Cain invaded the police station with a pet carrier.  He breezed past the front desk, announcing "delivery for Detective Wright."  He was waved on without drawing more than a brief glance.  A flight of stairs took him into the heart of the homicide division.  At a corner desk, wading through reports, he found Iris.  She looked up at him as he approached. 

     "I'm busy," she snapped.  "Unless you've come to make a complete confession--"

     Yeah, that's going to happen.

     "—-then you need to crawl back under your rock."

     "Jeez, who pissed in your corn flakes this morning?  I thought we were friends."

     "Father Pete finally told me you’d threatened to kill him."

     "That's just how I show someone I like them."

     "You never said that to me."

     "You'd have hit me with a night stick and done a cavity search." 

     "Just what is it you want?"

     He set the carrier on her desk, the wire door facing her.  Iris leaned forward, peering in.  "What's inside, Cain?  A bomb?"

     "Something more destructive," he softly muttered.

     "What was that?"

     "I said, 'it's just my cat.'  I need you to do me a favor and watch her for a few days while I go out of town on business."

     "What kind of business?"  Iris' voice was thick with suspicion.  "And don't you have anyone else to impose on except me?  All the plants in my house are dying from neglect as it is.  I don't want the responsibility of a more demanding life form."

     "Just look at that cute face.  She's bonded to you already.  You can't break her heart.  C'mon, be a pal."

     Iris poked a finger through the front grill and snatched it back quickly. 

"Crap!  She bit me!"

     "Just a little jealousy.  She's like that with every one I date."

     "Shush!  Keep it down.  You think I want my co-workers to know I'm seeing an arch-criminal socially?  How long did you say you'd be gone?"

     "A few days, a week at the most."  He drew a folded letter from his coat pocket and offered it to her.  She unfolded the paper and read it several times before handing it back. 

     "What's with the red squiggles in place of a signature?"

     "That's The Old Man's chop, the seal of a sifu."

     Iris' forehead creased.  "I don't know that word."

     "Sifu means teacher."

     "What does he teach?"

     "Gung-Fu."

     "Kung-Fu?"

     "The unenlightened call it that.  He teaches Man Yuan Do, the full-circle path.  The Old Man's like a father to me, and he's just out of the hospital, and says he needs me.  I have to go."

     "Well...” she peered into the carrier again, “you'd owe me big time for this."

     "I'll let you have you way with me," he offered."

     "When you get back, you'll take me someplace for dinner where I can wear an expensive gown."

     "There a crab shack on the boardwalk down in Old Sac--"

     "The place I have in mind costs a thousand dollars a plate."

     "Iris, that's blatant extortion!"

     "And I want to go in a limo."

     "And you call me a criminal!"

     "Take it or leave it."

     He knew from her voice and steely gaze that Detective Wright was adamant in her demands.  He didn't want to board the cat with strangers.  His back was to a corner.  "Alright.  You got a deal."

     Iris smiled.  It transformed her face, making her suddenly soft and alluring.  He felt his mouth go dry with fear; a soft and fuzzy moment was impeding.  Better go before I embarrass myself.  "Thanks," he muttered, turning away.  He felt her eyes on him as he crossed the room, drilling a hole in the back of his head.   I need to be careful.  I could wind up marrying that woman.

     A charter from a field that catered to small planes took him north to the southern forests of Oregon.  He was deposited on a private strip outside a ghost town that had perished a decade before.  When the timber industry declined, the Old Man had moved in to buy up the whole area for a song.  This was now a training camp for those who desired skills usually frowned upon by law enforcement.  The moss-encrusted buildings, tall trees breaking a sea of ferns, the cloudy sky above--it all brought back fond memories.

     As the pilot taxied the Cesna to a waiting hanger, Cain picked up a worn duffle bag and a cloth-bound bundle, and turned to face a small group crossing the tarmac. 

The faces were unknown to him except for the tiny wisp of a girl who led them.  She wore a kung-Fu uniform.  The unusual part of the outfit wasn't the camouflage-patterned material used to make it, but the choice of colors; it was purple and pink, matching the ribbons in the girl’s hair.  She ran up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

     "Easy, Kimmi.  You'll snap me in half."

     "But I've missed you!"

     "Same here.  How's your father?  I came as soon as I got his letter."

     "He's home now, mostly in one piece.  The doctors say he needs to stay in bed at least a month."

     "If I know the Old Man, you've probably had to tie him down to make him stay put."

     "Ain't that the truth?  Come meet our current students."  She took Cain by the hand and led him to the others.  They wore various styles of gear, reflecting many different martial art disciplines.  A man with a black Karate gi and belt bowed formally to Cain.  Kimmi introduced him, adding his background.  "This is Bill Donner, Kempo."  

     Next to him was tall, thin man with a mustache and a small scar on his chin.  He wore a black belt and gi.  "This is Brian

Dane, Tang Soo Do."  The man's nod was curt, nearly dismissive.  Cain decided to dislike the man at once.

     The next person in line was a green-eyed blond with a military bearing, wearing a white gi.  She bowed deeply.  A brown belt was wrapped twice around her narrow waist before being tied in front.  Kimmi gestured.  "This is Christina Brooks, Brazilian Jujitsu." 

     Great.  I love all things Brazilian.

     They moved on to a massive black man.  He bobbed his shaved head.  The guy looked like he’d just escaped the cover of a bodybuilding magazine.  Cain suspected that if the man took too deep a breath, his tightly stretched shirt, with its snarling leopard logo, would probably rip.  The man spoke English well with just a touch of an African accent.  “Kwango, leopard-style,” he said.

     There were two Japanese men off to the side.  They waited until Cain's eyes fell on them before angling their torsos in greeting.  One wore a sword on his back.  The other carried a bag of potato chips.  They might have been twins, or clones.  "This is Yin and Yang, Ninjitsu."  Kimmi leaned in close to Cain.  She whispered.  "They say those are their real names but I don't believe it."

     The last student was a nondescript clean-shaven man.  He faded into the landscape, wearing jeans, charcoal sweater, dark sunglasses, and an expensive Swiss watch.  A perpetual smirk distorted one corner of his mouth. 

"This is Virgil Langley," Kimmi said.  "He calls himself a company man, whatever that means."

     The man extended a hand.  Cain shook it.  "CIA?" he asked. 

     Virgil grinned.  "Once upon a time.  These days, I freelance.  So, who are you, and what are you supposed to teach us?" 

     Kimmi leaned in once more to whisper.  "Father wants you to take over as instructor.  This bunch needs someone to take them through the final graduation exercise, otherwise he'll be dishonored." 

She didn’t seem to realize that her voice wasn’t that low.  Her words carried easily.  Then again, Cain thought, maybe she knows and just doesn’t care.  I’m sure the Old Man’s only concern is avoiding a refund of everyone’s money.  Cain sighed.  He hadn't expected this wrinkle.  Still, it was the Old Man asking...

"Fine."  He raised his voice, addressing the group.  "You may refer to me as Lord and Master if you wish…“

“Fat chance,” Kimmi muttered. 

“…Or O Scorpion, if you prefer."  A shocked silence set in as the infamous name struck home.  The Yin and Yang bowed once more, deeper than before.  Virgil kept his smirk, but his face paled just a bit.  Cain went on.  "Do what I tell you, when

I tell you, and you might survive the coming week.”

He caught Brook’s gaze.  “You’re team captain.  Draw up a watch rotation for tonight.  Your team’s primary goal will be to protect the Old Man from assassination.  I’ll play the heavy with my trusty paint gun.  Let the Old Man die, and he will be pissed at you.  You don’t want that to happen.”

“Wait a minute,” Dane protested.  “We’re here to perfect our lethal skills, not to play baby-sitter.  Let me be the assassin.” 

“Later, you’ll all get your shot at my role,” Cain said.  “But before you can pierce a defense, you must understand it.  The best way to understand it is to create it.  What’s wrong?”  He smiled to add sting to his words.  “Not up to the challenge?”

Dane matched his grin.  “Bring it on.”

“Tonight.  Days are for practice and training.  Meet me in the Kwoon in one hour.  I want to take a look at your unarmed combat technique.  Now, if you will excuse me, I need to pay my respects to the Old Man."

     With Kimmi wedged firmly against his side, he headed for a structure on stilts with a wrap-around deck.  Under it, a staircase wound up to a living room.  They climbed into a space furnished with expensive antiques, some Asian, some American.  A wooden cigar store Indian guarded the archway to the kitchen.  A white kitten stretched up against it, then starting to claw. 

     “Bad girl, Snowball!  You know better,” Kimmi shrieked, running toward the beast.  It ignored her until the last moment then bolted for cover, disappearing into the bottom hole of a cat condo across the room. 

     “Ah, I thought I heard someone come in.”

     Hearing the voice, Cain pivoted toward a doorway.  Old Man was there, in a wheelchair, legs covered with a hunter green throw.  Gray hair shot through with white capped a lean face of pale leather.  Sunken eyes nestled in a mat of wrinkles, more a product of frequent laughter than age.  A thin wispy goatee still adorned the point of his chin.  At first glance, he seemed a relic, long past his prime, still, something dangerous stirred in the murky depths of his eyes.

     He touched a control on the arm of the chair and it rolled closer.  “How long have you been in that thing?” Cain asked.

     Old Man shrugged as if it were of no consequence, ignoring the subject.  “Did you have a nice flight?  Hungry?  The fridge is well-stocked if you’d like to--“

     “I’m fine.  No need to fuss.  Now, what’s all this about taking over your operation?”

     “Just until I’m back on my feet again, a few days, maybe a week…or two.”

     “A few days, maybe a week.  I have my own life you know?”

     “Ungrateful gutter-spawn!”  Old Man seemed on the brink of choking with rage then suddenly smiled broadly.  “It’s good to have you back.  You know where the guest room is.  Go settle in.  Kimmi and I have to go into town.  We’ll be gone a very long time.  She wants to go spend all my money shopping and I have a doctor’s appointment.  Try not to completely destroy the place while I’m gone.”

      “Yeah, whatever.”  Cain thought it good to be back, not that he’d ever admit to heartfelt sentiment without torture being involved. 

He went to his room.  It was immaculate, much different than the way he’d left it last visit.  The sheets on the bed were fresh.  A black blanket covered with jade dragons lay at the foot.  Laid out for him across the center of the bed was a black Gung-fu uniform with a blood red sash.  He knew he hadn’t earned the rank implied by the sash. 

He assumed that Old Man had provided the outfit for theatrical effect, a temporary promotion while he taught.  He’d wear the sash without qualm--ranks had never meant very much to him.  Ability mattered, not the trappings it came sheathed in.  

     Dressed, he paused before leaving the room.  His gaze snagged on an ornate box on the dresser.  A dragon and phoenix were inlaid on its lid.  He picked up the box and looked inside.  There were two metal spheres with red and blue Dow symbols painted on them.  He shook one of the balls gently.  It produced a chiming sound.  Rotated in the hand during meditation, they messaged pressure points.  On a whim, he replaced the ball and closed the box, taking it along to the kwoon. 

The school was just as he remembered; a forty-by-forty space defined by sliding bamboo and rice paper wall that were well oiled to prevent damage from the yearlong dampness.  He climbed a small flight of stairs.  He slid a panel out of his way, and entered, stepping onto a mat.  Inside, the students faced him in a silent row.  Everyone looked either speculative or nervous with the exception of Yin and Yang who radiated patient contentment.  They bowed to him as he stopped before the line, and the other students followed their example a little belatedly.   

     He returned the gesture, set the box off to the side, then sat and began stretching his muscles.  The students took the cue.  They began forcing flexibility into cold muscles.  He let the warm-up continue for a good twenty-five minutes, then addressed the troops.  “Alright, choose a partner to work out with.  I’ll take the odd-man-out.”

The team-ups were informative, showing Cain where alliances lay.  The Japanese twins were inseparable, as he’d expected.  Virgil and Kwango paired up, as did Donner and Brooks.  No one cared to work with Dane.  It didn’t seem to bother the man.  I think he’s quite fond of his own company.  “Give me a few minutes,” he told Dane. 

Cain took the two balls from the box and approached Yin and

Yang.  He watched the two men exchange a silent flurry of punches and kicks.  After a few minutes, he tossed a ball between them.  The one he thought was Yang caught the sphere, shooting Cain a puzzled glance while parrying a side kick from his brother.

Cain addressed Yin.  “Take that away from him, if you can, and return it to me.”  He repeated the action with the next pair, giving Viril the second ball.  Kwango grinned at the game, before stepping up his attacks.  Cain wandered over to watch Brooks.  The blond bombshell slide past Donner’s reverse punch, planting a ridge hand in his face.  Slightly dazed, he stood there as Brooks dropped to the ground, launching a leg sweep.  With his legs kicked out from under him, Donner fell, slapping the mat with his arms to lessen the impact.  From the ground, he launched a snap kick toward Brook’s face.  She stopped it with a forearm block, but the force carried her backward a foot.

Cain returned to Yin and yang.  Their breathing was deep unhurried.  Their movements were molten, relaxed, and very fast.  Cain spotted their main weakness easily--a lack of compression.  Movements were generated from the shoulder when the elbows would have worked better.  Movements were generated from the elbows when the wrists could have done the job easier. 

Cain waited until he sensed the perfect moment, then flashed between them a moment, recapturing the sphere.  Yin and yang broke off to stare at him.  “That was fast,” Yin said.

“No,” Cain said.  “Compression of movement is often mistaken for speed.  As fast as you are, someone out there is faster.  As strong as you are, someone out there is stronger.  Efficiency trumps both speed and strength.  Small is better.  Less is more.”     

The brothers bowed, but kept their eyes on him.  “We take your point.”  He couldn’t tell which of them had spoken, not that it mattered.

Cain grinned.  “Good.  Take five while I check on the others.” 

He approached Virgil and Kwango, watching them a moment.  Kwango’s leopard stile was quick and aggressive.  His knuckle-strikes probed for weakness, drawing attention high to set up low kicks that came from nowhere.  His method in acquiring the sphere seemed to require pounding Virgil into submission first. 

Virgil, on the other hand, didn’t seem to use any style.  He just accidentally stumbled out of danger, time and again, giving nothing away about himself.  Cain approved.  “Virgil?” he called.  “Give Kwango the ball.  Let him play defense for a while.”

“No problem.”  Virgil tossed the sphere to the black giant.  It chimed in flight.

All right, time for Dane.  Cain noticed the Tae-kwon-do fighter had put his time to good use.  He was well into a complex kata, practicing a chain of interlocking techniques.  Cain closed with the man, launching a vertical punch at his head to gain his attention.   Dane blocked, counter-punching.  Cain simply dropped his elbow to punish the fist seeking his ribs.  Dane went to a kicking attack next.  Cain spiraled the man, forcing him to shift his balance with each attack.  Eventually, Dane shot a kick ahead of Cain, expecting him to walk into it.  Cain didn’t disappoint him.  Crossing his forearms, Cain created a sheer that stopped the kick cold.  Breaking his arms apart, he blocked a punch at his face while driving a knee into Dane’s stomach.  He doubled over, falling.

     “Your biggest weakness,” Cain said, “is your inability to imagine failure.  Expect nothing you do to work and always be ready with something else.  That way, if the unexpected happens, you’re not out of the game.  A flexible body needs a flexible mind.”

     Cain returned to Brooks and Donner.  They were still on equal footing.  Neither one seemed to have an edge on the other. 

He noticed that both were relying on physical conditioning more than anything else.  That was the weakness of many martial arts.  Few of them truly understood the power of weakness.  “Donner,” Cain said, “go bring everyone over here while I take over for you.”  

He faced Brooks.  Hands held out before her, she watched his collarbone, trying to judge whether he would lead to her right or left.  “It works better,” Cain said, “if you don’t focus at all.”

     “Say, what?”

     Lower your eyes to my mid-section, and stare through my center of gravity as if you had x-ray vision.  Use peripheral vision to see my body as a whole.  Don’t concentrate on any one part.  I know the old man’s told you this before.  It’s a basic part of what he does.  Never give up the basics.  They’re what save you most of the time.”  He saw her stare drop and go vague.  “That’s better.”

     He worked out with her a while, becoming her shadow.  Instead of fighting her, he danced, borrowing her energy.  In the end, she became her own enemy.  He explained this as they fought, speaking for the benefit of the other students as well as Brooks.  Finally, he just wore her out and sent her sprawling with a gentle push. 

“Okay,” he said.  “Lesson’s over.”  They bowed.  He returned the gesture, then left without a word.  Since he intended to harass the night watches, he needed his beauty sleep. 

By the week’s end, he’d managed to make himself both loved and hated by the students—-it was his gift.  The evening before the final test, he called a truce.  They would be allowed an untroubled night’s sleep.  He relaxed at the bathhouse with them, enjoying the luxury of hot steamy water. 

Kimmi showed up, wearing only a silk robe.  She shed it without inhibition, gathering covert stares from the men as she waded into the artificial pool.  Her small breasts flatten against Cain as she commenced to wash his back.  He was naked as well.  All the guys were.  Victim of a puritanical upbringing, Brooks wore a two-piece swimsuit even though Cain assured her she had nothing to be ashamed of. 

He noticed Yin and Yang studying his ink-work.  Their bodies were free of illustration.  That didn’t surprise him.  They were ninja, not yakuza.  Most of those present had a few interesting scars.  Virgil had one right over his heart.  He insisted it came from a jealous secretary stabbing him once with letter opener.  The ex-CIA operative sighed with pleasure, closing his eyes.  “I could stay here forever.” 

“You wouldn’t say that if we were doing this Brazilian style,” Cain said.

“What’s the difference?” Kimmi asked.

“Two things,” Cain murmured.  “We use piranha-filled rivers and lots and lots of beer.”
 (Part two will post in a couple days.)