That was back when we didn’t have to look so hard for a place to fight. Come to think of it, I’m not sure the guy’s still around, but the number’s still in my phone.
I press call.
“Yes, I have information about an investigation currently underway regarding Chuck Butcher and Gertrude Shecklemeyer,” Ash says into her phone.
I’m about to ask her who Gertrude Shecklemeyer is when my own call is answered.
“You’ve reached the offices of Blake T. Millhouse and Associates,” a man’s voice says. “Millhouse speaking; what kind of mess did you get into this time?”
“Mr. Millhouse,” I say. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
“Oh, sorry,” he says. “I get a lot of repeat business you know, so I guess I just assume… Anyway, how can I help you?”
I give him the basic idea and, by the time Ash is done with her phone call, he’s ready to talk to her.
“Who is it?” she asks as I hand her the phone.
“It’s your new lawyer,” I tell her. “That is, unless you had someone in mind.”
She shrugs and takes the phone. Before she starts talking, though, I try to squeeze in a quick question. “Who’s Gertrude Sheckler or whoever?” I ask.
“Shecklemeyer,” Ash says covering the phone with her hand. “You didn’t think my mother’s name was really May Weese, did you?” I ask. “That’s just as close as she could come to calling herself Mae West as she thought people would let her get away with.” She uncovers the phone and puts it to her ear. “This is Ashley Butcher,” she says.
What a strange life I’ve made for myself.
* * *
The FBI showed up before Ash was finished talking to Millhouse. She spoke to them for a while. Then they tried to speak to me, only I didn’t have much to add but the bits and pieces Ash forgot to mention.
For a while, my house was a pretty popular scene. Everyone was respectful enough, I guess, but the cops acted more like fans wanting an autograph than they did officers of the law.
They didn’t take Ash away, though. That was the big thing I was worried about, but they seemed to believe her.
When I left the house, she’d decided to take a quick nap. I waited about two hours before leaving to come here, to the gym.
After her ordeal, Ash needs her rest. Me, on the other hand, I’ve got a fight coming up soon and I’m still not where I want to be in my training for it.
It’s late. I’m the only one here. Logan was nice enough to make me a copy of his key to the place. He and the owner go back quite a ways, though Logan’s still never deigned to introduce me to the guy.
I’m getting tired, but I’ve got to keep going. I’m only on my first circuit and I’m seeing spots. This can’t happen when I get in front of Furyk. My body needs to be at its peak.
Even with the added adrenaline that comes from knowing I’m screwed if I don’t start picking it up, though, it’s all I can do to make it through a set with my lats.
I keep eyeing the water fountain on the far wall of the gym, but I can’t overload myself on fluid right now. Gotta keep going.
There’s no doubt I’m slowing down when I start my second set on the bench. I can’t even make it through the whole set before I’m putting the bar back in its cradle.
I sit up slowly, trying to breathe through it. My body’s not that sore, it just has nothing left to give.
This is what separates the fighters from the spectators. The guy in the crowd is going to stop right here every single time. I don’t have that luxury.
My next stop is the squat rack, but I stop to chalk my hands. They’re sweating even more than normal. I’ve already decided to call it a night after this set, but I may as well make it a good one.
I take twenty pounds off the bar before I get into position. Twelve reps and then I can hit the shower and head home. I’m disappointed, but a body needs rest just like it needs exercise. The key is in knowing how to keep that balance just right.
By my fifth rep, I’m seeing spots again. By the sixth, I really have to focus on metering my breath. By the ninth rep, I’m pretty sure I’m just going to keel over right here and now. By the tenth I’m wondering if I already have.
I straighten my knees on the tenth rep and I’m resolved to finish this set out, no matter what. Two reps is doable.
Bending my knees again, I slowly drop into a full squat, making sure I’m getting everything I need to be getting out of the motion. As my vision goes black and I feel my sense of balance turning into a practical joke, I think I may have gotten a little bit too much.
Chapter Twenty
Le Grand Réveil
Ash
“I know I don’t have my license yet or anything, but I am fantastic at what I do,” I tell Mason, admiring my textbook bandage work on his forehead. “You know, with you being in fights a lot and passing out at the gym and everything, I bet I’m going to get more real world experience than anyone else in my class.”
Mason’s lying in bed, his eyes still closed, though I know he’s awake.
“How long do I have to stay in bed?” he asks.
“Until you’ve given your body enough time to recover from the enormous strain you’ve been putting it under,” I answer.
He groans, wincing either from a throbbing head or my unwelcome glee.
This is day three. His sense of humor ran out some time ago.
“My muscles are going to atrophy if I don’t get up and do something,” he says.
“No, you passed out from exhaustion all without anyone around. It’s a miracle you didn’t get more than a goose egg,” I tell him.
Based on his spotty recollection of what happened, I’m surprised he was in good enough shape to call me after he came to. When I got there to pick him up, I didn’t have a key to get in, though I could see him lying there on the floor. I was well on my way toward panicking until I realized he had his phone out and was angling it toward his face.
His text came through a few seconds later, saying, “I’m going to have to let you in, but you’re going to have to give me a minute to get there.”
After seeing him basically crawl through that little window, I have no remorse keeping him bed-ridden. Well, there are a couple of exceptions. I don’t think either of us wants to have a bedpan enter into the relationship just yet.
“You know, when you said you didn’t want me doing anything, I didn’t think you actually meant it,” he says.
“The way you keep repeating that, I’m starting to think you might have conked your head a little harder than you thought you did,” I answer in my cheeriest nurse’s voice.
He groans again. “Just annoyed is all,” he says.
“Well, I’m going to be a nurse, and if I don’t sign off on your health, you’re not fighting,” I tell him.
I think I’m starting to appreciate the draw of having power over someone else. It hasn’t gotten to the point where I’m willing to abuse it or anything, but it is kind of fun teasing him like this.
“I know,” he says. “You’ve done a solid job blackmailing me.”