Kill Alex Cross (Alex Cross 18)

NECESSARY

EVILS

“GET ON YOUR toes! that’s it. Shoulder front. Good. That’s perfect. Now pick up that can of Coke.”

Ava reached out and took the Coke off the shelf where I’d put it.

“Good. Now put it back,” I said.

She set the soda can down, but then dropped her arm in frustration. “I thought boxing was about punching,” she said.

“What do you think you’re learning to do?” I said. “Now go again. But keep your elbow in this time.” I showed her. “Keep it tight. Close to your side.”

“Gotta keep the box closed,” Ali said, mirroring the stance for her. He was loving this, being able to tell a thirteen-year-old what to do. Ava didn’t seem to mind. It was me she rolled her eyes at.

“How am I supposed to learn anything if you won’t let me wear gloves?”

“You’ll get the gloves when you’re ready,” I said. “Now pick up that can again.”

I honestly wasn’t sure if boxing was a great idea for Ava, or a terrible one. But she’d expressed an interest, and that was enough for me to give it a try.

“How do you like your new school?” I asked, motioning her and Ali into the center of the floor. They knew the drill and turned to face each other.

Ava kept her elbows in as she put her hands up, left foot in front. Ali did the same.

“It’s a’ight. I like Ms. Hopkins,” she said.

It probably doesn’t sound like much, but this was about a thousand percent more than Ava had been giving me so far. Kids off the street can go one of two ways. It’s either no boundaries at all, and they share way too much, too fast. Or they clam up tight. That was Ava. So far, we had our good days and our bad days.

There were still plenty of questions I wanted to ask. Like what happened to you out there on the streets? Did you know your mom was going to die? What makes you feel safe, Ava? Who are you?

The questions would come, eventually. For now, I stuck to small, tangible stuff like school, meals, movies — and boxing.

I ran the kids through some balance drills, did some more mirroring, and then let them play at dodging the heavy bag. That one was Ava’s favorite. She gave up a few rare smiles while she and Ali swung the bag, feinting and weaving on the balls of their feet. At least the two of them were bonding.

After a while, Jannie came down the basement stairs and poked her head under the banister.

“Hey, Daddy? Mr. Mahoney’s here to see you. And Nana says enough with the roughhousing. It’s time for bed.”

I looked over at the clock radio on the windowsill. It was quarter to ten and a school night. Oops.

What was Ned Mahoney doing here at the house this late?

“All right, guys, that’s it. Gym’s closed for the night,” I said.

Ava stood holding the bag with both hands. “Just a little more,” she said.

“Nope. It’s already past your bedtime. Ali’s too. Let’s go.”

A nasty scowl came onto her face. “I don’t need no goddamn bedtime,” she said. She swung the bag hard and caught Ali off guard. It knocked him right to the floor. While he burst into tears, Ava started stomping up the stairs.

That was, until I made her come back and apologize — first to Ali, and then to me.

“No more boxing this week,” I said. “You need a break. This isn’t the way it’s going to work in this house.”

“Whatever,” she said, in that really charming way adolescents can have. Then she turned to go.

Like I said, good days and bad days. Sometimes all at the same time.