Flood

circus if I wear these.”

“You’ll look beautiful.”

“Burke, I’m serious. Some women can wear these things, but I’m not built that way. It took me about fifteen minutes to get them on in the store.”

“Oh, you already tried them on.” Flood looked down, said nothing. “Flood, you vain bitch. All this crap about clothes and it’s only because you think you don’t look good in them.”

“It’s not just that.”

“So what else is it?”

“I can’t move in them.”

“Put them on and let me see, okay?”

Flood jumped to her feet, flung off her jacket, untied the sash at her waist, and stepped aside as her slacks fell to the floor. She popped open the snaps in the crotch of her bodysuit, ripped it over her head, and grabbed the pink pants out of my hand in one vicious motion. That took about three seconds. Then she grunted and strained for about five minutes, trying to get the pants over her hips, muttering curses at me all the while, but she finally got them closed over her waist. It looked like bright new pink skin. With her hands on her hips, she glared at me, “See what I mean?”

“Can you bend over?”

“Bend over? I can’t even walk.”

“Just try, okay?”

She turned and walked away from me. It was the finest combination of sex and comedy I’d ever seen. From the ankles to the upper thighs, she was sheathed in pink metal, and from there on up it looked like pink Jello bitterly resisting confinement. Flood spun around, “Burke, if I even see so much as a smile on your ugly face I’m going to put you in the hospital.”

My face was as flat as a pane of glass. Unfortunately it was equally transparent and Flood charged with both fists clenched. Thank God by the time she made it over to where I was sitting, she was laughing herself. She laughed even harder when I tried to help her get the pants off. She struggled to her feet, and swished her way over to the bathroom with the rest of the outfit. When she came out she was perched on the spike heels, wearing the wig and the jersey top. Even trying to watch her face with all that flesh bouncing around was impossible, and I could tell she knew it too. With her face made up, we’d be home free. She pranced around in the middle of the room, making a few experimental passes with her feet, twirling them in small circles a few inches off the ground.

“I can kick in these things, but no high kicks, no roundhouses.”

“Forget about that. It isn’t a fighting outfit, Flood, it’s a damn disguise, right?”

“What if I have to kick someone?”

“Take the pants off first.”

Flood gave me a look, and started to roll the pants down over her hips. By the time they got halfway down, I knew she wasn’t going to kick me.

22

WHEN I WOKE up a couple of hours later, Flood was still out like she’d been drugged. I wish I could sleep like that-maybe it was because her conscience was so clear. We still had a bit of time so I got out my cigarettes and sat by the big window looking down at the street. I held the butt below the windowsill and blew the smoke down in case there was some freak out there looking for a tiny red light in the darkness that meant go instead of no to him. I still had to think of a plan that would get Flood her raw meat and keep me away from the government. Nothing came to me.

The sounds of the shower brought me back inside, where I waited for Flood to come out. When she did she was wearing some big fluffy white towel and walked past me to the large room where I’d been smoking. I followed her and watched while she dropped the towel, walked nude over to the wall with all the mirrors, and started her workout-a complicated kata with spinning kick-thrusts and double hand-breaks, knife- edged and clenched fist. A kata is a martial arts exercise: some of the Japanese styles use them to qualify for higher degrees, like a black belt; some use them as stylized practice. When an amateur does a kata it’s like watching a spastic robot, but Flood’s was a death dance. I watched her quietly, not moving. The only noise was the occasional hiss of breath through her nose.

Flood’s kata was steel-edged white smoke. She finished by landing into a split any cheerleader would envy. Stayed perfectly still on the floor, concentrating on something. Then she looked up at me, “Can you throw me those pants I bought?”

I went back into her space and brought them out. Flood worked them back up over her hips. Her body had a light sheen of sweat and it was still a struggle. It didn’t look funny this time. She zipped them up, snapped the front button closed, walked over to the wall, and took down a pair of heavy leather gloves, something like catcher’s mitts. She tossed them to me. I knew what she wanted me to do, so I took off my shoes and walked out onto the gym floor. Standing in a semi-crouch, I held the gloves out toward Flood, one at my right knee, the other at my left shoulder, the palms facing her.

Flood came to me with her hands open in front of her, bowed slightly. I nodded that I was ready. She approached with small, light steps, floated up on her toes and sideways into a cat-stance, and suddenly lashed out with her left foot at my right knee. She caught the open glove squarely with a harsh pop, spun on her right leg, planted her left foot, and whipped the right up at my right shoulder. It never came off-the skin-tight material held her legs together at the crotch and she fell, immediately rolling to the side, hands clasped near her head, elbows out.

I knew what she was going to say. “It’s no good. I can’t get any speed or leverage above the knee. We have to get something else.”

“Okay, Flood, I don’t want you to feel helpless.”

“It’s not a joke.”

“It doesn’t bother you to fight with no clothes on, but-”

“I had to train for a long time before it didn’t. We all have to practice like that, so that we don’t think about ourselves, just about the task.”

“So didn’t you ever train to fight wearing clothes?”

“Burke, listen to me. I could fight no matter what, yes? At least I could defend myself. But I need room to move or I can’t develop any power.”

“So when you fight this Cobra freak…”

“Yes.”

“Flood, I’m not promising it will end like that.”

“You just find him for me.”

I went back to the window and sat down on the floor, lit up. Flood padded over to me, floated down into a lotus position, sat there quietly for a while. Maybe keeping me company, maybe thinking too. She didn’t understand a fucking thing.

“Flood,” I said, “you know how to fight an attack dog?”

“I never have.”

“There’s just one secret, okay? When he bites you-and he is going to bite you-you have to ram whatever he bites back into his mouth as deep and as hard as you can.”

“And then?”

“And then you use whatever you have left to cancel his ticket.”

“So?”

“So the dog expects you to do just one thing-pull away as hard as you can. He’s a hunter and that’s what his prey is supposed to do. Panic and run.”

“So?”

“So there’s no such thing as a fair fight with a dog.”