Page 40 of Chalk Outline
The jokers. The third one I saw is dead, but the first two were suspicious. One of them is named Klaus. For some reason, he seemed familiar. Maybe he attended college with me.
The driver, Mitch.
And Summer.
They are the ones I encountered, which doesn’t necessarily mean they are involved.
It can be anybody.
The question is: what is their motive? Who is the real target?
Is it me?
Or could it be someone else?
What if I’m the bait?
I flick the knife open as I reread the notes over and over again. I’ve reviewed these a thousand times and consistently come up with more questions than answers.
A sudden gust of wind swooshes past the open door, leaving goosebumps on my skin. I bring the knife to my lap and whip my head around.
“Take this pocket knife.” My bodyguard hands it to me as we stare at the training dummy he positioned at the center of our home gym.
My stance is solid; my legs are steady against the mat.
Standing beside me, he eyes the knife in my hand. “What is it like to hold a knife?”
I assume it’s a rhetorical question, so I stay silent.
“Feel its weight in your palm. The pain it can inflict with one swing. Own the damage this small object holds in your hand.”
Moving behind me, the heat of his body collides with my back.
“Focus on your target and clear your head,” he whispers in my ear.
I detach from everything; the only voice in my head is his.
“Take a deep breath for me,” he instructs.
I inhale a chunk of air into my lungs. My eyes lock on the dummy with intent.
“Attack.”
I swing my hand and just skim the rubber.
That sucked.
“When you attack, you don’t hold the knife like you are holding it right now, the blade facing forward between your thumb and forefinger. You want to have a stronger grip.” Still standing behind me, he sends his arms forward, cocooning my small frame. “The butt of the handle aligns with your thumb and forefinger, blade facing down. Now, you have full control of the blade, and it doesn’t restrict your movements. Try it.” He withdraws.
I aim at the dummy’s chest and carotid artery, and in one swift motion, I cut them with speed and precision.
“Oh, shit! It makes it so easy to hold the knife like this.” I stare in amazement.
“How does it feel?”
Giggles of excitement burst out of me, “Like I have control.”
“Good,” he replies with a grin, “It’s yours. Practice when I’m gone every day and combine it with your ninja moves.” I love it when he calls them like that, but I hate being reminded that he’s leaving.
