Fallen Angel Page 12

  ‘So you are in favour of Mr Khan pushing ahead with his book tour.’

  ‘Indeed, I am. Mr Khan is a good Muslim and a good citizen. I have the highest respect for what he’s trying to achieve. He is not intimidated by terrorists, nor should he be. He represents a new breed of Muslim progressives. Someone who uses literature to inspire intellectual advancement instead of blowing himself up to make a point. Now, small as our country may be, it has always stood up for what’s right at critical moments in history. This happens to be one of them. We have an obligation to support and protect Mr Khan as he embarks on his mission.’

  ‘And you stand by that even if he inspires outbreaks of violence?

  ‘That’s actually a moot point. We knew the risks when we gave him asylum here. We knew how much those fascists in the Muslim world hated him. But as the old saying goes, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. So we can’t back down. Not now. Not ever.’

  7

  ‘So you think you can fight?’ Maya Raines eyed the students before her.

  They were fit and trim and confident. The kind of girls who knew their place in the world and weren’t afraid to show it.

  One of them raised her hand. ‘Miss Raines?’

  Maya nodded. ‘Yes, Zoe?’

  ‘We’re, like, black belts. We know all about fighting.’

  The group sniggered. Lots of oohs and ahhs.

  ‘So you wouldn’t be afraid if some street punk tried to rape you?’

  Zoe rolled her eyes. ‘Afraid? I would kick his ass.’

  The group laughed. The oohs and ahhs got louder.

  Maya folded her arms, trying her damndest to keep a straight face. It didn’t help that the community hall they were in actually doubled as a children’s playgroup on weekdays. Cutesy drawings and craftwork decorated the walls. No, not exactly favourable to creating fear. If she had her way, she would have held this lesson in a dark and damp alleyway past midnight. Not a cutesy community hall on a Saturday morning.

  Still, she didn’t see it as a negative. Sure, the young ladies were cocky now. But once the right stimulus was applied, fear would flow naturally.

  Maya waited for the laughter to die down before speaking up, ‘Zoe, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s your discipline?’

  ‘Tae kwon do.’

  ‘And your rank?’

  ‘Second dan.’

  ‘Right. So you can handle yourself – you can kick fast, and you can kick hard.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Do you want to put that to the test?’

  ‘Hell, yeah.’

  The group parted and Zoe stepped forward, bold as a peacock.

  Maya took hold of the whistle hanging from her neck and raised it to her lips. She blew it long and hard, its shrill blast echoing throughout the hall.

  A door at the other end opened.

  A man emerged, wrapped up in safety pads and wearing an enormous silver helmet that masked his face. He looked like a lumbering alien as he moved towards them, shifting his weight from side to side.

  Zoe stared as the man stopped in front of her, stretching his gloved hands, his joints popping. The students murmured among themselves.

  Maya clapped to get their attention. ‘Girls, meet Bulletman. You can think of him as being a crash-test dummy on steroids. The rules are simple. Zoe? Pay attention, Zoe. You’re going to try and get past him. And Bulletman? Well, he’s going to try and block you. You can hit him as hard as you want, anywhere you want. Head, groin, legs, whatever – it’s all fair game. And don’t you worry about the helmet. It’s padded with four layers. You won’t hurt yourself by attacking it. Now, bear in mind, Bulletman won’t be hitting back, but he will be pushing. He’ll be pushing hard. Any questions?’

  Zoe raised her hand. ‘Miss Raines? Don’t I get to wear, like, protective gear?’

  Maya smiled. ‘Protective gear is for wimps like Bulletman, not a tough cookie like you. Besides, the floor is padded. That’s all you really need. Cool?’

  ‘Oh. Cool.’ Zoe entered a sparring stance, arms raised, fists clenched as she bounced up and down, puffing fiercely.

  A bad start, Maya knew. The bouncing would only compromise her centre of gravity, while the puffing would over-pressurise her blood, wrecking all muscle control. The worst possible combination.

  Maya blew the whistle, and Bulletman rushed Zoe with all the force of a freight train, screaming, ‘You think you can get past me, bitch? You think you can? I’m going to beat the shit out of you! I’m going to break your pretty face!’

  Zoe spun and kicked, but it was too weak, too hasty, and she missed. Bulletman walloped into her, shoving her back, and she drifted to the left, gasping, punching – one, two, three – but they were glancing blows, feeble, ineffective.

  Bulletman crashed into her once more, and this time she drifted to the right, bouncing, kicking – one, two – but Bulletman gave her no room, and he powered his head into her, destroying her centre of gravity.

  Suddenly she was retreating, staggering, tripping, no more conviction, no more technique. Her eyes were dazed, her face pinched, her body looking like a puppet flailing on invisible strings as Bulletman screamed and pushed, screamed and pushed, screamed and pushed.

  She finally went down, scrambling against the wall, squeezing herself into a pitiful ball, Bulletman hovering over her, banging his fists, growling.

  Maya checked her watch.

  Ten seconds.

  Yeah, things had gone far enough.

  She blew the whistle.

  Bulletman ceased his assault and stepped away.

  Slowly, Zoe uncurled herself, her chest heaving, her face red as a cherry. The salty smell of sweat hung thick in the air. The smell of fear.

  No one moved.

  No one spoke.

  Eventually, Bulletman reached for Zoe and helped her to her feet.

  Maya allowed the silence to linger for a bit before breaking it, ‘What you’ve just seen is called the adrenaline dump. Let me just say that again: adrenaline dump. Your heart races. Your vision tunnels. You start to shake. You can’t breathe. You lose fine motor control. Your reflexes go wonky. Time slows down. You lose focus. Your black belt doesn’t help you. You forget all your fancy moves. You get overwhelmed. You get pummelled. You get raped. You become a statistic. End of story.’

  Maya walked to a bench nearby and unclasped the chilly bin sitting on it. Icy vapour swirled as she got out a sports drink. Cracking the can open with a fizz, Maya handed it to Bulletman, who handed it to Zoe.

  Zoe accepted the drink with shivering hands, her head bowed.

  Maya turned back to the students.

  Their faces were pale.

  They didn’t look so smug now.

  ‘Girls, there’s the dojo and then there’s the streets. Chances are, your instructors have never been in real confrontation on the streets. They don’t even know what it feels like. They can’t tell you about the hormones pumping through your blood, the neurons firing in your brain, the spasms attacking your muscles. They can’t coach you what to do when your reptilian side overpowers your mammalian side. I mean, we are so used to thinking of ourselves as civilised and restrained human beings that we have completely lost touch with the very instincts that are vital for keeping us alive and well. That’s what this course is meant to fix. I want my students to understand the adrenaline dump. I want them to master it. Because, girls, you already have the tools. Evolutionary biology is hiding in plain sight. Don’t believe me? Then spread your fingers. Go ahead. Lift up your hands and spread your fingers. Notice the webbed skin between them? There you go. Your reptilian roots are right there, buried beneath a mammalian façade. Now, if you can use that under stress, under extreme stress, it might just prove to be the difference.’

  Maya studied the group. They looked lost, as if she had just been speaking to them in Latin. Obviously, she needed to unblock their minds with a hard and fast demonstration. Nodding at Bulletman, she took off her whistle and her cell phone a
nd placed them on the bench.

  Maya turned just as Bulletman rushed forward, screaming, ‘You damn bitch! I’m gonna kill you! I’m gonna kill you!’

  Maya felt the adrenaline ribbon through her like an explosion of warmth, pitching her to the edge, causing her to see red. Her body shook like she was being caught up in a hurricane, but she forced herself to breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. She was conscious of her thundering heartbeat, welcoming the rush, riding it, allowing her raw primal instincts to take over.

  Maya juked right, forcing Bulletman to shift his momentum to chase her, and then she danced back to the left. She slammed the web between her forefinger and thumb into his throat, hearing him grunt, stopping him in mid-lunge. Then she palm-struck his face in a blur – bam, bam, bam. The force came from deep within her, the very core of her being, as she turned fear into rage, her screams eclipsing his as she refused to back down, refused to be a victim.

  Staggering now, Bulletman shoved her back and swung his arms wildly, delivering jabs, crosses, hooks. But Maya simply dodged his punches, keeping herself out of range, allowing him to tire himself out.

  She weaved left, then right, hitting him with a low kick to the kneecap, then another to the groin, and as he stumbled, she closed in, slipping through his weakened defences. She blocked his feeble punches, then hit him with jabs of her own, finishing up with an elbow strike to the face.

  Now the tide of the battle had well and truly turned, and as Bulletman faltered, Maya hooked one leg behind his, tripping him. They went down together, thumping hard on the mat. She was on top of him now, pummelling his face with palm strikes – one, two, three, four.

  He jerked like a wild bull and threw her off, but she readjusted her position and scissored her legs around his torso and neck. At the same time, she grabbed his arm and stretched it out, hyperextending the joint, locking him down.

  Bulletman groaned and convulsed.

  But there was no escape.

  Eventually he tapped his free hand against the mat, conceding defeat.

  Maya paused for dramatic effect. Then, slowly, very slowly, she released the armbar and disengaged from the grapple.

  She rose to her feet. Her tunnelled senses eased as she came down from the adrenaline high, and she became aware of the students clapping and cheering and whooping as they crowded around her with Zoe at the forefront, wide-eyed and eager.

  ‘That’s way awesome!’

  ‘Unreal! Never seen anything like it!’

  ‘You were like an animal, Miss Raines! Like an animal!’

  Maya could do little but pant and smile. That’s when her cell phone buzzed on the bench, cutting short the kudos.

  Zoe scooped it up and handed it over. ‘Here you go, Miss Raines.’

  ‘Cheers.’

  Maya checked the caller ID.

  It was Deirdre Raines.

  Mama.

  She sighed, and her smile became a frown. Shaking her head, she straightened. ‘Girls, I’m so sorry, but I’m going to have to cut this short. That’s it for today’s introductory session. Bulletman – also known as Eli – will be taking down your details if you are keen to sign up for the full course. Thank you. Have a good day.’

  Maya turned away from the chattering girls.

  Mama.

  They hadn’t spoken to each other since that night. They had gotten in each other’s faces back then, arguing, neither of them backing down, and in the end, Maya had left, vowing never to return.

  She flexed her fingers around her phone. The hurt was still raw, jabbing and twisting in her like fish hooks.

  Mama, you’re choosing a lousy time to call.

  She made for the community hall’s entrance and pushed the door open. The autumn breeze tousled her hair. Dry leaves skittered along in the parking lot. The sky was gunmetal grey.

  Maya answered her phone. ‘Yes?

  Mama’s voice was flat and cold. ‘Maya, I’m putting you on assignment.’

  ‘I can’t do it. Sorry.’

  Mama ignored her. ‘Our principal is Abraham Khan. It’s all over the news, so I’m sure you’re aware that an attempt was made on him last night.’

  ‘You’ll have to find someone else—’

  ‘The police have relocated him to the Pacifica Hotel, and there is every chance that this thing might escalate.’

  ‘Please find someone else—’

  ‘The Diplomatic Protection Squad is up to their eyeballs with the economic summit in Wellington. They cannot redeploy to Auckland. Not for the next few days. So, for now, Section One is being tapped to look after Khan.’

  Maya sighed. ‘I’m not in the right state of mind.’

  ‘I’m not playing your games, Maya. Not today. Dashiell and Arthur are already on-site. Noah will be at your place in an hour. That’s final.’

  ‘Mama—’

  ‘I said that’s final. Just do your job.’

  Maya frowned as the line disconnected with a click. She felt her stomach clench up, and her mouth tasted sour.

  Yes, Mama was doing what she did best.

  Being a dragon lady.

  Never taking no for an answer.

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  If you have enjoyed reading this excerpt from The Blasphemer, you can get the full novel now at all good digital bookstores.

  All you have to do is click here.

  Cheers!

  Thank you so much for your support! :)

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  John Ling is a Malaysian-born writer based in Auckland, New Zealand. His articles and stories have appeared in American and British publications, and he was a finalist at the AYA Dream Malaysia Awards, where he was recognised for his efforts in promoting child literacy.

  Visit his website at johnling.net