The Girl from Wudang by PJ Caldas

The Girl from Wudang by PJ Caldas

Author:PJ Caldas
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tuttle Publishing
Published: 2023-07-04T09:52:50+00:00


19

Iron Fan Through the Back

From a distance, we could see Mrs. Lee throw the pit of her juicy fruit in the trash and wipe her hands on her sweaty pants. Maybe there was a naughty smile too, but maybe that was just my imagination. The parking garage isn’t too far from the park, but on the weekends, they turn off the elevators. She takes a deep breath and charges up the stairs, oblivious to the six thugs closing in right behind her. A few blocks away, the three of us move as one. A full sprint across the park, our legs pumping in perfect synchrony. Simon is glad he started to wear sneakers after he met me. Dr. L tries to keep breathing.

“Building is closed,” says an armed guard we could swear wasn’t there when Mrs. Lee walked in. Why would a police officer guard a garage building?

No time for that. Think, Yinyin.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir,” replies Dr. Lambrechts.

What a sissy. There is a side door, I remember—Mrs. Lee and I used it when she gave me a ride a long time ago. And up the stairs. Fast. Too fast for the old man, actually. He stays behind. Third floor, that’s where she parks. I kick the door. On a regular business day, it would have been packed. Today, just big letters printed on pillars, a few cars scattered among yellow marks on the floor, a few stinky puddles of motor oil. There, under a lonely spot of light, her. Also there, below the other lit lightbulb on the entire floor, them.

“Yoo-hoo! Grandma!” calls one of the big guys. She turns around angry, “What did you say?” The thugs close the distance, surround her like a pack of wolves. With her purse pressed against her body, she recoils. “You got a present for me, old witch?”

“Hey!” I yell, and they all turn. What are you doing? My head asks. They all come in our direction. The original victim doesn’t matter anymore. That’s what I’m doing.

It’s just Simon and me. It will have to do. On my command, we widen our stances and raise our guard. We are ready, or at least want to look like it. Simon seems excited now, and I think I am too. Still no sign of the old man. Let’s do it.

On their side, a big Latino dude points at us, “Look, boys. The Power Rangers.” To which we respond in a single voice: “Look, boys. Clowns,” We take a moment to enjoy their bafflement, then continue, “Yes, clowns who are about to get slain.”

Because of either the synchronized speech or our stupid defiance, they pause. Six versus two. One of them picks up a pipe from the floor. The others punch their own hands and stretch their necks in an intimidating gesture. Let’s show them, Tigress, Simon thinks in my head. Where’s the old man?!

No time. We charge, screaming like lunatics. It even startles them for a moment, then they rush to the clash. That’s



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