The Killing League

39.

Nicole

Lulu’s on Main Street in Venice was halfway between the Pekiti Tirsia studio and Nicole’s house. She parked her Acura, plugged the meter and went inside.

A television over the bar showed a soccer game in progress halfway around the world. Kurt waved to her from a stool at the end of the bar and Nicole took a seat next to him.

She ordered a bottle of her favorite Mexican beer, Dos Equis.

“I’m surprised how crowded it is,” Kurt said, glancing at the dining room, which was easily three-quarters full and it was still quite early.

Lulu’s was considered a bit of a tourist trap, but the Mexican food was good, the margaritas were big, and the location couldn’t be better.

Nicole took a drink from her beer and glanced over at Kurt.

“I guess happy hour is starting early today,” she said. “So how long have you been training?” she asked.

He took a pull from his Corona. Nicole watched the lime float back to the surface. “A couple years,” he said. “I did aikido for a long time. Almost ten years.”

“Why the switch?” she asked.

He gave a little shrug and she thought he looked a little nervous.

“Something new,” he said. “I like that Pekiti Tirsia uses edged weapons. Most of the time, you don’t get attacked by guys with long bamboo sticks.”

No, Nicole thought, most of the time that’s not how it works when you’re attacked. A little shiver ran down her back and she was always surprised at how close to the surface her memories were. Any mention of attack still triggered a reaction deep down in her gut.

“Yeah,” she said. “Not a lot of gangbangers and crack addicts walking around with Malaysian fighting sticks.”

Kurt smiled. Nicole liked his easy grin. He didn’t have perfect teeth, but they were good, and his face creased into something warm and friendly.

“How about you?” he asked.

She felt a small flutter of apprehension. It used to be much more than a flutter. At times it had practically felt like a flock of Canadian geese taking off inside her, whenever someone new started to ask about her past. It was her own nervous reaction, wondering when, where and how she would tell them she was once famous for, well, something no one wanted to be famous for.

Of course, the guys at class knew about her past, and they might have told Kurt, but Nicole guessed that he didn’t know.

“A couple of years,” she said. “I love it. From day one, I’ve loved it. The movements, the strategy, applying strength in a strategic way. It really is an art form.”

Nicole took a drink of her beer. It felt great after the sweaty air of the fighting studio.

“So what do you do for a living?” Kurt asked.

“I run a restaurant,” Nicole said.

“Really? What’s the name?” he said.

“Thicque, spelled with a q-u-e, instead of a k.”

“What kind of food do you serve?”

“California nouveau. A little bit of whatever I feel like,” Nicole said.

“I’d like to go sometime,” Kurt said.

“You should. Stop by, I’ll take good care of you,” she said.

Kurt looked at her and smiled.

Nicole felt her face flush. That wasn’t what she’d meant to say, it had come out wrong.

But from the look on Kurt’s face, he didn’t mind.