Burn (9 page)

“This is some spread, chief,” Sionne said, passing
Gian a second napkin. “You cook, you clean. You’re
gonna make a great little wife someday.”

“Up yours, junior,” Gian grumbled.

At almost three hundred pounds and six and a half feet
tall, Sionne Falaniko was Gian’s biggest fighter. His back
ground in mixed martial arts made the Samoan a fierce
competitor, but Sheng Li had refined his skills and shaped
his talent, helping him to six national fighting titles.

His native tattoos and size gave him an imposing
appearance, but a minute in Sionne’s company was all it
took to realize that inside the well-muscled fighting
machine raged the heart of a kitten. One of Gian’s best
instructors, Sionne’s specialty was teaching the basics of
martial arts to children aged five to eight.

“Are you gonna need your La-Z-Boy, chief?” Sionne
asked. He clutched two plates in his hand, each resem
bling a model of Mt. Everest sculpted from pasta and red
sauce. “If you want Karl moved, I can move him.”

“No, Karl can keep it. Are you gonna need an ambu
lance after you eat all that?”

“This?” Sionne raised the plates. “This is just the first
course.”

Thankful that Sionne had taken up martial arts and
not competitive eating, Gian followed him into the
media room, carrying bottled water for each of them.

Chip entered behind Gian, taking a seat on one of the
two oversized sofas on opposite sides of the yellow pine
c
ocktail table Karl was using as a footrest. Gian walked
between the La-Z-Boy and the table, knocking Karl’s feet
onto the floor. Half of Karl’s food jostled onto his lap.

“What the hell, man,” Karl cried, half-chewed
chicken spraying from his mouth.

“You’re in a recliner,” Gian responded coolly. “You want to put your feet up, use the footrest built into the
chair.”

“Damn it, Gian,” Karl swore. “I just bought these
jeans.”

“It shouldn’t be too hard to find another pair,” offered
Cory Blair, a weekend instructor who attended
Washington University. “There’s a Tuffskins outlet in St.
Charles.”

“That’s real funny, Urkel,” Karl sneered over the
laughter of his co-workers. “Shut up before I kick your
ass back to school.”

“That’s enough, guys,” Gian announced, quieting
them. “Let’s get this meeting underway.”

He opened the armoire occupying the wall adjacent
to the two sofas, revealing a forty-seven-inch flat screen television. At Gian’s bidding, Chip and Cory lowered the room-darkening shades covering the windows behind the
sofa they shared.

“If I’d known there was going to be a movie, I’d have
brought the cupcake I took to the Tropicana last night,”
Karl said. “Gian, this is the best makeout pad I’ve ever seen! Dude, I bet they drop their panties the instant they
see this place. Hell, if I’d have known you were living this
large, I’d have invited myself over a long time ago. No w
onder you pay us pennies. All Sheng Li’s dough goes
into your mortgage.”

“All Sheng Li’s dough goes back into Sheng Li,” Gian
said stiffly. “This was one of my brother’s model homes. I got it for next to nothing.”

“Eat that up,” Cory muttered.

“This is one of Pio’s green homes?” Chip asked.

“Yes. But I didn’t invite you bums here to talk about
my house,” Gian said. “I want to discuss the
International Martial Arts tourney with you.”

“Man, that’s five months away,” Karl complained.

“And some of us need every second of that time to
train.” Gian pressed a key on the remote clutched in his
hand. The television blipped on and he hit another
button, this one powering the DVD player.

“Ever done it in a recliner, Gian?” Karl asked, fooling
around with the chair’s back and footrest settings.

“If that’s an invitation,” Gian started, “I’m flattered
but not interested.”

Chip and Cory laughed, which made Karl launch
himself out of the chair. Sionne, incredibly agile and fast
for his size, popped off his ottoman and blocked Karl’s
path to the sofa.

“Guys, c’mon,” Gian sighed. “The faster we get
through this meeting, the sooner you can get out of here.”

Glowering at Chip and Cory, Karl resumed his seat. “So how ‘bout it, Gian,” he persisted. “You ever done it
in this chair?”

“The day I discuss my sex life with you, will be the
day—”

“
What sex life?” Karl mumbled. “I thought you were
married to Sheng Li.”

“At least I’m not married to my right hand,” Gian
replied.

“Oh, snap,” Cory shouted, drawing his knees to his chest in exaggerated paroxysms of laughter.

“Who was that girl I saw you with at the Tropicana
last night, Cory?” Karl sneered. “Her ass looked like two
bowling balls wrapped in basketball skin.”

“At least my girl had an ass,” Cory coolly responded.
“Yours had a billboard booty.”

“It’s ’cause I keep her on her back,” Karl said.
“You’re such a pig, man,” Chip muttered.

“Better a pig than a Boy Scout,” Karl scoffed. He
grabbed the bulge between his legs. “I got females beg
ging me to feed their kitties. All you got outta your girl last night was a walk.” He clasped his hands under his
chin and batted his eyelashes. “Oh, how sweet,” he
started in a teasing falsetto. “Opie took Frieda for a walk
down Limp Lover’s Lane.”

Sionne belched. “Who’s Frieda?”

“For cryin’ out loud, I could smell that,” Gian
winced. “Did you have hotdogs before you came here?”
“Who’s Frieda?” Cory asked.

“Cinder White,” Karl said. “Gian’s private lesson. Or
maybe she’s into Chip’s privates now.”

Gian’s jaw hardened.

“Why do you call her Frieda?” Chip asked.

“Frieda is a black girl’s name,” Karl smirked.

“
Actually, it’s German in origin,” Cory said. “It means
‘lady.’ My sister and her husband are having twins. All they do is talk baby names.”

“If they’re girls, she could name them Frieda and
Hazel,” Karl said. “Or Leroy and Tyrone, if they’re boys.”

“Why don’t you shut up, you ignorant prick,” Cory
snapped.

Karl kicked the footrest back into place and sat taller
in the recliner. “Why don’t you make me?”

“You know I can,” Cory warned.

“Let’s dance, Lionel.”

Both instructors stood and started to square off, but
Gian quickly stepped between them, Chip taking Cory’s
arm in a brotherly grip.

“Settle down, guys,” Gian said, his tone reminding them that he could take the both of them if he had to. Fast, slim, and strong, Cory was the youngest reigning
Junior Regional Martial Arts champion ever, and the first
African-American to win the honor. Karl rarely competed,
but his mean streak and the solid muscle packed on his
large frame might have been enough to give him the edge
in a fight with Cory. It was a match-up Gian would have
enjoyed watching on the mat, not in his house.

Karl and Cory returned to their seats, although they
continued to give each other the stink eye.

“Save this for the tournament,” Gian told them as he
paced the room. “The footage you’re about to see will
show you what you’ll be up against. You’re gonna need
everything you’ve got to win. And winning this tourna
ment is about more than prize money or trophies. This is
w
here the best of the best meet to prove who most
deserves that title. You take everything you have to the
mat, and you spend it, every bit of it. When you walk
into that arena and face off with your opponent, you’ll do
it for honor.” He glanced at Chip, then Cory. “You’ll do
it for respect.” He threw a glance at Karl.

Gian stepped around the cocktail table to pull
Sionne’s plate from him before he could dive into a third
helping of pasta. “You’ll do it to show your peers that
you’re a champion on and off the mat.”

Gian returned to the armoire and pushed
PLAY
on the
remote. “You four are Sheng Li’s best chance for a team
title and to medal in the individual fight classes. I’d like
each of you to nominate a student or two who you think
would make a good showing in the exhibition matches.
Competitors will be matched up according to skill level
alone, not weight, so keep that in mind.” He turned to Chip. “I’ve already got Zae Richardson on my list, so I’d like you to choose two of your other students.”

“Which belt class are you putting Zae in?” Chip
asked.

“Any one she wants.”

They chuckled, each of them having survived in-
house run-ins with Zae.

“Put her in the black belt class.” Cory grinned. “I’d
love to see her tear up that bulldog from the Philippines.”
He pointed to the television. “Did you see his take
down?”

They quieted to watch the fight footage, Gian’s ani
mated play-by-play providing insight to the styles and
h
abits of the men they would likely face in the tourna
ment. Once the DVD was over, Gian dismissed them
with copies to study on their own time.

Chip volunteered to stay and help Gian clean up the
kitchen. “My mother’s baked ziti normally feeds twelve,”
Gian said, scooping the half-cup leftover portion into a
small plastic storage container. “Or one Sionne.”

“Karl made off with the last of the ribs,” Chip said.
“Gian, he’s totally outta control.”

Gian plunged the empty casserole dish into a sink full
of hot, soapy water. “Maybe he wanted something to
chow on while he watches the Cards tonight.”

“I’m not talking about him stealing your leftovers.”

Gian glanced up from the dish he was washing and
sighed. “Yeah, I know. He’s gotten worse ever since he lost his job at the auto plant.”

Chip leaned against the counter nearest Gian. “That’s
not your problem. But sooner or later, he’s going to
become yours. He’s always been obnoxious, and now he’s
downright mean.”

His white shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, Gian
stared forward as he washed the ziti dish. Through the
wide, bare window before him, he watched a hawk soar
above the treetops. The hawk either lived in or planned
to prey on something scurrying through the organized
wilderness of the Shady Creek Nature Conservatory
abutting Gian’s big backyard.

“I can’t fire him,” Gian finally said. “Sheng Li is all
he’s got left.”

“So why’s he trying to throw it away?”

“
He’s in a bad place right now. You and I know what
that’s like. It’ll pass.”

Staring at his flip flops, Chip grabbed his left elbow with his right hand. “Are you sure?”

“No.”

“He’s got a real burr in his saddle about Cinder.”
“You noticed?” Gian asked wryly.

“He’s not the only one preoccupied with her.”

“Cory asked about her yesterday.” Gian laughed.
“Not that he’d know what to do with her if she was into
twenty-year-old college juniors.”

“I don’t know,” Chip said. “Cory’s got his goofy
moments, but I don’t see anything wrong with a younger
man seeing an older woman.”

Gian nearly dropped the freshly rinsed casserole pan.
“You wouldn’t mind seeing Cory with Cinder White?
Our little Cory?”