Page 5 of Wrath
Um.Wyatt looked back at Betty, and then at the Polish pair. Alek must have caught the uncertainty on Wyatt’s face because he shrugged away from his father and pointed at the bike.
It’s broken.Wyatt made the broken sign again.
“Is not working?” Vooyek asked.
Wyatt nodded, hand on hip. Or should he shake his head? Fuck.
Alek signed something to his father and Vooyek scratched his head. “Do you not have a place to stay?”
Wyatt shook his head.
A young woman burst out of the restaurant doors. She had curly red hair and looked not much older than Alek. Maybe eighteen. They had the same bright blue eyes and freckles on their noses.
“He can stay at Misha’s place,” she said. “She hasn’t been there for weeks. Hi”—she smiled at Wyatt—“I’m Roksana.”
Another woman, an older one about the same age as Vooyek, came bursting out. A brown floral scarf tied her long graying hair away. Under her flour dusted apron, she wore a long skirt and flowing top. If Wyatt didn’t know any better, he would say she was still stuck in the Woodstock era with her beads around her neck holding a peace symbol pendant.
“He stay,” she said, eyeing him appreciatively.
Before Wyatt knew what was happening, it appeared as if the entire Polish community spilled out of the restaurant and were weighing in on the decision—at least four more people, two old and two in their thirties—until finally Vooyek put up his hand and shouted, “Enough.”
Then he waved his hand at Wyatt. “Okay. You have a place to stay if you like. Room over our garage.”
Two
A warm,lilac scented breeze ruffled Misha Minski’s hair as she locked her street-side yoga studio after a hard day’s work. A full class did wonders for her anemic bank account. If only she didn’t have to close early to go to her next job, adding another class to her roster might have been worthwhile.
A tap on her shoulder brought her attention to the bright blue-haired woman standing next to her in the city street. Bev was around sixty and never missed a class. She had the body of a forty-year-old, and Misha was happy to say she’d had a hand in creating it. That shiny blue leotard looked great on her—better than some malnourished and drug addicted girls Misha worked with at the club.
“Thanks for the class, hon,” Bev said, flicking her sweaty blue curls from her shoulder. “I’ll see you on the weekend for Bikram?”
“You betcha!” Misha grinned. “Bring your A-Game. It’s going to be a tough one.”
“Got a hot date with Morty on Saturday night, so you know I will.” Bev waved goodbye.
“Thanks for a great class, Misha,” said Cassy, another student. She winked at Misha from underneath her black bangs. “Oh, and by the way, you were right about that pose doing wonders for my sex life.”
“Right?” Misha laughed. “I told you! Next time, crank the heat—it really gets your blood flowing. See ya.”
“Bye!”
Misha sighed and went back to her studio lock. She loved teaching yoga. The students were so varied; from the older, limber ladies like Bev, to the younger shy girls, to the hipster boys. There was nothing sexier than seeing a man work to keep his body in shape, especially when it was so easy these days to get what you wanted with a pill or the flick of a button.
She slung her bag over her shoulder and headed toward the city central monorail. There had been an attack on the rail a few months ago where a train derailed and people almost lost their lives. If it weren’t for one of the Deadly Seven, things would be very different. Seeing the news story her best-friend Lilo broke was still hard to digest. One of the Seven had used some sort of paranormal power to stop the train falling. He’d moved metal around with a thought.
It was a new age they were living in, a strange one, and it excited Misha with a sense of adventure. Reading the story had reminded her that life was not only finite, but full of endless possibilities.
When she arrived, the train platform was a little on the light side. With the memory of the almost-tragedy still sharp, most people preferred to take the subway or other modes of transport.
Not her.
Misha’s bag buzzed. The sound of Snoop Dog’sDrop it Like it’s Hotcame from deep within. While she dug around for her vibrating cell, she copped a few wolf-whistles from a group of horny teenagers ogling her yoga attire—more specifically the areas on her body that lacked yoga attire. She wore black cut-off pants and a colorful midriff top that flashed her tanned abs. The spring sun was perfect for catching some vitamin D. Unfazed, she smiled and waved back cheekily.
She’d sort them out in a minute, but first… she answered her insistent phone and walked toward the edge of the platform to wait for the approaching train.
“Tata, is everything okay?” She hadn’t heard from her father in weeks, which was virtually unheard of.
“Mishka,” he stated. “You must come home.”
