Chapter 7 - Balancing Act

Coffee and work made it possible to get through the early morning without thinking too deeply. Gage did not like where his thoughts had been taking him. He called a cleanup crew for Deira's apartment and arranged for a mailbox where her belongings could be dropped. She had refused to tell him the location of her storage facility, and he had seen no reason to insist on it. That was before he had figured out the girl had a special talent for making simple things turn complex. He needed to get her out of his life – quickly.

He made another call. Convincing Nicky to move faster on the set up was not difficult. She was eager to get started – and to be finished. He rented the warehouse and arranged for the equipment through different holding companies. It did nothing to keep him from thinking about why he was going out of his way to help Deira.

Only one thing would work to distract him – legitimate business. He gritted his teeth and got to work.

He normally avoided his office, but as the police might be checking him out, he had gone in twice this week. He ought to thank them; two shipping contracts had been renegotiated with more favorable terms, one supplier had been convinced to lower the minimum order, and his receptionist had been reminded that filing was, in fact, part of the job. Not only had he increased his profit, he had provided easily traceable, perfectly legal work activity.

It had been Karol's idea to start the business, in the hope that it would keep Gage from making money other ways, but neither of them had expected it to be so successful. Gage's lack of conscience made him particularly good at business. Unfortunately, it had never been interesting enough to keep him occupied for long.

For years, he had blamed the drugs for changing his brain chemistry, but knew it for a shallow lie, even then. If he had been left in his village, growing up as generations before him had, the war still would have twisted him, maybe not in the same way, but it was a matter of degree. Blaming chemicals for the for way he had turned out was pointless.

Karol had been able to walk away from violence. No, not walk – run. He had pursued forgiveness with the zeal only true sinners possess. Eventually, Karol had radiated peace. It had made him hard to be around sometimes. Gage had made friends with his demons instead. It was the path of least resistance and let him make his own peace with the past – as much as would ever be possible. It did not trouble him often.

He had assuaged what guilt he did have by paying for Karol to do missionary work. He had kept to his agreement to fund it only with proceeds from his legitimate business. Karol had done his best to pretend Gage had only one job. It had cut down on the fighting, if not the repeated promises to light candles for his immortal soul. He was not entirely sure he still had one. That did not bother him, either.

Deira got up and stumbled for the bathroom. She needed lessons in how to move quietly. Or maybe she wasn't a morning person. She needed to learn – and unlearn a great deal. He was not inclined to teach her most things, so it was good Nicky had not fought him about the job. He would have to throw something her way to make up for it. He owed her that much.

He made three more calls and replied to his email before Deira came downstairs. The good thing about international business was that time zones made it possible to work at almost any hour. That, and people who let him call them in the middle of dinner without complaining about it. Custom often gave way before money.

"Were you speaking Russian?" Deira asked. She walked past him and poured herself a cup of coffee. His gaze flicked from the coffee maker to her cup.

"What? It's early. I'm bleary. Your coffee doesn't taste like crap. It's not so surprising. Do you have milk?"

"Cream, in the door." He began shutting down programs. "And it was Polish."

"Is that where you're from?" Her voice came from inside the refrigerator. She was looking for more than cream.

"No. I speak five languages enough to do business in them. Six, if you include English, but Americans never do. I understand four others well enough to keep people from cheating me or shooting me under the table. At least so far." He closed the computer.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you," she said, emerging with eggs, cream and cheese. Of course she had heard him. They both knew it.

"It was nothing important." He sat back and watched her cook. The view was not bad. She even refilled his coffee in an exaggerated pretense of domesticity. Everything they did was a game. He wondered if he was being played. It would not be the first time.

After breakfast, Gage called a cab to take them to the garage where he kept his truck. It was a bit inconvenient, but made him more difficult to tail. It did not seem anyone was following them, but after the apartment break in, he knew it was only a matter of time before connections were made. He could make it work to his advantage, but he needed to get her squared away first. He drove to the warehouse.

Nicky sat on one of the loading docks, cigarette in one hand and large coffee in the other. Her hair was braided in tight rows, with small beads at the end of each braid. She managed to make workout attire look fashionable. Silver nail polish flashed as she took a drag of her cigarette. She watched, impassive, as they got out of the truck. She made no move as they approached.

"If you shoot me, Nick, I will be very pissed off." Gage did not stop moving towards her.

"Good morning to you, too, asshole. As you can see, both of my hands are currently occupied." The beads clacked together as she shook her head slowly.

"For now." Gage finally stopped. "But if I recall correctly, you pride yourself on being able to ditch the smoke and draw quickly. I am almost certain you would not sacrifice the coffee."

"For you? Please. I wouldn't even drop the cigarette." She took a drag and blew the smoke in his direction.

"It is good to see you, Nick." He gave her his best smile.

"I wish I could say the same, but I wasted a perfectly good bottle of aged whiskey celebrating your death and I'm not sure I can forgive you for that." She got to her feet.

"This is Dee, the girl I told you about." Gage could feel Deira bristle, whether at the nickname or being called a girl, he didn't know. "Dee, this is Nicky. She is going to teach you how to stay alive for a little while longer."

"Getting right the hell away from him would be a good start," Nicky said.

"Play nice. She does not have any more choice in the matter than you do. I will be back in a few hours. That should give you enough time to get acquainted." Gage turned towards the truck.

"I thought you said you were out of this until I was done with the project," Nicky called. He looked over his shoulder.

"Change of plans. You know how that goes, Nicky." He shrugged his shoulders. " Sometimes things change just when you thought you had it all figured out." She flicked her cigarette at his feet, but she kept her hand where he could see it.

He got in his truck, shaking his head as he realized he had missed her.

Nicky ushered Deira through a metal door.

"What do you want me to call you?" Nicky asked.

"Deira. I don't know why he thought I wouldn't tell you. If he trusts you enough to train me, I can trust you enough to tell you my name."

"So what did you do to end up here?" Nicky asked, motioning for Deira to follow her deeper into the building.

"Gage suggested I not talk about why I need your help."

"Yeah, I'm sure he did, but that's not what I was asking. What I want to know is what stupid thing you did to get the motherfucker to notice you in the first place." Nicky stopped, turning to face her.

"Oh." Deira looked away. "I... uh... got in over my head, I guess, and he's helping me out."

Nicky's eyebrows shot up. "And how much is he charging you for this help?"

"He said we'd discuss it later. It won't be an issue. We'll work something out." Deira was startled by Nicky's laugh – sharp, loud, and mirthless.

"No, honey, you won't. Not like you think. Gage doesn't do things to help people out. Gage does things out of necessity or because it amuses him or because he feels like it. Unless you agreed on a contract price, he sets his own, and it almost never involves money, and only he gets to decide when you've paid up. Best you realize that now."

"I got that impression. He's been consistently vague on the specifics of payment," Deira admitted.

"Of course he has. You still haven't told me what you did to make him take such an interest in you that he called me." They reached the end of the hall. Nicky held open the door to a large room full of gym equipment.

"I screwed up a job, and he stepped in to finish it. Said he watched for a while then decided to not let me get killed. I don't really know why." She shrugged.

"Shit, girl. You're going to pay for a long time. I wouldn't go asking him why he saved you either. He won't answer." Nicky put her gym bag on a bench by the wall.

"You aren't what I expected," Deira said.

"Which part surprises you – that I'm short, fat, or black?" Nicky was direct, if nothing else.

"You aren't fat..." she started, then changed her mind.

Nicky snorted. "Enough talk. Let's see what you got."

"What do you want to see?'

"Whatever you want to show me. Run through your regular workout. It'll give me an idea of how you move and where your strength is. Basic fight warm up for starters. I'm going to stretch out over here. You let me know when you're ready." Nicky walked to a mat, secured her braids with an elastic, and began running through her warm ups, surreptitiously watching Deira.

She could tell right away the girl had no place trying to run with the pros. What the fuck is he thinking? She gave away too much. And she turned her back to strangers. Nicky sure as hell wasn't going to say anything about it, though. People got touchy about that, especially when it was true. She would find a way to work a fix into the program. After a while, Nicky sat on the floor and observed. Deira didn't seem to notice.

"I assume you trained with weapons. Have a favorite?" Nicky asked.

"Knives," said. "I prefer throwing them, but I don't suck at close in work. Well, not one on one, anyway. Without the element of surprise, fighting more than one person with a knife is dicey. At best."

"You shoot?" Nicky asked casually.

"I'm a decent shot. I don't usually carry, though. Hard as hell to explain when you don't have a license."

Nicky's sharp laugh echoed in the warehouse.

"When you set out to kill someone, you worry about being busted for concealed carry without a permit? Think about that for a minute, and tell me why I shouldn't consider you a crazy bitch." Nicky shook her head.

"I didn't say it made sense. When it comes down to it, knives feel better. More comfortable." Deira shrugged.

"And there's something awfully nice about the way it feels when you've taken down some guy with your own hands, isn't there? When someone who thought he was all that is bleeding at your feet, there's a sense of power and fulfillment. Nothing can touch that." For all the weight Nicky gave it, they could have been discussing shoe shopping. She stood up and stretched.

"Time to spar. Nothing intense. I want to see how you fight for real. Can you do that without actually trying to kill me? Because I won't be trying to kill you. This is play time." Nicky regarded Deira evenly.

"Yeah, I know the difference. But thanks for the vote of confidence." Deira frowned.

"Honey, I don't know you. For all I know, you're crazier than me. I figured we should establish our intentions before we beat the shit out of each other." A light shone in Nicky's eyes. As soon as Deira recognized that look, the fight started.

The first few blows were cautious. They were testing each other. Nicky blocked a strike to the head but missed the follow up, throwing her off balance. She'd been wrong in her early assessment. The girl wasn't bad, and she obviously needed to hit something. She moved well, kept her focus, timed her strikes. But she was too emotional and her style was too formal. Nicky feinted a few times, moving Deira backwards. Then she switched to straight-up street fighting and slammed into the girl, throwing her off balance. She smashed Deira in the shoulder as she moved past. If it had been a real fight, Nicky would have punched her in the head and laid her out. Then again, if it had been a real fight, Deira's next move would have caused some serious damage. Nicky was out of practice. She almost took a kick to the chest and wasn't able to grab the girl's leg. Shit, now I have to work out more often. She moved out of range. They both slowed down, trading blows almost methodically.

"Okay. That's good enough for an introduction," Nicky said. She was getting tired, but she couldn't afford to show it. I should cut back on the smokes. She rejected the idea instantly.

"That felt good," Deira said, stretching. This time, she didn't take her eyes off of Nicky.

"You're better than I would have thought," Nicky offered.

"Thanks. I've been working on it, but I've got a long way to go," Deira conceded.

"Not like that road ever ends, honey. But you have a good foundation. We'll work on a few things. One thing you might want to do is build up your upper body. Most women don't have the arm strength they need to go up against guys."

"I noticed."

"That's why it's a good idea to work on evasion techniques and leverage. Then plan to fight dirty, every time," Nicky advised.

"Show me how," Deira said.

Three days later, Nicky still had not run out of moves.