Page 124 of Nash Falls

“Not necessarily. But they sure as hell will be only it won’t be by drownin’. You’ll be a fish by the time I’m done with your ass.”

Nash had gone through dozens of close-quarter-battle drill techniques, with Shock being alternately patient and then losing his shit when Nash messed up. And when he did, Shock would lay him out, hard.

“Is that really necessary?” said Nash after struggling to get up one time after being knocked down. “It’s not like you praise me when I get it right.”

“You mess up here, I whack you in the head ’cause I want you to remember it. You mess up out there? You not just whacked around. You dead.”

Nash had considered that to be one of the most compelling explanations he’d ever been given on any subject.

He got to the point where, especially with the mental side of the game, he would reference his experience in the business world. Summing up an opponent, viewing the lay of the land, deciding which techniques would work best with which opponent. When he did that, Nash found, he was far more successful than not.

He had still thought of quitting every day, but he hadn’t. And he knew the reason.

He slid the photo from his wallet. In it Maggie was eighteen and the senior prom queen. Her smile had filled the high school football stadium. Nash had jumped on a red-eye in order to be there for it. He’d later had jet lag from hell, but not on that night. That night had been as magical for him as it had been for Maggie.

And now? I have no idea where she is. I have no idea if she’s still alive. No, I have a pretty good idea that she is… not. And everyone thinks that I…

Nash felt his eyes tear up and he ran his finger along the photo and tried to remember how good that day had felt. He and Judith both so proud, and Maggie so radiant.

He put the photo away and wondered if all of the work he was doing would end up having even a speck of value or make any difference whatsoever.

Shock is making me strong, capable of going into situations and surviving, able to track people down while avoiding being tracked down myself. I can now kill someone in a dozen different ways. I can make an IED out of kitchen products and blow shit and people up.

He paused in these thoughts.

But I’ve never had to kill someone for real. I still have no idea if I can.

He brought the image of Maggie into his mind’s eye and turned it this way and that. She was worth everything to him. When she’d been born, he had felt this overwhelming sense of wanting to protect his daughter from all harm, all worry. No parent can do that, Nash understood. But then you taught the child to take care of herself. You taught her to be strong and independent. And Maggie had been getting there, she really had been. Their last conversation had been… wonderful. He still remembered the feel of her hug, the fatherly pride he had felt in her mature thoughts and supportive words. And, still,thishad happened to her.

Because of me.

He so wanted to hold her now. To quiet her fears, to keep her safe. And the only shot he had at that was to push his body well past all points of endurance and pain.

And, more important, to take his mind to places it had never gone before, perhaps never contemplated before. He had told himself that if Maggie was not returned safe he would kill Rhett Temple. He had never felt such hatred before.

But when it comes down to it, can you do it, or is that just cheap talk, Nash? Can you be a Peanut who kills without even thinking about it? Leave a human being dead and go on with your life as though nothing important happened? Can you see your human opponents as mere obstacles like Dad did? Can you go there, Nash? More critical, do youwantto go there?

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he no longer felt tired. He got up and went into the training facility. He turned on the lights and proceeded to work on hitting all the pressure and kill points on the boxing dummy until he could do it with his eyes closed.

Exhausted, he spent another hour doing pull-ups, push-ups, squats, lunges, and core work. He got back to his bed and fell asleep for two hours of rest until he took up the task once more.

Nash was surprised because there was another man waiting with Shock when he showed up to begin his workout two weeks later.

“Walter, this here is Byron Jackson.”

Nash shook Jackson’s hand; the latter’s grip was like steel pincers. Jackson was around six feet, in his sixties, with deep brown skin, a furrowed brow, and thick, dark eyelashes. A ruler-straight set of lips rode above a lantern jaw. Jackson looked like a former NFL player who had never gotten out of shape.

When Nash shot Shock a curious look, Shock said, “Byron is my partner.”

“Your business partner?”

Shock draped a big arm around Jackson’s broad shoulders and said, “No, I don’t got no business partner. Byron is mylifepartner.”

Nash looked from Jackson to Shock.

“Guess you finally earned the right to know where my nickname come from,” said Shock. “Like your daddy said.”

“When did he find out?” asked Nash.