Since childhood, everyone around him had made it very clear they didn’t like it. There were comments on his report cards, his grandfather heard about it in parent-teacher conferences, his commanding officers told him often “you have to work on your attitude, Vargas.” He’d heard it so much for so long, he’d gotten used to it. But here, among these people . . . ? His attitude didn’t seem to faze any of them. He enjoyed that.
Zé made his way into the basketball arena. Women were already practicing on the well-worn court, and none of them were what Zé had been expecting. They represented a broad swath of humanity, including different sizes, different races, different hair colors. So many hair colors, in fact, sometimes on one head alone! And along with the usual array of tattoos came scars. Lots of scars. As if several had been attacked by dogs at some point in their lives.
Hell, maybe they had.
No, this wasn’t like the WNBA at all. He knew that when he saw one player who was so tall—well over seven feet—she simply stood under the hoop so that when one of her teammates passed her the ball, she simply tossed it into the basket. Zé sensed that was her only purpose.
Then Max and her friends walked out, all in bright yellow team sweat suits. They were the smallest women there, even though Mads, the tallest of the five, was at least five-eight. In fact, they appeared so tiny next to the rest of their teammates that Zé wondered why they’d be chosen for the team. They were like hobbits in comparison.
Max spotted him sitting in the stands, close to the floor, and waved. She’d been much . . . nicer to him since they’d left the army surplus store. He tried not to be paranoid about her change of attitude but he’d managed to live a relatively long, healthy life so far by being incredibly paranoid.
Turning to speak to another teammate, Max revealed her team’s name on the back of her team jacket. The Wisconsin Butchers.
“Well, that’s lovely,” he muttered.
“What is?” a woman next to him asked.
Zé quickly looked to his left, his hand immediately reaching for the sidearm that wasn’t there.
“You’re okay,” the woman said. “I would never hurt a fellow cat.” She scratched a spot under her eye. “Unless he started some shit, of course. You planning on starting some shit?”
“No.” He lowered his hand, returned his focus to the team in front of him. Max had taken off her sweatpants and jacket, leaving nothing but her tank top and shorts and revealing the body of a gymnast. Her shoulders and thighs were massive for a woman her size, and her arms were muscular. She cracked her neck and the sound radiated across the arena.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” the woman next to him asked.
He looked at her again. She was black. Older. Beautiful. Her dreads were brown, blond, gold, white, and gray. Her eyes dark brown. She wore an African-style necklace made of wood and ivory that looked, at least to his eye, expensive. Her bracelet was white gold and diamonds. But despite the money around her neck and wrist, she wore only casual shorts and a worn Bob Marley T-shirt. The flip-flops on her feet probably only cost her three bucks at an Old Navy summer sale.
“I’m sorry. I don’t.”
“Well . . . you were in the middle of recovering from brain damage.” When he frowned, she added, “You came to our street when you got busted trying to eat a bear cub.”
Horrified, Zé closed his eyes and lowered his head. If he could have, he would have disappeared into his seat, never to be seen again by any decent person.
“Don’t feel bad,” she said with a smile. “If they don’t want their cubs eaten, bears shouldn’t let them get so juicy looking.”
Zé was looking at her again. Gawking might be a better word.
“Oh, don’t worry.” She patted his knee. “Most of us don’t eat humans anymore.”
“Most of you?”
“Some hyenas . . . they still have the taste. There are some of them that do cleanup work, if you need it.”
“Please stop talking to me.”
She laughed and it made her even more beautiful, but holy shit! This conversation was freaking him out.
“The name is Imani Ako.” She held out her hand and he took it.
“Zé. Zé Vargas.”
“Nice to meet you, Zé.” She refocused on the team practice. The players were doing warm-up drills. Not exactly interesting. “Sooo . . . you really didn’t know that you were—”
“No.”
“Wow. This must be hard for you. I mean, I’ve known all my life. Was raised to understand both sides of myself. I can’t imagine finding out about all this when you’re . . . ?”
“Thirty.”
“Thirty! Wow.”
He really wished she’d stop saying “wow.” It was giving him a complex.
She was silent for a bit—thankfully—until she asked, “Do you feel safe?”
Zé frowned. “In life?”
She chuckled. “With the MacKilligans. Those sisters have made quite a name for themselves since they came to our neighborhood.”
“The bears don’t seem to mind them.” Wait . . . did he just say that? Why had he said that? What the fuck did that even mean?
“The bears don’t mind for two reasons. One, because the oldest sister can bake her ass off. The quickest way to get any bear on his or her knees? Baked goods. The second reason is because they’re all so small, the grizzlies can just slap them right out of the neighborhood if need be. Which I thought they’d do right away when I heard there were honey badgers roaming around. The grizzlies and black bears are extremely protective of their hives. And yet . . . the three sisters are still there. And now you.”
“Yes. Me.”
“The little one, Max, she was very protective of you when you came to our street. She put those brawny shoulders between a group of confused cats and a gang of really angry bears. That’s not something even a honey badger would usually do.” She paused for a moment, then added, “I’m lying. Any honey badger would do that, but only for themselves. She did it for you.”
“Your point?”
“That protectiveness could fade. Badgers are crazy . . . and mean . . . and hate everybody. Remember that. Because if she changes her mind about you . . . Well, don’t let her tiny size confuse you. You might be a large cat but honey badgers are not easy to kill, they’re willing to take on anybody, and they won’t stop. They’ll attack and attack until you either go away or you kill them.”
“That is lovely information you just provided. It should be put into verse.”
She laughed and Zé had to ask, “Are you here for a reason? Or just to freak me out?”
“Just observing,” was her reply but there was something really weird about it. So weird he decided not to engage in any more conversation unless it was about the weather or something else inane.
Thankfully, the silence between them stretched on for quite a bit and Zé had just gotten comfortable again when a male he didn’t recognize sat down to his right, leaving only one empty seat between them. Which seemed strangely close considering they had the entire fucking arena to sit in.
Holding a giant soda from the nearby 7-11, the man greeted Zé with a wide smile. “Hey-ya! I’m Dutch. Dutch Alexander. Max’s best friend. I was the one who tried to help you when your brain was still healing. You’re Zé, right? How are you doing? Holding up? You look really good. Like you’re all healed up. Must be a relief, huh? So what’s going on? You just hanging out here? Not that I blame ya. Max’s friends are cute, right?”