Return of the Jed (20 page)

“You’re in a spotlight now,” she whispered. “What if everyone sees through this whole robot thing? They see you for who you really are? Are you ready for that kind of attention?

“Or what if one day—” I had to put my ear to the speaker because I could barely hear Anna—“you come apart and don’t go back together? What then, Jed?”

The screen blipped, and Anna was gone. I stared at the Skype screen.

I shrugged off her words as easily as my right arm.

As we prepared to board the bus, I felt the flame-fueled heat of the dreaded slips of paper burning in my right palm.

“You going to put that out?” Luke asked.

“In good time,” I said, my eyes not leaving Vampiro’s dead stare.

As was custom of the last match before the traveling
luchadores
depart a city, names were drawn from a mask to determine opponents. But the real kicker was no script would be used. The wrestling, and the winner, would be determined by skill—or a coin toss if wrestlers preferred a method that kept injuries to a minimum.

Mendoza had explained this to me earlier.

“It’s just a way to blow off some steam,” he said. “
Luchadores
who think they have something to prove hope to match up with someone who feels the same. The rest of us enjoy the fun of the draw, happy to flip a coin to see who wins. It’s nothing to worry about. Only two of us use this to prove themselves.”

“Then why even do it?” I asked.

“Didn’t I say it was our custom? You Americans, always wanting to destroy tradition. Mess with the tried and true, and you wind up with hamburgers made of tofu.”

Mendoza pulled slips of paper, one by one, reading each name.

“
Dragon Enojado y Diablo Verde. El Tiburon y Aguila Roja. El Mercenario y Eduardo Corrales
.”

More names, but not mine. I’d lost count. How many were left?

“Deadly Jed
Transformar y, un minuto, por favor
.”

Luke leaned toward me. “Who’s this
Un Minuto Por Favor
guy? Is he new?”

“No, it means ‘One minute please,’” I said. “Something’s up.”

Mendoza put his arm around Ernesto—
Vampiro
—and the two huddled for what looked to be a one sided conversation. Mendoza seemed to speak heatedly as he handed Ernesto a slip of paper, and another. Ernesto simply shook his head, and the two of them returned to the circle.

Mendoza resumed.

“Deadly Jed
Transformar y Vampiro
.”

Hoots and hollers filled the circle. This would be our first rematch since my victory earlier in our very short wrestling season.

Vampiro approached with something in each of his hands.

“Dude,” Luke said, leaning toward me. “You need to learn the word for ‘forfeit,’ because he does not look happy.”

“Relax, it’s Ernesto, remember?” I said. I bent just enough to pat Tread’s head, which always soothed me.

But not this time.

Ernesto—no, it was
Vampiro
, only without the mask, making him even more menacing—stopped just a few feet in front of me.

“We … meet … again,” he said.

“That’s … so … cliché,” I returned, hoping his grasp of English was limited.

I offered my hand, trying to remember Spanish for “Heads or tails?”

He gripped my hand firmly, but instead of shaking, twisted it so my palm faced up. Releasing my hand, he motioned me to keep still.

He dropped into my hand the two slips of paper, which I assumed contained our wrestling names. He pulled a cigar from his right pocket and matches from his left. With the cigar held firmly between yellowing teeth, he lit the end and inhaled deeply, the tip flaring red.

He touched the tip to the paper in my hand, the two slips curling inward and turning black underneath a dancing flame.

“Robots feel pain, no?” he asked.

“No,” I said, meeting his gaze.

“Good,” he said and turned away.

I looked at Luke, paper smoldering in my palm.

“Robots feel pain, yes?” he said.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Well,” Luke said, cupping his chin as if in thought. “All for the good. We didn’t have a coin anyway.”

“Just add a few more staples,” I told Luke through the haze. It wasn’t so much my recent flight over the ropes as it was the unscheduled and very rough landing in Painsville, Population Me.

“First I need to get your arm,” Luke said. “Then we’ll worry about staples.”

Seemed logical. Arm first. Then reattach.

“Hey, Luke,” I nudged his shoulder with my forehead. “What about that one?”

I motioned to what appeared to be a limb dangling from the top rope, which I’d flown over not too long ago. The arm looked just about my size.

Luke pressed my chest, forcing me back on the cold concrete floor. “That just may work,” he said. “Looks grayish, matching your complexion. And it’s a left arm, which you’re missing at this point. Seems to be a good length. Let me get it and check the tag. I’d guess you’re a twenty-two puny.”

Luke disappeared, only to be replaced by something much smaller. I stared at it, willing my eyes to focus. They did, to a point.

“Tread, that you, boy?”

A sandpapery swipe of my cheek confirmed my suspicions.

“Want a treat?” I didn’t need to see clearly to know his butt wiggled in anticipation.

I reached into my left pocket. Wait, I needed a corresponding arm to do that. I reached into my right pocket. It had to be here somewhere.

Wait, was I missing more than a pocket? Did I leave my legs in my other pants?

I raised my head, braced for the worst. I saw feet. One, two. They were attached to ankles, there were my calves, knees, and thighs. Now the big test. I wriggled my toes checking for viable brain-to-foot connections.

My toes squished around in my shoes. Thank goodness. It could have been worse. Much worse.

But just how did I get here?

“Brain, you awake?” I asked.

“I just moved our toes, didn’t I?” Brain said.

“Fine, you don’t have to be so cranky about it.”

“Do you think it’s easy keeping up with all the dismembered limbs, having to reestablish contact by tracking billions of synapses and nerve endings? Do you really think duct tape and staples do most of the heavy lifting? Because I’ve got news for you, pal. All that adhesive shoulders maybe two percent of the work. The rest is up to yours truly.”

“Fine, I’m sorry. I didn’t call for a lecture. I was hoping you could fill me in on the last five minutes or so.”

“Let me see what I can come up with,” Brain said. “Should be around here somewhere. Let’s see, here’s you at five years old, scaring everyone when you went snorkeling without a snorkel. Here’s you at ten, apologizing to Luke when you found out others did not have removable arms. Ah, here we go, under Recent Memories. Should have looked there first.

“You were in the ring with
Vampiro
, and very excited because this wasn’t only your last match as a
luchador
, but you were also the final match of the night. The headliner. You grabbed his leg, he turned you upside down, you flipped him over on his back and had him around the neck, more holds, turned there, twisted there, blah blah blah, he threw you over the top rope. You landed here.”

“What about my left arm?” I asked.

“What about it?”

“How did I lose it?”

“In mid-flight, you snatched the rope with your left hand. Your arm bailed out. End of story. Can I get back to more important things like restoring full consciousness?”

“Yeah, thanks for the help.”

Brain clicked off, and my vision cleared a bit when he reassumed the controls.

“Got the arm even though I thought I was going to have to remove the fingers.” Luke returned, and my left arm with him. “You had that rope in a kung-fu grip.”

He shrugged off the backpack, dropped it by my head, and went to work. I had just one question.

“Did I win?” I said.

“How in the heck does a guy thrown over the ropes, losing an arm in the process, even consider for a second that he’s won?”

“Forfeit?” I answered. “Out of pity?”

“You didn’t win, but you still have a chance. Match isn’t over. Though the rules say you should be disqualified after a minute outside the ring,
Vampiro
said he’d wait. You want my advice?”

Luke peeled off about three feet of duct tape and wrapped my shoulder, though I could not feel my left arm.

“No, I don’t. But I do want you to snap my arm back before taping it.”

“Jed, your arm is in place. You can’t feel it?”

I closed my eyes. “Brain, is he telling me the truth? Is my arm back on?”

“Sensors indicate reattachment,” Brain answered. “But I’m not picking it up on any neural pathways.”

Oh, crap.

“To put it mildly,” Brain said.

“Brain, stop reading my mind.”

I opened my eyes and dared to look. My arm had indeed returned, and normally I’d feel a tingling as Ooze did its thing.

All I sensed was the screaming crowd. It was chanting. Words slowly penetrated my thoughts. “Deadly Head! Deadly Head! Deadly Head!”

Who had a deadly head? And why were they taunting? I asked Luke those very questions.

“They’re screaming for you,” he said. “The ‘j’ in Spanish is pronounced as an ‘h.’ You have some fans.”

I didn’t want to disappoint them. I’d wrestle with one arm tied behind my back. Literally.

“Tape my arm to my back,” I said.

“That’s inadvisable.” That was twice Luke surprised me. First, he knew proper Spanish pronunciation. Then he used a five-syllable word, two above his average.

“Just do it,” I said, as my adrenaline kicked in. I refused to disappoint the few hundred people who’d come here to sit on rickety bleachers and drink many bottles of
aguas frescas
, asking only to see a little dismemberment.

Luke bent my left arm at the elbow and taped my forearm to my lower back. He lifted me into the ring, where
Vampiro
waited on the opposite side.

“Let’s do this,” I said to myself.

“You’re on your own,” Brain said.

I put my head down and charged, knowing
Vampiro
expected a head-butt to the stomach, which he’d easily absorb before flipping me like a pancake.

A split second before impact, I straightened and leaned back, flinging my legs into the air. I felt them dislocate, propelling me to an impossible height. The soles of my feet were headed squarely toward
Vampiro’s
oversized jaw.

Until that jaw was no longer there. Vampiro vanished.

“Brain?” I asked.

“No idea, boss,” it replied.

I prepared for another flight over the rope, but apparently the control tower did not clear my landing. Vampiro ducked and snatched me out of the air, my flight canceled.

With one hand on my neck and the other on my, uh, way lower back,
Vampiro
carried me to one end of the ring. I felt like a paper airplane in his grasp. I feared my fate would be the same.

“¿Lo quieres?
” Vampiro yelled. “
Ya lo tienes
.”

I understood enough to get the gist of what he said. “You want him, you got him.”

I soared, the world shrinking beneath me. The wind flowed through my mask, refreshing me.

“This is nice,” Brain said.

“Isn’t it?” I remarked.

“But you know it’s not going to end well.”

“I do. So I’m going to enjoy it while it lasts.”

And I did. Until I didn’t.