Chapter 11
With stilted movements, Vero and I carried our lunch trays through the crowded cafeteria to an empty table in the back.
My legs had felt like Jell-O by the time we’d finished our laps around the track, but the numbness had been short-lived, and I dreaded the sore muscles I was sure to have by the next morning.
Vero picked at the contents of her sandwich. She lifted the edge of her bologna and sniffed. “Are you sure we’re not in prison? I’m pretty sure this is prison food.”
“I wouldn’t know.” During the handful of hours I’d spent in a jail after Nick had caught me breaking into one, no one had offered me anything to eat. But the soggy PB&J on my tray was an excellent reason to never go back.
The door to the faculty lounge opened at the far end of the cafeteria, revealing a glimpse of the utopian smorgasbord on the other side.
Tables were decked out with carafes of coffee, plates of cookies and breads, and trays of assorted cheeses, deli meats, and fruit.
Samara came through the door, holding a chocolate chip cookie that could have doubled as a dinner plate, her heels snapping against the floor tiles as she cut through the cafeteria.
She paused beside our table when she spotted us.
“Hey, you made it!” Her smile held a touch of pity as she took in our dirt-crusted sweats and the stray hairs slicked to our brows. “How are you two holding up?”
“I’ll let you know in the morning,” I said, rolling my sore shoulder.
“If it’s any consolation, I heard you two killed it in the agility course today. We’ve got bets going in the faculty lounge.”
“Is the food any better in there?” I asked.
Vero leaned across me and said in a low voice, “She means, is there any booze in there and who do we have to kill to get some?”
Sam laughed. “Sorry, no booze. I would offer to smuggle you some, except I hear the hard-ass who runs this academy frowns on that sort of thing.” She tipped her head to me.
“But if you play your cards right, I bet he would sneak you a bottle.” She winked and I felt my cheeks warm.
“I’ve got to return some emails before class.
You all hang in there. The afternoon session’s a doozy.
Don’t let Lieutenant Hamamoto rough you up too much.
” She took a huge bite of her cookie as she sashayed out the door.
“That’s it,” Vero said. “We’re breaking into the faculty lounge tonight.”
“No, we’re not. Stealing cookies is—”
“Only a misdemeanor and a necessary survival skill. Screw your resolutions. We earned those calories.” Vero finished the last of her chips and her milk, then tossed the contents of her tray in the trash. “You think Sam was serious about the afternoon class being rough?”
“What does your schedule say?” I asked around a bite of my sandwich.
“Only that we’re supposed to report to the mat room after lunch.”
I didn’t know who Lieutenant Hamamoto was, but anything had to be better than crawling in the mud while Joey hovered over us, watching like a hawk.
The bench sank under my sister’s weight as she dropped down beside me. “Does my hair look okay?” she asked, her eyes a little frazzled as she tried to smooth it down. “And how about my shirt? Does it match my pants?”
“You look fine, Georgia. What are you so worried about?”
“I’m teaching a class this afternoon. I just want to look nice, that’s all.” She darted furtive looks around the cafeteria. “How about my breath?” She turned abruptly and blew in my face.
I reeled back. “What is wrong with you?”
“Here, do me,” Vero said, leaning across the table. Georgia blew between her cupped hands as Vero sniffed. “Not bad. What about your pits?” Vero grabbed Georgia’s arm and held it high, leaning in. “You’re good.”
“You just missed Sam,” I said casually. Blood rushed to my sister’s cheeks, confirming my suspicions. “She’s nice.”
“And hot,” Vero chimed in.
“When are you asking her over for dinner?”
My sister jumped up from her seat. “Wow, would you look at the time? I’ve got to run,” she said, stealing half my PB&J as she climbed out of the bench. She slipped out of the mess hall before I could demand she return my sandwich.
“I have no idea what Georgia’s so afraid of,” I said. “Sam seems really great.”
Vero shook her head at me. “Maybe it’s genetic.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I could say the exact same thing about you and Nick. I just hope for your sister’s sake, Sam isn’t a killer.”
My stomach soured at the thought. I hated the idea of snooping on my sister’s crush. “How do we rule her out?”
“I don’t know. We’ll come up with something.
” Vero took a bite of the remaining half of my sandwich.
“I should have gone for the PB&J, too. This is actually pretty good,” she said, cramming the last of it in her mouth.
She dusted crumbs from her hands. “Let’s go.
I might puke if they make me do push-ups after lunch, and I don’t want to be late. ”
We followed the campus map to the mat room and filed in with the rest of the herd.
Blue gym mats covered most of the floor and creepy training dummies had been positioned around the room.
I suppressed a shudder at the disembodied torsos mounted on metal stands.
They reminded me disturbingly of Carl Westover.
Or, more specifically, the previously frozen piece of him that was still buried on my ex-husband’s farm.
Vero and I nudged our way closer to the front of the room. I wedged between two sets of tall shoulders, freezing when I locked eyes with the instructor. Joey stood in front of the class, holding a pair of handcuffs.
“My name is Detective Joseph Balafonte.” His voice ricocheted off the walls of the training room, no need for a bullhorn.
His cuffs clicked softly, open then closed, as his gaze slid from mine to rove over the rest of the group.
It wasn’t until his back was to me that I noticed the second instructor in the room, a petite middle-aged woman of Asian descent, her dark hair streaked with gray.
She smiled warmly at the class. Her feet were spread shoulder width apart, her hands clasped behind her back.
It was a posture many of the officers here assumed when they were addressing us, but on this woman, in her soft heather-gray academy-issued sweatsuit, the pose felt more disarming.
“This afternoon, you will learn various arrest techniques,” Joey said.
“You’ll have a chance to practice administering handcuffs with both compliant and noncompliant suspects.
” He gestured to the other instructor. “This is Lieutenant Hamamoto. She will be teaching you defensive techniques.” The cuffs resumed their soft clicking as Joey changed direction, taking slow, measured strides toward the other side of the room.
“Self-defense is one of the first and most critical skills we teach new recruits. I’ve lost count of the number of times I have come face-to-face with someone who wanted to hurt me or end my life.
” His penetrating gaze landed squarely on me.
“And believe me, when the business end of a gun is pointed at your face, you’re not thinking about being a hero.
Your only thought is making it out of there alive.
” The room fell so deathly quiet, I could hear the soft rush of air through the soles of his sneakers as he paced.
“ Survival is what we teach here at the academy. Regardless of age or height or strength or gender, you are all capable of mastering the skills we will teach you through repetition and practice.” Joey let the silence hang as he gestured to Lieutenant Hamamoto.
The lieutenant strode forward, her self-assured and measured voice commanding an attention that felt disproportionate to her stature.
The class watched as she demonstrated how the handcuffs worked, using Joey as a subject.
He turned his back, allowing her to snap the cuffs on, then off.
Just when it seemed their demonstration was finished, Joey whirled, reaching for the lieutenant’s throat.
In a series of movements too fast to comprehend, she had Joey disabled and prone, his face pressed against the mat and his wrists secured behind him.
The class broke into applause. Lieutenant Hamamoto dipped into a short curtsy before unlocking Joey’s cuffs and helping him to his feet.
They repeated the exercise several more times, using different strikes from different positions, narrating each step in slow motion as they performed it.
When they were finished, Joey retrieved a plastic bin full of handcuffs from the far end of the room.
“I need a student volunteer,” he said to the class.
A few hands shot up in the audience. “Come on up here with me, Mrs. Haggerty,” he said, gesturing for her to join him.
She approached the mat with determined steps.
When she reached his side, he rested a hand on her hunched shoulder. “It’s good to see you again.”
She squinted up at him through the rims of her glasses. “Have we met?”
His eyes skipped to me, then quickly away again. “About a month ago, I carried your trash can to your curb, remember?”
“I remembered you being taller.”
He chuckled politely. “I get that a lot.”
Vero elbowed me in the ribs. “Did you hear that? She had no idea who he was,” she whispered.
“Or she just doesn’t remember,” I whispered back.
“Ms. Donovan,” Joey called out. My head snapped up. “Since you and your partner are having a hard time concentrating, why don’t you come up and be my second volunteer.”
The class parted for me. With a tight smile, I walked to the front of the room and joined Mrs. Haggerty on the mat. Joey dangled a pair of handcuffs in front of me. “Mrs. Haggerty is under arrest. You’re going to attempt to restrain her.”
“Do I have to cooperate?” Mrs. Haggerty asked, provoking laughter from the audience.
Joey grinned like the Cheshire cat. “Not at all.”
I yanked the cuffs from his hand and smiled at Mrs. Haggerty.
“Please turn around,” I said sweetly. She held up two bony fists in response, circling the mat like she was Floyd Mayweather’s grandmother.
Students whispered behind cupped hands. I turned to Joey.
“I can’t do this. Her grandson is watching. What if I accidentally hurt her?”
“Either detain your suspect or forfeit your team’s points.” He slipped a toothpick in his mouth, probably to hide his smirk. Joey was doing this on purpose, making me into the bad guy, but I wasn’t about to stoop to his level.
I pasted on a smile and held the cuffs out to Mrs. Haggerty. “Here. Why don’t I turn around and you can handcuff me? How does that sound?”
She punched me in the arm.
Joey chuckled to himself as I stormed off the mat.
Vero caught me by the shoulders. “We are not forfeiting points!” she hissed as she turned me around. “Bag Estelle Getty and get on with it.”
I took a deep breath as I stepped back onto the mat.
I would just have to appeal to Mrs. Haggerty’s sense of reason.
“Mrs. Haggerty,” I said calmly, “it’s just an exercise.
There’s no need for violence. Please turn around and put your hands behind your—” I bent over double as she kicked me in the shin.
“That’s it,” I said, hopping on one leg. I grabbed her wrist as she threw an uppercut at me. She yelped as I slapped the cuffs around it. There were a few boos and dramatic gasps as I turned her around, took her other wrist, and secured them both behind her back. Vero was the only one applauding.
I glared at Joey as I dusted off my hands.
Chin high, I proceeded to walk off the mat.
Vero stopped clapping. Her eyes grew wide as she pointed at something behind me.
Pain shot through my knee as someone kicked it out.
I crashed face-first to the floor, my breath rushing out of me with a grunt as Mrs. Haggerty plunked herself down on my ass and shouted a triumphant “ ha!”
The class erupted with cheers. Her grandson whistled.
Joey unfolded his arms and gave her a slow clap.
“Nice takedown, Mrs. Haggerty.” He unlocked her cuffs and helped her to her feet.
His shoes appeared beside my face. “Rule number one,” he said, addressing the class, “never underestimate your opponent. Rule number two, never let them out of your sight. Let’s get started,” he said, leaving me lying on the floor.
“One set of cuffs per team. One team per mat. Lieutenant Hamamoto and I will be coming around to give you pointers and observe.”
The knot of students dispersed, breaking into pairs and fanning out around the room. Vero hauled me to my feet, watching Joey askance as he made his way from mat to mat, offering advice.
“Joey’s behavior toward you doesn’t add up,” she said. “You saved his partner’s life. You haven’t done anything wrong—”
“That he knows of,” I corrected her.
Vero and I fell silent as Lieutenant Hamamoto approached our mat.
“Thanks, Lieutenant,” Joey said in a low voice behind her, “I’ll handle this one.” My spine went ramrod straight as he came toward me with a set of open cuffs. I lifted my chin as we stared each other down.
“Turn around,” he said quietly.
“I thought I was supposed to be the one practicing with the—” I gasped as he took my wrist and spun me around, his shoes moving between mine and kicking them gently but firmly apart.
The cuffs clicked shut. He leaned close to my ear. “I may not have figured out your game yet, but I am keeping an eye on you. Whatever it is you’re into, you’re in over your head.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t. Because you’re a nice person and everybody likes you, right?
Well I have a lot of experience with nice people,” he whispered, “and it’s always the nice ones that have something to hide.
” The cuffs snapped open and I backed quickly out of his reach.
“Better get some practice,” he growled. “I’m betting you’re gonna need it. ”