Being Johhny Saturn – Part IV by Benita G. Story. Copyright 2008 Story Studios, LLC. All Rights Reserved.
The garage facility beneath John and Persephone’s house was a collector’s dream come true. There had to be close to 300 vintage Indian and Harley Davidson motorcycles in various stages of being rebuilt along with those in working order. Then there were the cars. Greg’s jaw hung open as he stared at the mint condition Delorians, Lamborginis, Jaguars, Bentleys, Rolls Royces, Mercedes, Porches, Astin Martins, and Fararis, to name just a few. There were a couple dozen mechanics working on various vehicles in several areas of the huge complex.
John looked around the place, pride showing clearly on his face. “Like my play room?”
“It’s overwhelming!”
John laughed. “I can see that.” Then he walked over to a group of motorcycles with Greg on his heels. “Which one do you want to use while you are here?”
Greg swallowed. There were so many to choose from that his eyes couldn’t stop at any one in particular. John glanced at him. “How about that Harley?” he pointed to a gleaming black bike to his left.
“Sure!” Greg found himself grinning like at little kid at Christmas. If he didn’t hurry up and get out of there, he’d find himself giggling like one, too.
“Keys are in the ignition. Just follow me.”
John walked over to another Harley Davidson. On it was a special sheath for his cane.
Greg joyfully threw his leg over and sat astride the machine. He admiringly rubbed the gas tank and looked at the gauges in front of him.
“Before you decide to make love to it, we have someplace to go to,” John said as he started up his bike.
Greg felt his cheeks flush. He started up his bike and felt the smooth rhythm so distinctive to Harleys through the seat. Yes, he definitely could get used to this!
The streets of the city were crowded at that time of day and it took John and Greg nearly an hour before they reached their destination. It was a building in the older part of the city with a fenced in and gated parking area. The parking area was about half full of vehicles that looked shabby in comparison with what Greg had seen in John’s “play room.”
The interior of the building seemed stuffy and warm compared with the seaside atmosphere of the out doors. John led Greg past several desks and the most notice they got were a grin or a nod. Soon they arrived.
The room was large, well-lit and contained several areas for fitness and working out. In the middle of the room were several areas designated by the padded floor mats in different colors of blue, gray, green and black. On many of the matted areas were men sparing with one another.
John led Greg over to a door and John knocked. The door opened and a short, thickset, heavily muscled man opened it.
“You’re late, Mr. Underhall.”
“Yeah, so. You have nothing better to do.”
“So you say.”
Greg was surprised by the definite Brooklyn accent in amongst all of the French voices around him in the training room. Also, he was surprised by the look of pure affection on the faces of the two men as they groused at one another.
John turned toward Greg. “This is Pete Andrews. Pete, this is Greg Buchanan.”
Pete looked at Greg and grunted, ignoring the hand that Greg offered.
“So, he’s the one?” Pete said to John.
“He’s the one.”
Pete pointed his thumb to a locker. “Suit up, Mr. Buchanan, and meet me over by them bags when you’re done.” Pete then walked away.
“Nice manners,” Greg muttered.
“He was being nice to you, Greg. You should see him when he’s being rude.” John laughed.
The next two hours were grueling for Greg. The massage of that morning seemed like a sweet dream. Pete assigned a trainer to Greg and supervised Greg’s training session. At first, the trainer tested what Greg knew, then he nodded and let lose. Several times, the trainer made contact and Greg felt himself falling onto the mat in agony. A couple of times, Greg surprised the trainer and nailed him. Instead of getting angry, though, the trainer would nod in approval and get back up to face him.
Finally, Pete came over and threw a towel to each of them. Then he turned to the trainer. “What do you think, Jean-Claude?”
The trainer toweled off his face and vigorously rubbed his head. “Not too bad, Monsieur Andrews. He relies too much on the one technique he is good at, but he is weak in other areas.”
Greg felt himself bristling in spite of himself, but remained quiet.
“Then, again,” the trainer continued, “I understand that he has recently faced many opponents and that he is standing here, alive, to fight again. That shows courage! He has much potential.”
Pete grunted and turned to Greg and pointed off to their right. “The shower room is over there. Meet me and John in my office when you are ready.” Pete then walked away. Greg looked at the trainer who was chuckling. “That Monsieur Andrews, he is funny, but he likes you.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes! If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have asked my opinion. He would have just shown you the showers and the way out of here.”
“Joy!” thought Greg as he thanked the trainer and headed to his locker to retrieve his clothes before heading to the shower room. “What is John setting me up for?”
By the time Greg was clean and dressed, he hurt all over. He hoped and prayed the massage of that morning would be repeated the next day…or that evening before going to bed. John and Pete were sitting, relaxed with coffee cups in hand when Greg walked into the office.
John handed Greg a cup and indicated a chair. Greg sat with a groan.
“Well, Mr. Buchanan, here’s what we are going to do,” Pete said. He pointed to a sheet of paper in front of him with what looked like a list written on it. “You are good at the Crav Maga style of fighting, but any fighter worth his salt is going to figure that out pretty quick and use it to his advantage.”
“Okay…”
“So, what we are going to do is teach you boxing, judo, and some down and dirty street fighting techniques I learned growing up in New York. That way you can use whatever works from each of them and keep your opponents off-guard.” Pete handed the list to Greg.
Greg looked it over. It was a schedule of workouts and training sessions. Greg’s eyes widened and he looked at John. “How long will all of this take? I thought we had work to do in Spire City?”
“Two months. I should have a bead on our friends by then.”
Greg looked back down at the schedule. “All of this in two months?”
John looked at him grimly. “That’s only the start of it.”
Dinner that night was just the two men.
“Where’s Ms. Helios?” Greg asked.
John looked concerned. “She’s not feeling very well. She thinks she ate something while out shopping today that isn’t setting with her very well.”
“Oh. I hope she’s okay.”
“The doctor says she will be.”
The two ate in silence. At the end of the meal, John led Greg to what looked to be a cross between a study and an office. John opened a file cabinet and handed Greg a couple of thick files. “Your bedtime reading material,” John explained.
The first file was labeled Nikolai Demetr and the second was labeled Dr. Karl Wissenschaft. Greg nodded.
John then handed Greg a tablet of paper, a pen and a highlighter. “Those are your copies of what we have on file to date on these individuals. We’ll discuss what you have learned tomorrow after breakfast.”
“And then?” Greg asked.
“And then we’ll begin working how to defeat them without destroying the rest of the city in the process.”
Greg nodded again and bit his bottom lip.
Once in his room, he got undressed and climbed into bed. Next to his nightstand he had discovered a lap desk and put it into use.
