Chapter Two
Brenda was waiting on the beach the next morning. Beautiful in a yellow and orange polka-dotted bikini, her long sandy hair coursing down her back, she sunned herself and waited for her prey.
She didn’t have to wait long—he was out jogging again, his long curls damp on his bare neck. Master had been right; he was skinny, but it wasn’t an unattractive skinniness. On the contrary . . . I wonder why Master chose him . . . She looked at him, and managed a small smile and wave.
He slowed. “Hi there.”
“Hi,” she said, putting on her sunniest grin.
He stopped, tucking his thumbs into the waist of his faded jeans. “You here all alone?”
She nodded. “Name’s Brenda.”
“I’m Micky.” He held out his hand. “Nice to meetcha.”
She shook it and smiled into his eyes—not realising hers were cold. “Yeah. Nice.”
He straightened. “Well, I’ll seeya around,” he said, jogging off.
“Soon, I hope!” she chirped after him.
Micky stopped, then lightly and easily jogged backwards until he was next to her again. “Is this soon enough?”
She laughed. He sat down next to her, his long legs stretched out in front of him. She laid down next to him, resuming her sunning.
They talked for a while, with Brenda murmuring every so often when it seemed appropriate to do so. He wasn’t exactly falling head over heels for her, but there was a glint of attraction in his eyes. She tried to encourage that, but wondered why it wasn’t working. She seemed totally unaware that her voice had gone flat with boredom.
His steady stream of chatter was just beginning to trail off when Bulk approached them, a lumpy figure in a pair of miniscule blue trunks, his giant muscles gleaming. Micky saw the long shadow and looked up, plainly unimpressed.
Brenda couldn’t suppress the smile. Freedom! Finally!
“Hey, baby,” Bulk said, flexing his arms. “Who’s the geek?”
“Oh, just someone,” she sighed.
Micky stood. “Who’re you? Her boyfriend?”
Brenda stood between them. “Boys, come on . . . ”
“So what if I am?” Bulk sneered. “What’s wimp like you gonna do about it?”
Micky took a step forward . . . then back. “Words can’t hurt me.”
Bulk blinked in surprise, looking at Brenda, who shrugged. “No? Well, maybe this can!” He placed a meaty hand on Micky’s chest and prepared to shove; Micky grabbed Bulk’s hand and twisted it, sending lances of pain up Bulk’s arm.
“Back off, muscleboy,” he said calmly, shoving Bulk away.
Bulk grabbed his hurt arm, looking at Micky with a combination of hurt and fear. “You . . . you . . . !” He lunged at Micky, intending to tear the drummer’s head off. Micky sidestepped and kicked out. His foot impacted directly with Bulk’s rear, shoving the musclebound man to the sand.
Brenda stared at Micky, whose body was relaxed into a fighting stance—loose, even, and ready to spring. Master didn’t pick just any old weakling. This guy’s different . . . “Bulk, come on,” she said. “Leave him alone and let’s go.”
“Bulk, hm?” Micky asked, eyes never leaving the blond’s furious face. “You know him, Brenda?”
“Yeah, sorta,” Brenda said. “He’s a friend.”
Micky shook his head slowly. “With friends like this, huh?”
Brenda just shrugged. “Come on, Bulk, or we’ll be late.” Before Micky could ask any more questions the odd pair took off across the beach.
He watched them for a moment, then raised a hand to the back of his neck. The tattoo felt as if it were trying to crawl off his skin.
“Shit . . . ”
~~~~~
Brenda was pale by the time they returned to the center. “What happened?” Sha-ku demanded, tossing aside the pineapple he’d been eating.
“He’s . . . different,” she blurted out.
“Different? What do you mean different? Speak up!”
She stepped back, cowed by his bullying tone.
“He’s not just another weakling,” Bulk said. “He can fight.”
“And fight well,” Brenda put in.
Sha-ku frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. He doesn’t have the muscle power.”
Brenda pointed at Bulk’s arm. “Explain that, then!”
Sha-ku looked at the small, precise bruises on Bulk’s hand and wrist where he’d been grabbed. “He did this?”
Brenda nodded. “I saw it!”
Sha-ku leaned back on his heels and regarded them sternly. Bulk blinked at his master with his usual bovine vacancy, and Brenda just trembled. But they were obviously telling the truth. “I’m going to investigate this. Tonight.”
~~~~~
Mike stood at the sink, washing the last of the dinner dishes and shooting occasional glances at Micky, who hadn’t said five words in a row since coming back from the beach. “Man, this is the quietest this house has been in months.”
“Yeah, I wonder what’s gotten into him,” Davy said, slipping a dish back into the sink.
“Don’t do that,” Mike said, gently slapping Davy’s wrist. “I don’t know—somethin’ happened out on that beach today.”
“So what did happen on the beach today?” Peter segued smoothly in the one-sided conversation as he played a random tune on the keyboards in time to Micky’s idle tapping.
“Nothing,” Micky said. After a moment he sighed. “I don’t even know what happened.”
“Talk to me,” Peter said gently.
Micky explained what had happened on the beach. By the time he finished his story, both Mike and Davy had crossed the room to join them.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Davy said, frowning.
“No, it doesn’t,” Micky admitted.
“It’s like . . . some sort of test.”
“Yeah, but a test for what? To see if some muscle-bound idiot could pound me into the sand for laughs?”
Peter smiled. “Well, you sure passed that one.”
Micky shrugged, smiling a little. “You shoulda seen the look on his face.”
“Shock!” Davy said, miming it.
“No, it was more like this!” Micky giggled as he stood up.
~~~~~
He crept up to the house stealthily, listening to the drummer imitate Bulk. He craned his neck to try to look into the kitchen window, but bushes blocked him. Settling for the stained glass window near the back door, he pried it open enough that he could catch a glimpse of the occupants.
They were laughing at the drummer’s imitation. “He wasn’t that bad!” one twanged. “He couldn’t have been!”
“He was worse!” Dolenz crowed. “So top-heavy he would have keeled over if I’d kicked him!”
“Maybe that’s why martial artists don’t look like that,” the blond mused to the ebony-haired twanger.
“So why worry?” the short one said. “He can’t hurt us, so what’s the big deal?”
“Oh, I’ll show you hurt,” Sha-ku growled.
“If he can’t hurt us, then why’s my tattoo trying to crawl off my neck?”
Silence reigned for a second after that, then the ebony-haired one’s eyes narrowed. “Yours too, huh?” The voice was suddenly ice-cold.
They can’t know I’m here, Sha-ku thought, nevertheless sliding down the wall.
“Yeah, it’s been doing the twitch-and-crawl since Bulk and Brenda left.”
Sha-ku’s lips thinned. Tattoos? That twitched? It didn’t make any sense, and yet . . .
The blond sighed deeply. “Well, there’s not much we can do about it tonight. Mike, you about ready for your trip?”
“Yeah, I’m all packed. Just need one of you to drive me to the bus station tomorrow.”
Sha-ku’s ears perked up. One of them was leaving? With a feeling vaguely akin to snakes writhing in his stomach, a plan began to form.
“Still wish you’d let us go with you,” the blond said. “I feel funny letting you go alone.”
“Yeah, well, I’m goin’ to surprise Aunt Kate—it’d be pretty hard with you guys herdin’ along behind me.”
“Still . . . ” he sighed. “All right.”
As they split up, apparently heading for bed, Sha-ku crawled away from the house, waiting until the lights went out to stand up. Once he got back to the center he’d call Bulk, and the next day they’d get to the bottom of Mr. Dolenz and his friends.
On to Chapter Three
Back to Chapter One
Back to Secrets and Lies Index
