Date: Wed, 24 Nov 2004 17:39:54 -0800
From: RC in Sacramento <sacwriter@hotmail.com>
Subject: Munchkin, Chptr 14

This is a work of fiction. It depicts the often sexual relationship between
two young girls. If this offends you or if you're not old enough to be
reading this stuff, then get out NOW. If, however, you're where you want to
be, then enjoy.

			 MUNCHKIN
			 Chapter 14
			by Sacwriter


	Painting the garage had turned into an uncomfortable chore for the both of
them, marked largely by Joe's embarrassed silence. Neither he nor Becka
wanted to break it, although at one point she did ask him if he was okay.
She said it quietly, not looking at him when she did, and he answered in the
same manner. But other than that she remained focused entirely on the job at
hand, leaving Joe alone with his troubled thoughts and feelings.
	From around the corner he could hear the sounds of Gia and Sammie talking,
even an occasional girlish laugh, and was grateful that at least he hadn't
put a total damper on their afternoon. His ears still burned with
embarrassment when he thought about how he had reacted earlier, the way he
had made such a fool of himself in front of the girls' friend. First Becka
and Gia, and now Sammie. Damn it, it seemed like whenever he met a beautiful
girl, he was destined to totally humiliate himself.
	It didn't take long before the four of them were finished. Becka checked
everybody's work, and seemed satisfied that the graffiti would be completely
covered when they put the top coat of white over it tomorrow. But before
they could start cleaning up after the painting job, a pickup truck with the
words Manning Bros. On the side pulled up and parked out on the street in
front of the Mustang. A man in his thirties wearing a work shirt and
overalls climbed out of the cab, and Gia stepped forward and introduced him
with a smile.
	"Joe, this is Adam Manning. He's the guy that installed all the windows
when we built our house. Dad says he's one of the best glaziers in town and
he'll give you a good price on that broken window."
	"Gia, your dad's full of it. I am the best glass man in the whole damn
county. But he's right about the price, kid, I'm also pretty cheap. I'll
give you a good deal."
	Joe nodded, crossing his arms and looking the man right in the eye.
Although shy to the point of fear around people his own age, Joe had never
had any problems talking to adults. They weren't the ones who constantly
tried to hurt him.
       "Uh huh. Well, that's good to know. And I suppose you'll also knock
ten dollars off for calling me kid, right?"
	There was a shocked silence, as everyone stared at him. The Cameron sisters
were frankly gaping, totally surprised at the young mans' so
uncharacteristic show of confidence. Adam Manning was giving him a
considering look, which Joe returned levelly. The moment ended when the
older man shook his head and laughed, and then nodded.
	"Deal. And I apologize. If I'm going to take a man's money, I should at
least give him a little respect. You wanna show me the window you need
replaced?"

	After Adam had taken his measurements and left, Joe let himself into the
house and then into the kitchen. When he came back outside he brought with
him a tray with four glasses of ice and a two liter bottle of soda. For the
next half hour he played host, while the four of them hung out on the front
porch and talked. It proved to be a good time for him, as he found himself
relaxing and just enjoying the female company. In particular he enjoyed
talking to Sammie Waters, who didn't seem to hold what had happened earlier
against him. In fact she actually seemed curious about him. The Cameron
sisters proved happy to fill her in.
	"So anyway," Gia was saying, her fine features sparkling in her animation.
"I'm talking to Justine and Kelly about the party, and I look around and I
can't find Joe. And then I see him across the gym, sitting down with this
deaf girl no one else can talk to, and he's signing to her! This gorgeous,
gorgeous girl, body like a centerfold, and nobody knows how to talk to her
but Joe. Justine and Kelly were totally blown away, it was so cool."
	"Okay," Joe interrupted. "First of all, Tristen is not deaf, she's mute.
She can hear what people say to her just fine. And second, the reason Kelly
was so blown away was because Tristen is bi, and she was hitting on her."
	"Oh my GAWD! Are you serious?" Sammie was holding her hands over her mouth,
but her eyes were sparkling. The other girls were already laughing out loud,
Gia nodding her head to verify the story.
	"It's true, it's true. They invited Tristen to your birthday party, and
even offered to fix her up with a date. But she says, she says through Joe
here, that she's only interested in girls. And then she told KELLY that she
thought she was hot! And then she gives her this big wink, turns around and
walks away, shaking her booty like it's on hydraulics. I thought I was gonna
die!"
	"Hell, I thought Kelly was gonna die. Did you see the look on her face?
Like she had swallowed something, and just realized what it was?"
	Joe's description sent the girls into more paroxysms. Even Sammie, although
she was much more composed about it than the Camerons. She had known Kelly
her whole life, and had no problem picturing the other girls' reaction. Her
eyes were dancing in a way that had Joe grinning in response.
	"So you know sign language, that is just so cool, Joe. Where did you learn
it?"
	"From my Mom. She was born deaf, so she taught me how to sign before I
learned how to talk."
	"Wow. Like I said, that's so cool."
	"Yeah, Joe's got a lot of hidden talents," Becka put in, standing up and
stretching. Joe blinked at the sight, mesmerized by the way the thin fabric
of the blonde girl's T-shirt pulled taught across her breasts, rising just
high enough to show a thin sliver of her bare belly. He watched the sight
with nervous admiration, then hid a smile when he saw that Gia was doing the
exact same thing.
	Sammie nudged him in the side with her elbow, looking appraisingly over the
rim of her glass.
	"Okay, now she's got me curious. What other `hidden talents' do you have,
Joe?"
	"Uh..." he began, at a loss for words. He wasn't used to talking about
himself, especially to a girl. And a very pretty girl, at that.
	"Well for one thing, Joe plays blues harmonica, although so far he's been
too shy to show us," Gia answered, enthusiastically. "And he also knows more
about antique cars than anyone in our family, except maybe for Jorge. He
totally blew `Berto away by telling him stuff even he didn't know about the
history of that Mach I of his. He's also pretty good with his hands, he says
he likes to do carpentry and landscaping and stuff."
	Sammie looked around the yard, taking in the damaged, replanted foliage and
the empty spots from the plants that hadn't been salvageable. You could
still see the care and hard work that had gone into the landscaping of the
small lawn, but the destruction that now pocked it like a cancer made for a
sad contrast.
	"Were you the one who planted all the flowers out here?" she asked him,
gesturing out at what remained of the flower beds along the side of the
house and sidewalk.
       "Um, no, I did the garden in the backyard. This one out here I put in
with my Aunt. She picked out the flowers and the bushes, I just dug the
holes and planted them."

       "Well, the two of you did a great job. This yard looks beautiful."
       She saw Joe's face darken, and knew she'd said the wrong thing.
       "It did," he replied, bitterly, and looked away. Sammie reached over
and touched him on the shoulder, only briefly, knowing the fragility of a
boys' ego, then rose to her feet.
       "Hey then, before we leave, you want to show me that garden in the
backyard? Becka said those creeps never got past the front."

       Joe nodded, brightening. He looked over at the other two girls and
raised one eyebrow. "You guys?" he asked.
       The sisters looked at each other, and once more Joe got the
impression that a whole conversation was going on down on some level visible
only to them. Finally Gia shrugged and nodded, and Becka turned back to him
to answer.
       "No, that's okay. I've already seen it, and Gia can see it when we
come over tomorrow. We'll stay out here and, um, watch the cars."
       Joe shot her a puzzled look, then gave a whatever shrug and turned
away. Sammie followed, and soon the two had passed the corner of the garage
and disappeared. When they were gone, Gia reached over and punched the other
girl on the arm.
       "What?!" Becka complained, rubbing the sore spot. Gia's fists were
small but hard.
       "Watching the cars? You couldn't come up with anything better than
watching the cars?"
       Becka rolled her eyes, embarrassed. "Shaddup."
       * * *
       Sammie was grinning as Joe led her around the garage and to the far
side of the house, heading towards the wooden gate that led into the
backyard. "Those two were really laying it on, weren't they?"
       Joe sighed. "Piling it on, more like. They get some sort of sick kick
out of embarrassing me."
       "Oh, I think they were just trying to build up your confidence.
Besides, you really did do all that stuff, right?"
       "Yeah, I guess. It's not as interesting as they make it sound. And
what was that last bit about, watching the cars? I don't understand that."
       Sammie laughed, as if at a joke. "Oh, that. I think it's just those
two trying to play---oh, WOW! Joe, this is beautiful!"
       Sammie's eyes had gone wide at the site of the postage stamp sized
backyard. Although small it was lushly green, the neatly trimmed lawn
glowing with care and good health. Neatly shaped bushes lined the wooden
back fence, with an orange tree anchoring both corners. Plants in fat,
round, brightly painted flower pots hung from iron chains dangling from the
fence posts, providing bright splashes of color to compliment all the green.
Around the base of the shrubbery was a thick carpet of what she thought were
daylilies, although it was hard to tell at this time of year. Due to the
unseasonable warmth, though, some of them were still flowering, and Sammie
could see that they formed a multicolored riot of pink, wine red, yellow
gold and purple. The border around the flowers was of chalk white
cobblestones.
       The centerpiece of the whole yard, though, was the patio and its
covering verandah. The beams and railings were made of peeled logs shiny
with varnish, neatly lashed together with heavy rope at the corners, the
uprights set into pilings made of cemented river rocks. Across the front
stretched a long flower box of rough cut knotty pine that maintained the
rustic look, filled with more perennials, ones that she didn't recognize
that were mostly of blue and purple. The trellis fixed over the crossbeams
hung heavy with vines that wrapped themselves around the support posts,
thick enough to cast the whole patio into a cooling shadow. Underneath the
vines was a set of wrought iron patio furniture, a pot bellied barbecue and
two redwood chaise lounges. Sammie found herself imagining what it would be
like here, underneath the green canopy on a hot summer day, when all the
flowers were in bloom and the warm air thick with their mixed scents. She
walked around the little yard for awhile, entranced, listening as her host
told her about the little piece of paradise he had carved out.
       "I did do all the planting here. I picked out the bushes and the
shrubs and all the flowers, and I planted them all by myself. But I had some
help building the verandah and the planter. Okay, actually it was done by
Aunt Mattie's boyfriend who's a carpenter, but I'm the one who helped him.
And here, take a look at this."
       With a confidence that showed he had performed the move before, Joe
stepped onto the planter and raised up high enough to grasp the beam
overhead. As soon as he had gotten a good grip he lifted his legs and hung,
swinging back and forth several times, before starting to do chin ups. The
firmly set structure never gave out so much as a single creak.
       After about ten chin ups Joe dropped back down to the patio, and when
he looked at Sammie she saw his face was flushed and grinning. He slapped
one of the support beams affectionately.
       "Kevin was a real craftsman, and he showed me a lot about building
stuff out of wood. He liked doing things like this old school. Like, there's
not a single nail in this whole patio, not even in the flower box. It's all
fitted together, tongue and groove, mortis and tenon, that sort of thing. We
didn't even need to lash it, the rope at the corners is pretty much just
decorative. But I swear, this patio will last a lot longer than the house
will."
       There was a quiet pride in the young man's voice, that belied his
claim that he hadn't had more than a casual hand in the building of the
structure. Sammie felt herself responding to the feeling, and decided right
there that she liked this Joe a lot better than the shy, insecure one she
had met earlier. Or the panicked, terrified boy who had actually scared her
a couple of hours ago. She tried to think of something to say, but for some
reason her mind wasn't as fast as it usually was. Looking around for
inspiration, she finally noticed something strange about the verandah.
       "Hey, these leaves are all different. You've got more than one kind
of vine here, don't you?"

       Joe grinned, his pride rising up a notch now that Sammie had given
him the perfect opening for a little bragging.
       "You're right, they're three different types of flowering vines here.
Cypress vine, Heavenly Blue, and Moon Vine. At this latitude they're all
annuals, so they won't start blooming until around July, but when they do
this place looks like Disneyland."
       " `Disneyland' is a little vague, Joe. You think you can elaborate
some more?"
       "Um, okay. The vines with the deep, scraggly veins in the leaves, the
smaller ones, those are Heavenly Blues. The blossoms are about three inches
across, and they go from dark blue to a light purple, with a black center.
But the colors are real vivid, like a deep water lake in the mountains, you
know? The kind that makes you feel cooler just by looking at it.
       "The ones with the feathery leaves are the Cypress vines. The
blossoms are only about three inches across, and flute shaped. Some of them
are white, but mostly they're pink and blood red. These are Mattie's
favorites, they put out a scent that drives butterflies and hummingbirds
crazy. During the summer they sometimes swarm this place, flitting around
the yard like little rainbow colored disco lights. I guess that's what I
meant by the place looking like Disneyland, kind of like the Tinkerbells are
having a family reunion in our backyard."

       Sammie found herself smiling at the offbeat imagery Joe was creating,
seeing it in her mind exactly as he was describing it. As a journalism
student she considered herself to be a writer, and could fully appreciate
the ability to draw vivid pictures with words. She was amused to think that
maybe she had discovered another one of Joe's `hidden talents'.
       "But my favorite," he was saying, "are  the Moon vines, the ones with
the large heart shaped leaves. Those other two are Morning Glories, they
blossom at dawn and close at dusk. But Moon flowers are big and white and
they only bloom in the evening. They're as pale as a string of pearls, yet
even on the darkest night you can see them. It's almost like they can reach
out and catch the light from the stars.
       "And the really cool thing about Moon flowers is that each blossom
only blooms for one night, and then it dies. They bud so fast that there's
always new flowers the next day, but the ones you see are for that evening
only, and then they're gone. I'm not sure why I like that, maybe it's
because it makes each and every night special. Like it's saying, `tonight is
unique, there will never be another one exactly like it ever again'. It
makes every night sort of special that way, you see?"
       Joe stood there for several seconds waiting for her answer, before
Sammie finally blinked and broke the spell. Embarrassed, she groped for
something to say, only to find herself preempted by the sound of a car horn
sounding from out front. With a sheepish look he shrugged and smiled at her,
then turned around and led the way back to the open gate, rubbing the back
of his neck. Sammie followed, bemused by her new discovery.
       Joe Munson really did have a lot of hidden talents. Expert on antique
cars. Translator for the deaf. Gardener, carpenter, horticulturalist.
       And poet.
       * * *
        It was after four o'clock when they got home, and the first thing
the trio did was to check in with Phil. They informed him about the progress
on repairing Joe's house, and told him to expect a call from Adam Manning
regarding the window. The girls had used his name to guarantee payment,
which Joe once again promised that his aunt would reimburse him for when she
got back from Lake Tahoe. Phil dismissed it with a wave, as if the matter
weren't important, then reminded his daughters that they were supposed to
fix dinner that night. Joe volunteered to help, but both girls turned him
down flat.
	"You've got something else to do, hotshot. Hey, George, got a minute?"
Becka called over his shoulder, and when he turned around Joe almost jumped.
Somehow Becka's brother had managed to come into the room behind him without
making any sort of noise. Once again he was reminded of how much like big,
dangerous jungle cats Becka's brothers actually were..
	"What's up?" the tall man asked.
	"We've got a couple of hours before dinner. Do you want to take Joe outside
and give him his first self defense lesson?"
	"Yeah, just take him out back and slap him around a little bit," Gia
shouted from the kitchen.
	"You're NOT helping!" Becka shouted back. "She's just kidding, Joe."
	"Yeah, don't worry, amigo," George added, patting him on the shoulder with
one outsized hand. "Hardly anybody ever gets hurt in one of my classes. Of
course, when they do, it's usually pretty bad. Blood, broken bones,
ambulance. That sort of thing. Oww!"
	"And I can kick your ass, too! Now stop teasing Joe, and go show him how to
kill people."

	George had limped some as he led the way out to the backyard, but Joe was
pretty sure that he was exaggerating it. In fact, all pretense of injury
dropped as soon as they got outdoors.
           "Here," the older man nodded, indicating an area to the left side
of the patio. Hanging from the rafters there was a blue and white canvas
punching bag. "First we're going to start with the basics. Have you ever had
any training in self defense at all, Joe?"
       "Um, yeah, some. My Dad taught me a few things, and so has my Aunt
Mattie."
       "Probably just some boxing, right? Punches and jabs, but no kicking
or grappling?" When Joe nodded in agreement, George reached to a shelf on
the wall beside the bag, and took down a pair of boxing gloves. He tossed
them to Joe and said, "So show me what you've got."
       Joe shrugged and put on the gloves, then stood still while the other
young man laced them up. Then he stepped up to the bag and took a stance,
just like his father had taught him so many years ago with another pair of
gloves and a sofa cushion. He held up his hands to protect his face, then
threw a few tentative left jabs that barely made the heavy bag vibrate. When
he was ready he threw a hard right, putting all of his weight behind it.
Pathetically, the big bag still barely moved at all.
       "Keep going," George said, nodding encouragement. So for the next
five minutes Joe continued working at it, striking the bag repeatedly, the
stiff movements beginning to flow more smoothly. He was hitting harder, too,
making the sausage shaped canvas sack jump and sway just a little bit on its
chains. Not much, but enough to salve some of his pride. Yet the effort
required to do so was tremendous, and even after such a short time he found
himself covered in sweat and panting for breath. He dropped his arms and let
them dangle when George finally indicated he had seen enough, grateful for
the respite. As he stepped back from the swaying bag, he saw that George was
also putting on a pair of the heavy gloves.
       "Alright, now that was pretty good, Joe. Better than I had expected,
actually. You've got good focus, and you obviously know how to throw
combinations. You've even got a little snap in your wrist when you hit. I
don't know if your father taught you all that or if you're just a natural,
but it means that there's just that much I won't have to teach you again.
       "But you've got a lot of things that I can teach you. For instance,
you're not maximizing the power of your punches. Your stance is all wrong,
your balance is off, and you're not putting enough of your weight into it.
Hear, let me show you."
       George stepped up and began throwing punches, working the bag in a
slow, methodical rhythm. If Joe had expected something spectacular, he was
doomed to be disappointed. George's blows looked sloppy and uncoordinated,
and the heavy bag wasn't dancing on its chain any more than it had for him.
Then with a flash of mortification he suddenly realized that George was
imitating him.
       "This is what you're doing. You may think you're putting all of your
power into each punch, but actually you're only putting a fraction of what
you're capable of. Just by changing the way you stand, the way you throw
your punch, even the way you're thinking at the time, and your striking
potential will improve exponentially. Here, if you do everything right, this
is what you're capable of."
       Joe couldn't quite see how he did it, but suddenly something in the
way George moved had changed, as he turned back to the bag and once again
started throwing punches. Where before his body had been jerky and leaden,
now it seemed to flow, and the blows that struck the long bag were hitting
with the regularity of a piston. The sound of the gloves striking canvas was
now a resounding slap, and the bag that had barely moved before was now
jumping at the ends of its chains like a tethered dog. The change in the way
the big man was working the bag was so startling that Joe realized he had
been unknowingly holding his breath, and had to remind his body to breathe.
       With one final shot that left the heavy bag swaying, George stepped
away and turned to face him, tugging off the gloves that he hadn't bothered
to lace. Joe was perversely gratified to see that there was a fine sheen of
sweat on the other man's face, proving that the boxing display he had just
put on wasn't completely effortless. But then a light breeze wryly reminded
him that his own clothing was absolutely drenched, and that he hadn't
performed a tenth as well.
       "What I just did," George was saying, as he returned the gloves back
to the shelf he had gotten them from, "Is nothing more than what you're
physically capable of, once you learn how. It's not a matter of size, and
it's not a matter of strength. It's just a matter of know how and practice."
       Joe nodded, but he wasn't sure he really believed it. Still he spent
the next hour listening closely to George's instructions. He learned how to
stand, how to move, and how to balance himself when he did so. He also
learned how to fold his fist and strike with the first two knuckles only, to
keep from breaking the other two like matchsticks. And he also learned how
to throw a punch not just from the shoulder, but also from the hips and the
planted foot. This last actually did make the bag jump when he hit it, not
quite as much as when George had done it, but enough to make him think now
that it was all possible.
       He and George spent the last hour out on the lawn, going over a
variety of throws, holds, and all around dirty tricks. Joe ended up being
thrown around a lot, but George ended up on the ground just as much, and by
the time Gia called them in for dinner they were both covered in grass and
grinning like a couple of idiots. On the way back inside he stopped for a
second and just stared at the heavy bag, then turned to a waiting George.
"You said, um, you said that I'll be able to hit it as hard as you were
doing, right?"
       George nodded. "Sure. Someday, with enough practice."
       "But that's not as hard as you can hit, is it?"
       "Nope, not even close. But then I've been training in the arts since
I was seven years old. I've got a lot of lead on you, you know."
       "Not to mention twelve inches and a hundred pounds," he answered,
grinning dryly, knowing he was understating the sums by quite a bit. When
George grinned back and nodded, Joe continued.
       "Uh, anyway, I just wanted to ask... just how hard can you hit
something, George?"
       George gave him a measuring look, and then gave another one to the
heavy bag Joe had spent so much recent quality time with. The big man slowly
stepped up to where the bag hung, his whole attention seeming to draw in and
fixate on the heavy blue canvas. Just as Joe was beginning to fidget, George
suddenly screamed, "HeeYAAAH!" and struck, lunging at his target and putting
his whole body behind the blow. The big man's fist hit with a sound like a
sledgehammer, the bag rebounding, swinging on its chain until it hung fully
horizontal in mid air. George quickly stood upright and stepped to the side,
as with a creaking of chains the heavy bag danced and swayed drunkenly back
down.
       Joe stood there gaping, finally realizing what he was doing and
closing his mouth, hearing his teeth click. He watched, fascinated, as
George came to attention in front of the bag, and then bowed to it. Then the
older man turned around, a totally serene expression on his face, as he
walked past him and through the patio door. Joe tried, but the only thing he
could think of at that moment was that he really, really wanted to continue
these lessons.
       * * *
       "So what kind of idiot hits a canvas punching bag as hard as he can,
without wearing gloves?" Gia asked, as she daubed antiseptic on George's
bloodied knuckles. "I mean, Jeez, big brother, you look like you've been
juggling a power sander."
       "Oww! Dammit, that hurts! Look, you're right, I screwed up, okay? It
was one punch, and I just forgot to put a glove on. It's no big deal,
alright?" George looked at his hand where it rested in his sister's lap, as
she cleaned it with a cotton swab. Damn, he really had scraped the back of
his hand raw. He'd have to wear a bandage for at least a couple of days. Not
that it was a serious injury. What with teaching at the dojo and rebuilding
old cars at home, he was always banging up his hands in one manner or
another. But the damnable fact was that Gia was right, he had caused this by
being stupid.
	His little sister had finally finished cleaning the scrapes across his
knuckles, and had taken some gauze from the first aid kit on the bed next to
her. She folded the gauze into a pad, and then squeezed some antibiotic
ointment onto it from a tube. It filled the air with a greasy, medicinal
smell.
	"Okay, so if it's no big deal, why did you want to keep it such a secret?
Why not just do this down in the kitchen, instead of sneaking up here to my
room? Is it because my big, tough, macho brother doesn't want anybody to
know he has a boo-boo?"
	"You're really enjoying this, aren't you? Alright, Runt, I admit it. I kind
of... showed off a little in front of Joe."
	"Aaah. And if he were to see that you had actually screwed up, that would
be bad, right?" Gia had carefully placed the gauze pad over his wounds, and
now was cutting lengths of tape to bind it in place. "So what are you going
to tell him about this? He's going to notice the bandages when you go down
to dinner."
	"I'm not going to have dinner, I'm going to skip it to work on the Mercury
out in the garage. Then I'll just say that I scraped it when a wrench
slipped."
	"And nobody, especially not Dad or the boys, will know what kind of a boner
you pulled." She finished taping up his hand, watched as he flexed it a
couple of times, and then added mischievously, "Unless someone tells them."
	George scowled. "Gia..."
	"Kidding, just kidding. I won't tell anybody. Well, except for Becka, you
know I don't keep anything from her. She could use a laugh." She reached out
and touched him lightly on one big, heavily muscled forearm. "Hey, I'll fix
you a plate and bring it out there, `k?"
	"Yeah, thanks. By the way, your friend was doing pretty good out there
today, he was picking it up pretty fast. I think he's going to turn out to
be a natural."
	Gia's face split into a grin, at the same time she was shaking her head.
"More hidden talents. I don't know why I'm surprised. So what do you think,
will he be able to handle himself tomorrow?"
	"Depends on what he has to go up against. Look, you know how it works.
Little guys often tend to do better at the arts than bigger guys like us.
Remember that karateka from Okinawa who kicked Dad's ass at the Oakland
competition two years ago? It's the speed thing, little guys move faster
than big guys.
	"But getting skill like that takes time. A year from now, yeah, if he keeps
at it I'd say Joe could probably handle just about anybody at that school.
But right now... I don't know, I think we should be thinking about some sort
of equalizer."
	Gia frowned. "What, you mean like a weapon or something?"
	"Yeah, like that arsenal Becka carries around in her purse. I'm thinking
that short term, we should concentrate on weapons training with Joe, and
maybe come up with something he can carry with him to school."
	Gia was nodding thoughtfully, turning the idea over in her head. While she
was packing the first aid kit he gave her a kiss on the forehead, and then
left to slip out to the garage to prepare his alibi.
* * *
	Dinner was over, and since the girls had cooked and George was out in the
garage, Johnny and Bobby were busy in the kitchen doing the cleanup. Joe had
offered to help, but Phil had pointedly reminded him that he had to call his
aunt and tell her about the vandalism to her house. Joe winced, but
dutifully made his way to the privacy of Phil's office to call Mattie. By
the time he came back out the cleanup was all done, and he was looking more
than a little bit drained.
	"So what did she say?" Becka asked, as she and Gia led him upstairs. When
they got to the second floor he followed them into their room, where the
three of them all sat sprawled on the queen sized bed.
	"Well, she cussed a lot. Then she said she was going to drop the job up in
Tahoe and come back home right away, but I told her it wasn't necessary, so
she's going to stay and finish it out. Then she said she'd call her
insurance agent, and he'll get back to me here, tomorrow. I guess I'm going
to need those pictures Sammie took today."
	"That's okay, she said she'd have them with her by lunch period. Hey, tell
us what happened with you and George. How'd your first fight lesson go?"
	Joe's face broke out in a wide grin, and with an animated enthusiasm he
went on to describe his training session with their brother. Becka had to
hide a smile. More and more she was getting a chance to see this Joe, the
remarkable young man with the many sides and a passion for life, rather than
the withdrawn and isolated kid who disappeared like a scurrying rat if you
blinked. The thought that she and Gia had brought this change about was
engendering a warm, glowy feeling in her chest, one that went a long way
towards wiping out the guilt she had felt before.
	Joe had just shown them how to do a thumb lock by demonstrating on himself,
complete with such comic grimaces of mock pain that made her laugh, when Gia
got that let's-talk-about-something-serious look on her face. Joe must have
noticed it too, because when Gia lay a hand on his knee his face formed an
expectant look.
	"I talked to George after you and he had your lesson today. He told me some
things that I want to pass along to you, and then Becka and I need to talk
with you about it."
	"You mean like, what's going to happen tomorrow at school?" Joe's
expression had now shifted from attentive to sober, but Becka couldn't see
any of the fear that had been there that afternoon. Well, maybe just a
shade, passing behind his eyes. But a little fear was probably a good thing,
under the circumstances.
	"Tomorrow, and the rest of the school year, too. Maybe even the rest of
your life, really. Look, in the martial arts size doesn't matter all that
much. In fact, it can sometimes be a handicap. Skill and speed are much more
important, especially the farther you go in your training. If you go to a
tournament you'll see it all the time, little guys holding their own
against, and even wiping the floor with much bigger guys."
	"Like a certain brown belt in your Thursday night class who keeps throwing
you around like a softball, right? What is he, like twelve now?" Becka
teased, grinning.
	Gia raised one eyebrow when she answered, pointedly. "Or like the way I'm
still whipping your butt, even after five months of training."
	Becka shrugged and turned away, waving her hand dismissively. *Only a
matter of time, G. Only a matter of time, she thought. From the way Gia
grinned and stuck out her tongue, she knew her lover had heard that thought
as if she had said it out loud.
	"Anyway", Gia continued, getting back on track. "George said that he was
pretty impressed with you today. He said he thinks you're a natural, and
that you have the potential to be a really good karateka someday."
	Joe frowned at the word. "Kara--?"
	"Karateka. It means a guy who practices karate, only like an expert," Becka
put in, and watched Joe nod. It was the kind of nod, though, that just
acknowledged a fact. She didn't see any of the pleasure she thought should
have been there. His next words told her that Joe was already thinking
farther ahead.
	"There's a `but' in there somewhere, isn't there? You said I have the
potential  to be good at this. How much good is that going to do me
tomorrow?"
	Gia paused to take a deep breath before answering. "It most likely won't,
Joe, not in the short run. I mean, you can probably defend yourself against
most of the people in school now, one on one. Or at least put up enough of a
fight that they'll leave you alone afterwards. But no, there's no way you
can take on three guys at once and win. Maybe in another year or so, but not
now."
	Joe looked away, and Becka could see him beginning to draw in on himself
again, hugging his arms across his chest and unknowingly hunching in and
making himself smaller. Becka felt the urge to reach out and comfort him but
she fought it, instead making herself just sit there and wait. Joe didn't
need a shoulder to cry on right now, he needed to know that he could stand
on his own two feet. The way Gia was silently watching him told her that the
other girl felt the same way as well.
	The little break seemed to work, as with a sigh Joe pulled himself
together. He looked at both of them levelly and said, "So what now?"
	Gia nodded approvingly. "George suggested, and I've got to agree, that
right now you need something more than just kicking and punching. He thinks
we need to get you an equalizer. Becka, can I see your purse, please?"
	Becka blinked, suddenly realizing where this was going, and felt herself
tense inside. But never the less got off the bed and crossed the room to the
closet, then returned carrying the oversized macramé bag that Johnny had
gotten her for Christmas. There were still parts of her life that she wasn't
comfortable sharing with people outside the family, but Joe already knew
most of her past, and besides Gia was right. What she carried in that bag
might very well end up saving their new friend's life.
	When she got back to the bed Becka didn't wait to be told, she just upended
the bag and spilled its contents out all over the blue bedspread. A
surprising pile of clutter whose size she hadn't really appreciated spread
out before them, making Joe's eyes widen a bit. Before she had even laid the
now empty bag down on the floor Gia was already pawing through the pile,
searching. Becka started the lecture by holding up a familiar black box, the
stun gun she had used last week to save Joe from being raped. She pressed
the trigger button, and a blue arc of electricity sprang into life between
the two electrodes, filling the air with an evil snapping sound.
	"I don't know if you saw this before, but it's what I used last Friday to
scare Harper and his goons away from you. It's called a stun gun. It's a
non-lethal defensive weapon, legal to carry concealed. They can deliver an
electric jolt of up to 150,000 volts, but it's only about three milliamps,
which is enough to overload someone's nervous system but not enough to kill.
The problem is, it doesn't work very well against someone who's wearing
heavy clothes or like leather. Here, check it out."
	She lay the little black box down on the bed, then looked at Gia, who
passed her what looked like a can with a spray nozzle attached to the top.
	"This is pepper spray. It has a range of about twenty feet, you shoot
somebody in the face with this and their eyes and mucus membranes swell
shut. That means they can't see or breath very well. It's good because you
don't have to let the bad guy get close to you, but it's not too good at
close range. That, and about one person in ten is immune to it, so if you
run into him you're screwed."
	Now she lay the pepper spray on the bed next to the stun gun, then took the
last object from Gia. It looked like nothing so much as a six inch piece of
metal pipe with a round ball at one end. She held it out, pressed a button
on the side, and the pipe suddenly telescoped out to almost three times its
previous length. Joe jumped at the loud metallic chiiing, whose echo seemed
to hang in the air for a long time.
	"This is a spring loaded, collapsible baton. I don't think I have to
explain the plusses. The downside is, it's pretty much illegal to carry in
California. The exceptions are cops, and security guards who have taken a
course and gotten a certificate. We get around that `cause we teach the
baton course at our dojo, so we all have the security certificates. It's
still kind of iffy, though. If some cop catches me with this, he could give
me a hard time, but they most likely wouldn't bother. You'd probably get in
a lot of trouble, though."

	Joe found himself staring at the mini arsenal laid out on the bedspread
before him, fascinated by the violence they seemed to represent. He slowly
shook his head in awe, before reaching out and touching the metal baton with
one hesitant finger.
	"I can't believe you actually carry all this stuff at school! Gia, do you
have stuff like this in your purse, too?"
	He saw Gia fidget, and cast a glance towards Becka. The blonde girl gave
her a solemn nod, and Gia took a deep breath before answering.
	"No, I don't, Joe. I don't carry any weapons, just a police whistle. But
I've never been raped, either. That's kind of how you can tell if a woman's
ever been violated before, you just look in her purse."
	Joe swallowed, then looked at Becka, who simply looked back levelly. He
dropped his eyes, feeling the overwhelming urge to apologize, although for
what he didn't know. But showing a rare sensitivity for someone his age, he
wisely chose not to.
	"Okay, I take it these are supposed to be examples of an `equalizer'. So
does this mean you want me to start carrying this stuff to school, too? If
you do, then I'm going to need a bigger back pack."
	Becka grinned, thereby ending the last of the earlier tension. "Nope, you
don't need to carry this much stuff. But we think you should be carrying
something with you when you go back. Look, we teach lots of self defense
classes at the dojo. We have all sorts of other stuff that's legal to carry,
which we can teach you how to use. Tomorrow after we finish up at your
house, we can stop by and try out a few things."
	"Okay. But that means I won't have anything to take with me until
Wednesday. What am I going to do about tomorrow?"
	The two girls shared a look, and this time it was the younger girl who
answered.
	"We're not sure, Joe. We've still got to talk it over, but it's not a good
idea to carry a weapon without knowing how to use it. Let Becka and I work
on it tonight, alright? Don't worry, we'll think of something."

	They talked for a while longer, but it was getting late and it had been a
busy day. Joe finally told the girls goodnight and left to go to his own
room on the third floor. After cleaning up he took his CD player and
headphones with him when he slid between the sheets, and inserted one of his
favorite disks by Leone Redbone.
	Even as the sweet/sad notes and the raspy voice worked their usual magic,
he figured he would have way too much on his mind to be able to fall asleep
anytime soon. But strangely enough he did not spend that much time thinking
about the events of the day, nor about what would happen to him tomorrow. He
found that he had already talked and thought both subjects into the ground,
and had no urge to worry at it like a bone. Instead, he found something else
to occupy his thoughts.
	Sammie Waters.


(continued)