking, LeeMing began circling his arms and wrists in typical tai chi preparation exercises. Interesting. She'd cross-trained in tai chi herself. In the last few years, she’d even spent time learning the Japanese martial discipline of aikido - which had increased her versatility. LeeMing must cross-train too. Several of the more advanced kung fu Masters were adept in all the Chinese schools - from wing chung to kick-boxing, to tai chi and weapons work. She wondered which would be his specialism.

  “Good evening, everyone,” LeeMing said, and then addressing Kal, he added, “and welcome.”

  Like her previous trainer, LeeMing moved with fluidity, each movement flowing into the next. Kal found his combination of physical prowess and grace enthralling, and despite herself, wondered if he had a girlfriend. The warm up routine LeeMing expected them to follow wasn’t for beginners, and her thoughts interfered with her concentration, so that in an extreme yoga stretch she lost her balance and landed on her backside. Marty shot her a glance which she pretended not to notice.

  After the stretches, the group worked together on their ‘Form’ – a long, set sequence where the practitioner turns in a pre-destined direction for each strike or block. The Form had long been Kal’s favourite means of training. Stamina, balance and relaxation were key and that meant letting go of the crush of thoughts in the mind.

  During the Form, LeeMing circulated to correct them, and several times he kept the whole class fixed at one point in the sequence. Finally, LeeMing kept them in a wide, ultra-low squat stance for what seemed an eternity. By this point, the exertion made Kal’s legs shake. With each tremble, sweat dripped from her brow. This epitomised her love of martial arts - that final stretch to increase your capacity, your endurance. She counted the seconds, keeping her eyes trained on the distance as her thigh muscles burned and her system rebalanced itself, boiling off the anguish of the last twenty-four hours. LeeMing came alongside.

  “Relax,” he said, “don’t fight it.”

  She caught the scent of his aftershave.

  With the practise of the Form over, they moved on to work in partners for combat work. Kal teamed up with Marty.

  “Marty’s our most advanced student,” LeeMing warned her.

  Kal took several turns attacking Marty, and Marty dealt efficiently with each assault, the final time landing Kal flat on her back. As Kal rolled to her feet, LeeMing came over and pointed at her.

  “Change around,” he said, “now you take the defensive position.”

  Kal tugged down her judo-style, long sleeves and top. She and Marty briefly bowed to each other, Marty's face a complete picture of focus and relaxation, and Kal felt a sudden surge of pride in her friend’s expertise.

  At age eighteen, Marty received the offer of a stunt film part in America. It could’ve marked the beginning of a successful career and Kal had been gutted. Not gutted by jealousy, gutted by the idea of losing her one and only special friend. She’d made a silent promise that if Marty went to the USA, she’d follow. Give up her own studies, leave her grandmother, just take off. In the event, Marty never accepted the deal, preferring to pursue her interest in electronics. It was a couple of years before Kal told Marty about that vow, leaving it long enough so she could laugh about it instead of cry.

  Suddenly Marty attacked and Kal’s attention snapped to the present. She felt her opponent's pure muscle and weight, slightly greater than her own, bearing down on her. She countered, pivoted. Got in a blow under the ribs. Then a second to the solar plexus but it didn’t land true. With agility, Marty got in two blows to impact Kal's kidneys. Followed by a light foot strike to the outside of Kal’s calf. Kal felt her leg give way. She landed on the mat, Marty upright and positioned over her. The pulse throbbed in Marty’s dark, glossy neck as she poised to deliver what could be a deathly elbow strike to Kal's temple.

  Having gained supremacy, Marty pulled back, allowing Kal to roll up and prepare for a second assault. As Kal stood up, LeeMing motioned he wanted to take Marty’s place.

  Up close, she found LeeMing’s looks distracting - he must have mixed heritage with those lovely eyes and straight, black hair. Kal bowed briefly to LeeMing and shifted her gaze away from his face. As her eyes moved, LeeMing dived with the speed and precision of a snake, to pin both her arms to her sides in a move more like a street attack. Kal blocked one of his hands, but LeeMing got a grip on her right wrist and her counter-punch didn’t hit fully home. He’d come right inside her guard, close to her body. Classic kung fu close combat. He applied a lock to her right wrist, forcing it well beyond its natural torque. She absorbed the strain by bending with the movement, then by twisting her hips and dipping her knees. LeeMing gave her hand a vicious final wrench before releasing it and they exchanged a rapid series of strikes and upper body blocks. Pah, pah, pah. She was forced to lead with her left hand, aware of the residual weakness in her right. LeeMing restrained all his movements close to his body, forcing her to bridge the distance to reach him. Damn him. He avoided everything she threw at him, anticipating the weakness in her wrist. Sensing an opening, Kal stepped wide and low, circling behind. LeeMing countered by continuing the circular motion so that he ended up behind her with his arm locked across her neck. He inflicted a talon lock on her windpipe, his fingers gripping tight, restricting the airflow. The pressure built, threatening to implode her larynx. With a lock like that you could kill someone if you wished. Her vision filled with little dappled lights. Now she was on her knees.

  When LeeMing released the lock, Kal choked. Then he spoke right by her ear.

  “Sure you can counter attack - the thing is, I expect more. You don't know me and you were waiting to see what I could do. That was a wrong move. The key is anticipation. Go deeper inside yourself. Anticipate my first move before I even twitch a muscle. Listen to your gut. Then you'll never even need to be in a fight situation.”

  LeeMing’s green eyes looked down at her, steady and clear. Her old trainer, Master Yeung, had a look with the same neutrality, totally free of aggression. Kal felt LeeMing’s breath on the side of her face.

  “Anticipate. Stay alive,” he said.

  LeeMing stepped back. He radiated confidence and intent. A man at ease with himself. At the top of his game.

  “Carry on,” he said as he moved away.

  Marty spoke in a low voice, “Like I said, he's not bad.”

  ***

  At the end of the class, Marty congratulated her.

  “If you want my opinion, LeeMing had to work to get the better of you, in fact, you kept your end up pretty well. I'm glad to see you haven't lost your edge.”

  “Thanks for the reassurance.”

  Marty laughed. It was a frank, open laugh, the type where you tip your head back. In all her assignments around the world, Kal hadn’t found anyone to match that. Not that she'd looked very hard - Marty was a difficult act to follow. She took a drink from her water bottle. The session had been a good investment of time – she felt better. Ready to keep going.

  LeeMing was heading in her direction.

  “I guess you used to train here?” he said.

  “Yes, it was my regular club for years. I came here when I was six years old and
I've loved kung fu ever since.”

  LeeMing brushed his hair from his eyes. Far from being arrogant, he had an air of modesty.

  “My name’s Kal. Well, actually my real name is Karla but everyone calls me Kal and I prefer it, even though in India it’s a boy’s name and it got a bit awkward when a male Bollywood actor became everyone’s heartthrob. Maybe you’ve heard of him - he’s called Kal Chandra? He’s really famous, but I don’t care and…” She made herself stop. She was blathering like an idiot. Get a grip. “Are you new to London?”

  “Oh no, I was born here and I was lucky enough to have Master Yeung pass the club on to me.”

  She hoped he'd continue the conversation, maybe ask her what she did for her work, except he didn't.

  “Nice to meet you. Please feel free to come along any time you're in town,” LeeMing said, “all old members are always welcome.”

  Kal stared at his green eyes and searched for something to say, and for the second time that day, she couldn't come up with anything.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The death threat worked even better than he anticipated. Now a grown man, the boy laughed so hard it made him cry. Did Sunni think he could escape to England? Did he think he could hide in a new life? No, oh no, that was never going to happen. That scum would suffer.

  Sunni boarded up the windows. His wife didn’t leave the house for weeks. Their lives changed. Became smaller and closed in - so it should be. They deserved it and they’d get it. Deserved to spend every moment looking over their shoulder, scared of the shadows, suffocating on their own fear. Yes, his threats were a stroke of genius.

  When money started to flow his way, he invested. In a man who carried out surveillance. Who documented every moment of every day, bringing back photographs and videos of the whole scum family.

  And when at last he had wealth, he invested in a second man. This second man had no name. The type to carry out your wishes without a trace.