by Gin Jones
There were only two cars in the massive parking lot when they arrived. Helen recalled seeing them before, after everyone else had been sent home by the police, so they probably belonged to Kolya and his office manager.
Mia was loitering outside the entrance as if prepared to hunt down anyone who drove into the parking lot, even if they were lost and turning around, so she could drag them out of their cars and into the studio. She certainly wasn't outside to enjoy the weather, not with the sun beating down on the dark asphalt, and her otherwise pale face tinged with the telltale pink that would soon turn into a painful sunburn.
Helen convinced Mia to come in out of the direct sun, although she would only agree to teaching a Tai Chi lesson, not a punching bag session. After fifteen minutes of the lesson, though, it became obvious that neither instructor nor student was getting into the flow of the movements.
Mia huffed in irritation. "This isn't working. The heat is distracting us."
"The heat wave can't continue much longer," she said, as if she believed that was the real source of Mia's distraction. Admittedly, the ceiling fans and transom windows did little to dissipate the hot, humid air in the gym, even with both of the loading dock doors open partway, but the temperature wasn't noticeably different today than on Helen's previous visits. She thought it was much more likely that Mia was worried about the future of the House of Sambo and its owner. She'd been glancing at the entrance every few minutes, apparently looking for new arrivals that never appeared. The place couldn't stay open for long without active members.
"I've got an idea. Wait over there." Mia pointed at the far end of the room where the punching bag hung near the loading dock doors, and then jogged off in the opposite direction toward her office.
She quickly returned with a pair of hot pink padded gloves. Instead of being shaped like a mitten, they had separate openings for each finger. She slipped them on Helen's hands. The openings that probably would have ended just short of Mia's fingernails extended slightly beyond the tips of Helen's smaller fingers.
"We use these mostly for sparring, but they'll work for a little light punching, and maybe that will get enough adrenaline pumping for us to not notice the heat." Mia adjusted the wrist straps and then took hold of Helen's hips to move her into position in front of the punching bag.
Helen started to take a step nearer her target, convinced she'd miss otherwise, but Mia held her back. "Not too close. You need to rotate your hips when you throw your punch, and that will bring you within striking distance."
"Like this." Mia demonstrated the move without putting any force behind it, since she wasn't wearing gloves, so her hand simply came to rest against the covering of the bag. "Try the movement once without putting any of your weight behind it."
This was ridiculous, Helen thought. She shouldn't need to be taught how to hit something. All she wanted to do was vent some of her irritability. It should come naturally. Didn't toddlers strike out in anger without having to be taught how to do it? And what about the driver of the pickup that had hit her car the other day? He hadn't needed to practice before he'd angrily kicked and punched his own truck.
Still, she trusted Mia's teaching. Helen went through the motions of twisting and reaching for the punching bag, only to overbalance when her bad hip didn't rotate as smoothly as Mia's.
"Maybe you should be a tiny bit closer to the bag," Mia conceded, moving Helen forward an inch.
Helen repeated the move and this time she was able to connect with the bag. Barely.
"That's it," Mia said. "This time, put some weight behind it. Not too much, though. You'll need to work up to that. And get heavier gloves."
Helen took a deep breath and punched the bag. There was the lightest of thuds, probably not audible to anyone but herself.
Mia stifled a laugh. "I thought you had a lot of anger to vent."
"I thought so too."
"Go ahead and try again," Mia said. "Pretend it's the guy who hit your car the other day."
Helen stared at the bag. It was actually shaped a bit like Van Taylor. A solid cylinder with short, wide straps at the top that made it look like the bag came to a point, sort of like the man's disproportionately small head did above the musclebound body. Seeing him in the bag didn't really make her feel any more inclined to hit it, but Mia was a good instructor and knew what she was doing, so maybe it would help.
Helen concentrated on the moments right after the accident, when Van had been hurling all sorts of foul language toward her car. She'd already confirmed by then that she and Jack were uninjured, and she hadn't been afraid of the other driver. She hadn't even been particularly angry until she'd considered the possibility that Jack would be blamed for the accident.
There, that was good motivation for punching the Van-shaped bag. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the image of the man's tantrum, rotated her hips, and hit the bag. If anything, the impact was even lighter than before.
Hitting things wasn't anywhere near as much fun as she'd thought it would be.
"Perhaps you need a different motivation," Mia said. "Let's try this. Imagine the bag is someone who's trying to kill you, and if you can hit him hard enough, right here in the solar plexus—" she tapped her own chest in the appropriate spot and then the comparable target on the bag "—he'll stop to catch his breath and you'll be able to run away."
Helen didn't have to work all that hard to imagine someone trying to kill her. In fact, it was an experience—several experiences, actually—that she usually tried to forget. It was harder to picture herself using physical strength in those situations. Still, she trusted Mia's instruction and tried to form the picture in her mind.
"Breathe in," Mia said. "Now let your breath out evenly as you throw your punch."
Helen tried, but breathing intentionally while doing something else was harder than it sounded. The impact of her fist on the bag produced a thud that was only marginally louder than before. And it still managed to jar her shoulder uncomfortably. She reached up to rub it, bumping it with the padded glove she'd forgotten she was wearing on her left hand. She thought that inadvertent impact on herself had been harder than what she'd done to the punching bag.
"Perhaps we should work on your core strength for at least a few more days and then try this again later." Mia helped remove the first glove. "After all, good things come to those who wait."
"Not in my experience," Helen said, allowing some of her frustration with not even being able to hit things properly to seep into her tone. "All of the successes in my life have come from setting well-defined goals and then working hard to meet them."
Mia didn't seem to hear. Her gaze had drifted to the other end of the studio where Kolya had just emerged from his office. He started in their direction, only to be stopped by a pair of young men coming through the main entrance. Kolya glanced toward Mia, and then turned to talk with the newcomers.
Helen used her still-gloved left hand to get Mia's attention, tapping her upper arm. "Waiting passively won't get you closer to Kolya."
Mia blushed as she caught Helen's hand and began removing the second glove. "Relationships aren't like other things in life, the things that you plan for and work at. You only find love when you stop looking."
"That's silly," Helen said, although it did strike her that she hadn't been looking for love when she'd met Tate. On the other hand, neither of them had wasted any time pining over the other one, waiting to be noticed. They'd just been open with each other, and that had been enough. At least until recently. "If Kolya won't make the first move, then you have to."
"You mean like Danica did?" Mia shuddered. "I can't. I'm not like her."
"You shouldn't try to be like her. Just be yourself and let him know you're interested in him," Helen said. "Wait, did Danica really make a move on Kolya?"
"She had a thing for muscular guys. Especially the ones who weren't easy to catch. Married or just not interested."
"But that doesn't apply to Kolya, does it? He isn't
married, is he?"
"No, he's not." Mia absently adjusted the Velcro tabs on the gloves so they weren't sticking out loose. "He told me once that when he first moved here, a woman offered to marry him as an easy path to American citizenship."
From the way the female staff at the nursing home flirted with Kolya, she doubted the offer had been entirely altruistic. Helen had never been tempted to do anything rash in the name of love—she and her ex-husband had fallen in love quickly and with little drama, and had fallen out of love with equally little fuss—but she'd heard plenty of people excuse foolish behavior by saying they'd done it for love. Mostly, they'd been relatively little things, like unwise financial decisions or moving in with someone prematurely. But she could easily imagine someone entering into a marriage of convenience under the influence of infatuation. And then there was the ultimate in bad behavior sometimes committed in the name of love: murder of either a rival or someone who was a threat to the object of affection.
Helen didn't think Mia would physically attack a rival, since she seemed willing to sit back and wait to be noticed rather than telling Kolya how she felt and stopping the rival that way. Helen was less certain about whether Mia might have acted rashly in order to save Kolya from someone she considered dangerous to his wellbeing. How worried had she been about the abusive, hotheaded Danica's interest in Kolya?
"From what I know of Kolya," Helen said, "I don't think he'd be tempted by anyone who was as superficial as Danica was. And he'd never be part of anything illegal like a fake marriage for immigration purposes."
"No, of course not." Mia adjusted the straps on the second glove. "He did tell me the institution of marriage was too important for him to enter into it for financial gain."
"Then why would Danica think he was unavailable and therefore worth chasing after?"
Mia glanced over at where Kolya was finishing his demonstration and then lowered her voice. "Everyone thinks he's got a secret lover. Because he's not seeing anyone around here, and he takes week-long vacations every four months, like clockwork, presumably to see the lover. We just don't know why it's such a big secret."
"Mia." Kolya's deep, lightly accented voice carried across the open space, making it sound like he was just a few inches away instead of at the opposite end of the studio.
Mia started and her blush deepened. She leaned forward to whisper, "Don't say anything to him. Please."
* * *
Helen was saved from making any promises by the arrival of Kolya.
He jogged to a stop beside Mia to tell her, "We need the locksmith. And the security company. Someone has jimmied the emergency exit's lock again, and now the alarm is broken too."
"We were just finishing up here," Mia said, still blushing. "I can go make the calls right now."
"You should talk to Marty Reed," Helen suggested. "He installed my security system, and I saw him here the other day, so you must have his contact information in your records."
Mia trotted off, and Kolya watched her go with an expression that Helen thought perfectly matched Mia's glances at him whenever she thought he wasn't looking.
"Tell her how you feel," Helen said.
Kolya shook himself and turned his back on the disappearing Mia. "I am sorry. What did you say?"
"Ask her out on a date." Helen started across the gym toward the locker rooms.
"I cannot." Kolya fell into step beside her, keeping to her slow pace.
"Why not?"
"I am her boss. I have been advised it would be harassment."
"Not if you're open with her," Helen said. "Just tell her that whatever she decides, it won't affect her job."
He laughed dryly. "Yes, that is classic trick. Like telling someone not to think of the pink elephant, and then all she can think of is pink elephants. If she is not afraid I would sexually harass her before I mention it, she will be after I say it."
Helen wanted to tell him it was only harassment if the other person wasn't already mooning over him, but revealing Mia's crush on him would be stepping over a line that only teens could cross with impunity. She settled for saying, "You're making it more complicated than it needs to be."
"Perhaps I will send for the matchmakers later," he said. "She will not be my employee for long if no one comes to my studio. At present, half of my clients are afraid of the police watching them, and the other half are afraid of what might happen when the police are not watching. The sooner everyone can forget about the unfortunate situation with Danica, the better."
Helen considered what she could and couldn't say without breaking her promise to Almeida now that he had been the one to bring up the subject of Danica's death. She thought it was safe to say, "The police might not visit so often if you hired an attorney to speak for you."
"That is not necessary," Kolya said. "I have nothing to hide, and I have told the detective everything I know about Danica's sad death. I do not know who killed her or why."
Helen knew she should let the subject drop. Just keep walking, take her shower, and leave.
She couldn't do it. She owed him for helping to save her life once, and she couldn't just stand by while he got himself arrested. She could encourage him to do the right thing, and she wouldn't have to mention Danica directly or do anything else that might be considered interference with an ongoing investigation.
She stopped about halfway to the hallway that led to the locker rooms, and turned to face him. "If you're not going to hire a lawyer who can speak for you, then you have to tell the police everything they need to know to rule you out as the killer."
He frowned. "I did not kill her. I have told them that."
"It's not that simple. They can't just take your word for it. You need to either answer everything or—" what Tate usually advised her "—not answer anything at all. Anything in between makes you seem suspicious."
Kolya glanced at the two young men who'd changed and begun sparring nearby. For a moment, Helen thought he was going to claim they needed his help as an excuse to end the conversation.
Eventually, though, he turned back to her. "The young woman detective keeps asking me about my vacations. They have nothing to do with Danica."
"I'm sure they don't," Helen said, "but, again, they can't just believe you without evidence."
"No. It is America, not Soviet Union. I have freedom to travel." As if to demonstrate, he abandoned Helen and went over to supervise the two young men sparring nearby.
He'd made it clear there was nothing more Helen could do or say at the moment to change his mind, so she continued in the direction of the hallway that led to the locker room. Perhaps later, she'd be able to convince him that the stubborn exercise of a freedom, just because it existed, wasn't always wise. In addition to the freedom to travel, Kolya also had the freedom to stick to his principles and remain silent while he was convicted of a crime he didn't commit.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
On the other hand, Helen thought before she'd even taken two steps toward the hallway, she wouldn't mind terribly much if Danica's sparring partner, Ronny West was convicted of a crime, guilty or not.
He had just come through the main entrance, a petulant expression visible on his face even from twenty feet away. His injured right arm was in a sling, with his shoulder wrapped in an ACE bandage, clearly visible since he wore a tight, black tank top.
Helen stopped beside the entrance to the locker room hallway to see what Ronny would do.
"Zubov." Ronny's voice was even more gratingly whiney than the day Danica had died. "The doctors at the hospital said I have to drop out of the competition."
"I am sorry to hear that," Kolya said gravely, without any indication that he found Ronny's tone as irritating as Helen did. He abandoned the young men on the sparring mat and walked over to intercept Ronny near where Helen loitered as inconspicuously as she could. Sometimes being easy to overlook came in handy.
Ronny just stood there for several long moments before finally saying, "You're not the one I want
an apology from. It's Danica who owes me."
Now that Ronny was closer, Helen could see that his petulant expression was limited to the set of his facial muscles, but didn't extend to his eyes. They were unfocused, the pupils dilated and the lids drooping, suggesting he was under the influence of something. He didn't slur his words, but she had to wonder if his delay in responding to Kolya had been because he was having trouble thinking clearly.
"The shoulder will heal," Kolya said. "And there will be more competitions."
"More competitions?" Ronny sounded confused, and there was a pause while he took the time to parse the words he'd echoed. Then he said, "Maybe. Maybe not. Could be permanent damage. I knew my shoulder was messed up when I couldn't even move it enough to get undressed to take a shower after our session on Monday. I went straight from here to the hospital, and it was already so swollen the nurse had to cut my shirt off. It was my favorite too."
"Do not borrow the trouble," Kolya said. "I will work with you when you are ready for rehabilitation."
"I might never be ready." His tone changed from a whine to sharper anger as he continued. "And it's all Danica's fault. I'm seeing a lawyer about suing her. And I want her permanently banned."
"That will not be possible," Kolya said.
"Why are you taking her side?"
"I am not," Kolya said. "It is simple fact. I cannot ban a dead person."
"I still—" Ronny stopped abruptly. "Wait. What? Danica is dead?"
Kolya nodded.
There was another long pause before Ronny said, "No, she can't be."
It shouldn't have taken that long for him to articulate his surprise, Helen thought. An honestly startled reaction should have been faster than that. On the other hand, if he'd only been pretending not to know about Danica's death, his impaired brain might have needed extra time to figure out the right thing to say.
