Sensei by John Donohue Read Free Book Online Page A

was treated to some of their patented charm. My older brother didn't rise to the bait of my question. He just eyed me and said flatly, "What have you been up to, you moron?"

FIVE
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    "Nothing much," I replied. "The teaching, working out."
    We were driving on Fourth Avenue, heading north. This time of morning, it was a better bet than the Gowanus. Neither Art nor Micky said much. They had that smoldering cop silence about them, which was unusual. One of these guys was my brother, and Art had been his partner for eight years, so he was no stranger to me either. But I wasn't getting any information from either of them. They drove and watched out the window as the tired-looking brick of Brooklyn slid by. Somewhere down these streets, our parents had roller-skated as children.
    ""You're a little off the beaten path here, Mick," I said.
    "Yeah," he admitted. Then he began to grope around for a Marlboro.
    "Don't you light up one of those things in my car," Art warned him. He had quit about two years ago and was slowly, inexorably, forcing Micky into doing the same. "You light up in here, we're gonna end up like a bunch of hams cured in a smokehouse."
    "Ah, gimme a break, Art."
    "Give ME a break. Idiot," Art fumed.
    "Asshole," Micky mumbled. It was like listening to a crabby married couple. But I noticed that Micky didn't light up.
    They also didn't say much about why we were heading over the Brooklyn Bridge into Manhattan.
    Eventually, however, the stop and go of city traffic seemed to shake something out of them.
    "Still doing that martial arts stuff?" Art asked.
    I grinned. "Oh, yeah. A deadly weapon."
    Micky snorted. "Some people never learn. Black belt, no black belt. No one can dodge a bullet."
    "The trick," I said in my best Asian master voice, "is being where the bullet is not."
    Art looked at me like I was insane.
    "What's this I hear about you working for Bobby Kay?" Micky slipped the question in, but I sat up a little straighter.
    "Yeah," I admitted. "How d'you find that out?"
    Art slewed the car around a cab that shot across two lanes without warning to pluck up a fare, cursed under his breath, and asked, "You read the paper this morning, Connor?"
    "No. Why?"
    Micky was rooting around in the trash in the back and came up with a copy of the Daily News. He slapped it onto the seat back between us and said "Check it out, buddy boy."
    The headline read "Kung Fu Killer" with the sort of creative alliteration I usually associate with the Post. The crux of the article was a homicide. Early this morning, Mr. Robert Akkadian, noted entrepreneur, had gone to his Samurai House gallery for a scheduled early appointment with his personal trainer. The trainer, identified as Mitchell Reilly, a martial arts expert, had been found in Samurai House's performance space, dead of an apparent broken neck. While NYPD was still investigating the cause of death, the News speculated it was caused by a "karate chop. "Theft does not appear to have been a motive for the killing and the investigation was ongoing.
    "Oooh," I said, "a karate chop. Hence the visit. Bobby Kay turn me in, fellas?"
    I said it half-kidding, but the response I got was anything but. "Look, Connor," my brother said, "we just need to talk with you a bit on this." Micky wasn't exactly apologetic. If it bothered him at all to pick up his own brother for questioning, it didn't show. Just doing his job. The questions were really almost automatic for him by this time.
    "C'mon, Mick. You don't seriously think I'm a suspect!" Micky held up a calming hand. Art, however, wasn't going to let it go. Today, he was Bad Cop.
    "Akkadian likes you for it." There was silence. "Here's what we've got, Connor," Art continued. "The esteemed Mr. Akkadian, noted entrepreneur and tough guy wanna-be, gets a call from his janitorial staff early this A.M. to hightail it to his office. By the time he gets there, the uniforms are on the scene stretching yellow tape. Old Bob takes a good look around.