A Lesson to Die For

Fire

Act I

Unleashed

The world is a dangerous place to live, not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don’t do anything about it.

—Albert Einstein

1

C ome to me, baby. The man lunged at Lily. Fast on your feet, huh? He reached out again.

She slapped his hand away.

He glared at her, feinting right, then left. Lily sensed his shifts and went with them. He leaned in, kicking. She lifted her foot, slamming it down and forward. He was off-balance.

Lily pressed into him, stretched around his back, and pulled hard.

Ugh . . . ? Flat on his back and dazed, he looked up past the cold brick walls to the twenty-five-foot-high ceiling. The cavernous loft above the 1870s, long-defunct textile factory was bare. Straining to focus, he saw Lily extending a hand to help him up.

They nodded at each other and resumed positions.

This time you’re mine. He tried to throw her with more ferocity. He was heavier than Lily, but not as tall. Her six-foot-two body was hewn stone. Lily’s classic auburn hair whipped to and fro as she maneuvered. Her square shoulders and long legs gave an imposing presence. The man grasped and twisted. Each time, she used his strength against him with the same result, knocking him off his feet with a shoulder throw or foot sweep.

Damn it, I’m stronger, he fumed.

Katsu Hiroshi Sensei approached. Thomas. Not to be upset. Lily is more than black belt. She is talent.

I don’t get it!

Hiroshi looked him in the eye. She uses the principles of judo: adjust to and evade your opponent’s attack. He loses his balance.

Lily bowed to both men. I am honored, Sensei. He returned her bow.

Hiroshi Sensei was not a tall man. His stature commanded dignity because of his posture, muscular physique, square jaw, keen eyes, and formal manner. He turned to the group and shouted, Roll out!

The factory space was now a judo dojo. It measured over two hundred feet by sixty-five feet wide, with areas for calisthenics, wrestling practice, and a fifty-foot mat. A running track encircled the expansive room. The first man in line ran, plunged headfirst through the air, rolled, and stumbled to his feet. Several others attempted similar jumps.

Lily approached the mat, paused, and erupted into a sprint. She dove through the air and landed solidly on her feet, arms extended, head thrust upward. Her Olympic training as a butterfly stroke swimmer combined with her judo conditioning gave her exceptional upper body strength and powerful legs. As she glided off the mat, several of the men applauded.

Thomas approached the mat, looked at Lily, and burst into a sprint. He performed a perfect rollout. Keeping an eye on Lily, he tightened his black belt and rejoined the line. The class faltered through the rollouts. Lily and Thomas demonstrated their skills with mastery.

Afterward, Hiroshi Sensei sat beside Lily. I think you should come for lesson with only black belts next time. The other students have too much awe for you.

As you say, Sensei. May I stay now and work out a bit longer by myself?

The Sensei nodded. Lily, be careful, getting late. They bowed to each other, and Lily reassured him she would be OK. The class packed their judo outfits and changed into street clothes. Thomas pulled a sweater over his head and gave Lily one last glance as he left.

Why are men such pains in the ass? Lily turned on the radio. Ace of Base singing All That She Wants blared from the speakers. Lily worked with the beat, beginning a series of two-handed planks and one-handed push-ups. Using the same muscles in such rapid repetition was intense.

Her mind wandered. Men . . . good for babies . . . violence. Images of playing in front of her house in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, flashed across her mind. She was shy and bullies saw her as an easy target.

But Lily would have none of that. As early as seven, she enjoyed working out. Push-ups and leg raises were easy for her. A taut body developed, and she responded to threats with lightning reflexes. Bullies quickly learned to keep their distance from her.

Her father was a strong swimmer, and he taught Lily along with her younger brothers, Gavin and Ian, how to swim in Coney Island’s surf.

Lily even went there alone. She took long rides on her bicycle, gliding down Eastern Parkway to Ocean Boulevard all the way to their favorite beach. After a hot dog at Nathan’s, she made the return trek home.

In high school, Lily was the school’s star swimmer. At one of the swim meets, she saw a girl in a strange robe. She learned that it was a judo gi, and her curiosity drove her to explore the new sport. Her father permitted her to study judo at a private gym, although he didn’t understand why she became so committed to such wrestling. Her Sensei recognized her extraordinary potential and guided her to the black-belt level. She was his star pupil.

Refocusing on her exercises, Lily made the planks more challenging by using only one hand. Then, she put her feet on a bench and balanced her forearms on a medicine ball. Lily held the plank, counting to three hundred in rhythm with Ace of Base.

And now a news break from tonight’s music, the announcer interrupted. Mayor Elect Rudy Giuliani just declared that the Lower East Side of Manhattan is the most drug-infested neighborhood in America. Giuliani designated crime reduction as the number one priority for his administration in 1994.

Lily wiped her head. Maybe Rudy can clean things up. Like the way he talks. But looking back, she knew that by 1990, New York City had suffered a decade of budget reductions. The number of police officers had been cut and other services were slashed.

During this time, the Lower East Side emerged as a haven for drug dealers. Cars lined up on the street waiting to purchase drugs while the dealers hollered prices. Drug lords used street gangs for protection and promoted a culture of violence.

Many neighborhoods throughout the city suffered muggings, store hold-ups, home break-ins, and sexual assaults. During daylight, people traveled in groups, and nightlife was restricted to certain areas deemed safe. Yet, even in those neighborhoods, people were watchful for suspicious-looking characters.

Lily turned off the radio and lights. After locking the door, her legs glided down the old metal steps. It was the last week of August, and the days were getting shorter. The sun had sunk below the rooftops, and there was a lonely calm from the darkening nightfall. The streets were empty. Lily strode west on Spring Street, heading toward the IND subway at Sixth Avenue.

After she crossed Greene Street, a man stepped in front of her.

He blocked her path to the train station.

Half a dozen paces separated them.

Lily stiffened.

They were alone on the deserted street.

She tested the situation by moving to her left. The man facing her mirrored her movement and grinned. She measured him with her eyes, gauging his level of threat. He was a teenager, over six feet tall and wide as a bull, with bulging shoulders and arms. A repulsive grin revealed uneven, yellow teeth that shimmered in the lamplight. As he stepped closer, his body odor reeked.

Two men came out of an alley and spread out behind him. Both had unshaven faces, one with a scar across his left cheek.

The one in the middle stretched his arms and beckoned her to come to him. The backups snickered. He continued to advance toward her, saying, Venga a mí, bebé.

Lily faked left and burst the other way around him. Rough hands grabbed her and a knife flashed in the flickering light.

Lily’s training kicked in. She kneed one man in his groin and hit another in his nose with her right palm. Blood splattered, yet hands continued to hold on. Taking no more chances, Lily flattened her hand and lashed out with a knife-hand chop to the bloodied man’s neck. The blow struck his carotid artery, and he dropped, unconscious.

The second backup man charged at her. Lily let him come forward, and she used his force to pull him leftward, pressing her left foot against his right knee. He tilted off balance, and his momentum combined with hers to make a perfect knee-wheel throw. Surprised, he crashed into his leader and fell onto the sidewalk.

With a thrust to the right, Lily tried to break free.

This man was a mountain so wide she couldn’t get past him. He grabbed her shoulder with a huge paw and wrenched brutally; then, he leaned closer and bit her neck.

She screamed in pain and he guffawed, his round face and orange hair flashing under the street lamp. Using all her skill, Lily tried to pull back, only to feel thick fingers ripping her blouse open.

The struggle went on for what seemed like hours, and her fourth-degree black belt was useless against this wild man. Grabbing her breasts, he squeezed and she howled in agony again. This time, he lightened his grip and rocked with laughter.

Lily seized the moment and broke free. She spun around and flew toward the subway. Terror pushed her legs. Feet kicked forward. Her backpack flailed wildly.

The giant’s heavy breathing exploded into angry curses. "Get the puta!" Five more men stormed out of the alley and raced after her. Sneakers pounded the sidewalk as she approached Sixth Avenue. One of the men stopped to whip out a gun. Taking aim, he steadied his weapon.

Lily grabbed the station’s handrail and pulled.

Gunshots rang out.

Her hand slid down the banister as she leapt over the steps to the first landing. She fell and bloodied her knees. Stumbling forward, she disappeared into the subway. The men jogged back.

Sorry I missed, Paco.

An enormous hand slammed against the shooter’s cheek. Idiota. I wanted hacer el amor con ella, not to kill her! The rest of his men came out of the alley and gathered around him. The two eldest stood beside him.

Diego, Renzo. Bueno for not shooting. Military shit.

Renzo nodded. We’re trained soldiers. Wouldn’t have missed. But why you want her?

The young hooligan puffed his chest. Her eyes showed fuego . . . hot mamacita!

2

Bobby turned up the volume on Che Gelida Manina, Rodolfo’s aria from La Bohème . Luciano Pavarotti’s voice soared with passion.

Puffing his chest and gesturing like an opera singer, Bobby stood two inches taller than Lily at six-foot-four and two hundred twenty-five pounds. He brushed his black hair straight back in even strokes and wore khaki work pants with a pullover tee shirt. Before gunshots maimed his left leg, Bobby’s body fat was about 15 percent. He was still strong, but no longer trim. Unable to run and play ball, he now put his passion into opera. He danced around their studio’s kitchenette, dragging the bum leg in sync with Puccini’s music. He finished setting the table with a bottle of Chianti.

Bobby sang along with Luciano as he prepared a favorite dish for his wife. She’d be ravenous after her judo workout. He turned on the stove to heat a pot of water. The wide egg noodles were ready to go. In another pot, he scooped cream of chicken soup out of the can, adding milk to thin the sauce. He opened the refrigerator. "Oh shit! Forgot the bird." Bobby scoured the cupboard for an alternative.

There wasn’t any time before Lily arrived for him to run out to get a chicken. Pasta, tomato paste, flour, spices. Shaking his head, he took out a can of tuna fish. He’d just have to make it work.

Draining the fish oil, he forked the tuna into the simmering chicken soup and stirred. This sauce better disguise the fish flavor.

Sounds of Puccini filled the apartment on Sixty-Eighth Street and Broadway, near Lincoln Center. Lily’s dad had financed her small condo to help her get established. Bobby loved being so close to the opera house.

The opening door interrupted his reverie.

Lily burst in. Assholes!

Bobby stepped aside as she stormed into the living room, tossing her backpack on a chair and turning to him. What happened?

Some bastards attacked me, that’s what happened.

Blood’s all over you. Your blouse is ripped apart. Your neck scratched. What the hell?

Minding my own business, and these creeps came out of nowhere.

Lowlifes. His whole body shook as he turned to grab the doorknob.

Lily pulled him back. Stay with me.

How many?

A bunch. Too many to count.

Bobby felt her trembling. "If they scared you, that’s bad."

You had to see their leader. A wild man. Prehistoric, like a caveman!

Bobby tried to guide Lily to the couch. Damn. I’ve never seen you so shaken.

She pulled back, turned away from him, and let out a tirade of curses. Her voice resonated with fear. She shrieked and wailed; her body shook. Bobby knew better than to interrupt her. He held his tongue and waited.

After a few minutes, Lily flopped onto the sofa. She sank down, held her face, and wept. He sat with her and held her for a long time. She buried her face in his chest. Puccini’s tender music soothed, and he stroked her hair. Bobby lifted her face and kissed the tears off her cheeks. Honey, we need to call the police.

Lily shook her head. Just sit with me. Her mind was made up, so Bobby sucked it in.

Maybe some dinner? Made my famous fricassee.

Lily leaned back. With tuna?

Bobby looked down, nailed. Smelled it, huh? Forgot to buy chicken. Seemed to make sense. No? Dazed, Lily didn’t answer.

Bobby leaned over and retrieved her backpack. Look at this! he shouted. You got knife slits and two bullet holes here. Lily turned red and clenched her fists as he showed it to her.

With his back to her, Bobby picked up the phone and dialed 911. I need to report an assault.

3

Luke felt at home in Westbeth. The building took up a large city block, bordered by Bethune, Washington, and Bank Streets, as well as the West Side Highway. It occupied the old headquarters of Bell Telephone Laboratories, converted into residential units in the late 1960s. But, most important, Westbeth was created to provide reasonable rental studio apartments for artists of all types, including poets, actors, dancers, and writers.

Luke was pleased that he never had to explain himself to his neighbors. He stood five feet eight and had long, straight dark brown hair, a strong forehead, and a hawk nose. He walked with a strong gait, striding as if he were about to take flight.

After having exhibits of his paintings in Los Angeles, Taos, and Santa Fe, he moved to New York to expand his career. The city art scene was replete with many venues to show his work, but the competition was fierce. Recognizing the challenges facing a struggling artist in New York City, he secured a job as a teacher. His application was approved with a secretary’s comment, You’re our first Navajo.

It was an early September morning, yet a hot spell lingered. Luke exited the subway at Essex Street and passed a shoe repair shop run by an elderly Asian couple, a pharmacy with signs in English and Spanish, Max’s Trophy Store, and a bodega.

He stopped at a luncheonette for some breakfast. The woman behind the counter greeted him. He told her about his new job at the school across the street, and she wished him luck with the children. Luke looked around the store. Its walls were pale green, and three pedestal cake dishes displayed a pound cake and two pies. A man faced the back, busy cooking.

The store’s TV interrupted with news from Peru.

The civil war here is marked by savagery. A rebel army, the so-called Shining Path, spreads fear as a tactic. It is alleged that they use machetes to save money on bullets.

Luke ordered scrambled eggs with bacon, toast and a cup of tea. He raised his eyebrows to the woman behind the counter. At least gangs on the Lower East Side just use guns and knives, Luke joked.

She looked at him. Do you really care if you’re killed with a knife or a machete? This neighborhood’s really gone down the tubes.

A commercial ended, and they both watched the reporter continue the broadcast.

In spite of the arrest of their leader, Abimael Guzman, the Shining Path has survived and developed new leaders. US officials see no quick end to the bitter conflict.

Luke quietly savored his meal and sweet tea. When finished, he thanked the woman and stepped outside into the humid morning air. Machetes? I learned to fight with a knife, but a machete would be an interesting challenge.

He crossed the street to P.S. 20. The building hugged the corner of Essex and East Houston Streets, one block away from the famous Katz’s Delicatessen. He dodged between moving cars and paused to take a deep breath before entering the school.

The security guard looked up from her desk, and Luke introduced himself. Turning left, he found the main office. It was a bright room with fluorescent lighting. A long counter separated visitors from two secretaries’ desks. Large prints of landscapes adorned the walls.

Gladys, the principal’s secretary, looked up. You must be Mr. Natani?

Yes, here for trench duty and my fifth-grade class.

Experience helps with the children. When I grew up, we had to be seen, not heard.

He laughed. Sometimes it’s better for us to hear the kids.

Don’t take anything from her. Luke turned to see a tall, husky man enter the office.

I’m Bobby, gym.

The men chatted about the Knicks and the upcoming season. How would Patrick Ewing and Charles Oakley handle other teams’ big men? Bobby slapped Luke’s shoulder and turned to chat with the union rep, who had entered the office.

Gladys called Luke to her desk and asked him to complete some paperwork.

Then, time stopped.

Luke first saw her hips swivel as she entered the front office. No matter that Mimi was almost seven months pregnant, her skirt swayed alluringly, her cinnamon skin glowed, and her dark hair flowed over her back. She reached for the sign-in sheets with grace.

Luke froze, speechless.

Leaning against the counter, Bobby caught the look on Luke’s face and growled to himself. He would have to speak with Luke about not messing around with his dear friend.

Mimi turned and winked at Bobby. Good morning. Ready for the kids?

Always. Bobby grinned. You? Mimi came over and hugged him.

After she left the office, Bobby motioned Luke to join him in the gym. You’ll like it here. One thing, Mimi is a gem. Don’t screw things up with her!

Luke drew back. He looked up at Bobby, hard. No problem. I don’t even know her.

He turned, left the gym, and climbed the stairs to his classroom. Luke pulled up the shades, opened the windows, and watched as children lined up in the schoolyard.

4

D o we have to have homework today?

Mimi smiled. Yes, Felipe. It’ll help get you ready for junior high school.

We got all year to do that. Can’t you give us a break on the first day?

The room had the typical black chalkboard, a wall of coat closets and cabinets facing the tall windows and heating units. Two large 36-inch wood blade fans hung from the ceiling.

Mimi looked around the room for any other questions. Yes, Maddy?

Ms. Purnell, what happened to Mr. Simon? He was my favorite teacher.

The school had an assembly about him last spring.

Maddy persisted. But what happened?

Mimi was unprepared to talk about her beloved Danny. Taking a deep breath, she replied as best she could, Some of us were in a situation. Stepping back and forth in the front of the room, she continued, He died protecting friends.

Maddy saw the grief in her teacher’s eyes. I guess he’s like a hero.

Mimi diverted. Class, what’s a hero? The youngsters made several suggestions. Juanita, sitting behind Felipe, raised her hand.

I think Mr. Simon was a hero. My grandfather died in World War II.

Your grandfather certainly was a hero.

The bell rang, and the class began to leave.

Maddy turned as she approached the door. "Mr. Simon taught me