Between Wayne’s incessant drilling and his grueling ab workouts, Geno became the Bubba Gump of shrimping. He could fold and slide by pure reflex now, fast and unconscious.
“Now, this is all easy-peasy in a controlled scenario when I’m being nice to you,” Wayne said from the floor, looking up at Geno.
“This is being nice to me?” Geno said, rubbing the sore spots between his ribs.
Wayne grinned. “In a real attack, the guy’s not going to be on top of you patiently waiting for you to escape, right?”
“Right.”
“So now make like you’re choking me, pretend to throw some punches at my head and face.”
Geno reached to set his left palm by Wayne’s collarbones. He moved his right fist in pretend punches. At the same time concentrating on keeping his thighs completely immobile and keeping a sixteenth-inch space between his groin and Wayne’s.
“With your weight pressing down on me, it’s hard to shrimp out,” Wayne said. “Plus you’re whaling on my head. As the victim, what’s my knee-jerk reaction now?”
“Push me away?”
“Exactly. Maybe with one arm I’m protecting my face, but this other arm I’m going to be pushing and hitting at your chest, right?”
“Right.”
“Wrong. You have to go against instinct in a fight from above. The attacker is going to expect you to push them away, which is why instead…” In a lightning-fast move, both his hands shot up, grabbed Geno’s head and pulled it to his chest. “You pull him in close.”
Geno could feel the heat of Wayne’s skin through the thin T-shirt. Feel Wayne’s heartbeat against his face. Feel his huge, warm hands holding his head.
Don’t hold my head. Let go my head. Please let go my head. Stop. Please.
He closed his eyes and thought about passing out.
“See how my elbows are out?” Wayne said from far away. “Now it’s harder for you to throw punches, harder for you to get a chokehold on my neck. Key to an attack from above—pull them in close. Understand?” He let go Geno’s head and Geno sat up, trying to disguise his labored breathing.
“Try again,” Wayne said. “And really go for it this time.”
Geno went for it.
“Come on, dude,” Wayne said. “Fight me like I just killed your moth—”
Without another thought, Geno went for the jugular. Wayne’s eyes bulged, then narrowed. Faster than he demonstrated before, he had Geno’s head tight against his chest, his elbows keeping blows at bay. “Okay? Now. I got your head, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Geno said, still hoping he’d faint.
“The head is the key.” Wayne’s hands spread wider, coming around Geno’s face. His fingertips pressed into the bridge of Geno’s nose, one of them nearly in an eye socket. “You turn the head. Forget about the body. Turn the head and the body follows.”
A mighty strain on Geno’s neck as his head was turned. His shoulders followed and he began to roll.
“See now,” Wayne said. “You just let my hip come up. Now I can shrimp out.”
All at once, he was gone, leaving Geno sprawled on his side. He looked up at Wayne, a few feet away, dancing from foot to foot, his dukes up.
“Pull ’em in close and turn the head,” he said. “Ready to try?”
Geno stared, his tongue dried to the roof of his mouth.
“First time’s the hardest,” Wayne said, lowering his voice and his fists. “Heart behind your teeth but you do it anyway, right?”
“Right.” Geno’s eyeballs prickled as he lay down. He pressed his teeth together when Wayne mounted him.
“So we’ll make like I’m fighting you.”
One of Wayne’s hands curled at Geno’s throat. The other raised in a curled fist. His knees squeezed Geno’s ribcage and the edges of the gym began to darken.
“Pull close,” Wayne said. “Turn the head, shrimp out and run like hell.”
The dark swept in from all sides. Blacker than midnight, with no stars to light the way. Within the black, Nos was at war.
Geno pulled against the cuffs, his screaming wrists crossed behind his head, his bloody forearms against his eyes. The man mounting him put a hand on Geno’s throat. Then the hand slid around the back of Geno’s neck, pulling his head up. The guy’s knees weren’t at Geno’s ribs, they were up around Geno’s shoulders. And the guy’s other hand wasn’t raised high in a fist. It was down low, curled around what he wanted to put in Geno’s mouth and—
No, my head, let go my head, no don’t, don’t, I can’t breathe, my head.
Carlito turned his head away.
Turn the head, Mos said.
Look at me, brother mine, look at me look at me look at me.
Mos cried out, making the stars shake. Turn the head.
Geno turned his head.
“Holy shit, dude,” Wayne cried. “That was amazing.”
Geno blinked the dark out of his eyes. He was on his feet. Wayne was on the mat, looking at Geno like a kid at a Christmas tree.
“I did it?” Geno said.
“Fuck yeah, you did. Holy crap, you nailed it.” He got up and bear-hugged Geno, slapping his back.
“I did it,” Geno said. Laughter like sobs hiccuped out of his chest. “I fucking did it.”