We have a workshop.

It's got lights and windows and walls and some shelves and a big flat workbench in the middle. It's got a door with a lock. It'll have cabinets and drawers as soon as we make them. It'll have a heater when it gets cold, as I understand Oklahoma is wont to do.

What it doesn't have is something a real Eorzean workshop has, which is a Thing that tracks projects. Someone in the Free Company (guild) would use the Thing to start the project, and the Thing would then track everything needed to build it. People would be told by the Thing to supply such-and-such a material based on their class and skill. When it was all done, the project-starter would assemble it into whatever was being built, such as an airship or a submersible or a house part.

We don't have a Thing. I don't know how to make a Thing or where to get one. Not gonna worry too much about it since it's just the two of us anyway. And time I spent worrying about how to make a Thing is time I could spend making stuff without a Thing. Priorities.

So the workshop is a source of coincidental magic: we make stuff, we have a place to make stuff, so it's reasonable we're making stuff in the workshop. Plus we're not exploding stuff in the Hartman kitchen, and there's a greatly reduced chance of someone walking in on us while we're manipulating aether. But to reinforce the coincidence I should leave some tools lying around.

Tsu'na borrowed a barstool and wrote a recipe for it. Such a simple thing as sitting down while we work and I didn't think of it. I love her clarity of vision. I made tables, one for the Pit and one to be a drafting table of sorts. Even if we don't have a Thing we need to keep track of everything we need for a project.

We did our crafting. The sun went down. We stood at the door before heading to the diner, looking over the room. We slipped our arms around each other and just held each other. Not sure what she was thinking, but I was just amazed at the idea we were establishing something we could call home.

I didn't want to let her go. It was just contentment, nothing more. At least, that's how it started out.

"I will make curtains for the windows, Husband."

"Thank you, my love."

Deputy Frank wasn't at the diner last night, to the noticeable relief of everyone there. The man is a stealth tension; we'd gotten used to his presence, but really felt his absence. Pies were sold, music was loud and a good time was had by all. Gotta wonder if anyone hires him for parties, so they can make him leave to liven things up.

This morning we looked at martial arts studios in Tulsa. I suspected what we were looking for didn't advertise that much, certainly not with cheery websites talking about family plans. But we had to start somewhere, so we got on the eastbound bus to check out Flying Tigers Academy. Not to be confused with the Flying Tigers of World War II, the Flying Tiger Historical Society, Flying Tiger Enterprises, or Flying Tiger Copenhagen.

Well. Maybe Flying Tiger Copenhagen, which features cute products, and one room of the "academy" was more pastel than I'd expect in a dojo. Late morning on a weekday wasn't a likely time for crowds, so we found one guy, at least dressed in a gi, wiping down a mirrored wall. He saw us in the mirror and came over to greet us.

"Hey, folks, welcome to Flying Tigers! I'm Master Shen. Looking to get into shape?"

"Master Shen" looked like a young Tony Danza. I could have passed him on the street in Newark and thought he was part of the atmosphere. But he wasn't that out of place in a martial arts academy that offered family coupons on its website.

I offered my hand. "Hey, I'm Sal, and this is my wife Tanya. Actually, we're looking for kinda specialized training."

"Specialized how?"

"Well, we had some hand-to-hand in the service, but that was mostly meant to be used in the field. We're hoping to learn more grapple-oriented stuff...judo, jiu-jitsu, hapkido, that sort of thing."

"Huh. Well, we do a bunch of different styles here, kinda hybrid, but I bet we can work something out." He tossed the cleaning supplies in a corner. "Why don't you show me what you've got?"

I visibly hesitated. "Actually...do you think we could demonstrate on a bag or something? Maybe a BOB?"

"Nah, it's fine, just kick off your shoes. I promise I'll go easy on you."

"Really, I think we'd be more comfortable using a bag..."

I could tell he was used to controlling the situation. He probably got his share of willful, overconfident kids. But, on the other hand, the customer is always right..."Sure, if that's what you want. I've got a BOB in the back."

As we followed him through a doorway, Tsu'na asked, "What is a bob?"

"It stands for Body Opponent Bag. It's like a striking dummy that moves when you hit it."

She nodded thoughtfully and studied the BOB when she entered the room. It was an off-pink torso with a bald head, mounted at man-height on a base with a weighted rocker bottom. She walked up to it, ran her fingers over the vinyl "skin", gave it an experimental push to see the motion, and looked questioningly at me.

I nodded. "Give it a full rotation." "Master Shen" folded his arms and waited to not be impressed.

Tsu'na took a breath, let it out, raised her fists and entered the dancing Opo-Opo stance a Pugilist learns on her first day.

BamBamBamBAM. Bootshine. A quick one-two-one-two, delivered to the BOB's "chest", with a shift to Raptor stance.

BamBAM. True Strike. A follow-thru. Moving to Coeurl stance.

BAM. Snap Punch to complete the combo. Back to Opo-Opo.

She learned the pattern of the BOB's rebound, matching the timing of her punches to add the BOB's momentum to the impact force. She worked through her rotation, mixing in Twin Snakes to increase her damage and Demolish to cause damage over time.

After a few rotations the surface vinyl tore. The BOB started to make splintery noises. She wasn't showing particular effort, or the fierceness she often displayed in a real fight. If she had been, she might have put her fist through the BOB.

I said, "That'll do, my love." She nodded and stepped back. You could see she wasn't even breathing hard.

"Master Shen" stared at the BOB. He approached it, touching the shredded "skin" and poking at the cracked plastic revealed beneath. I walked up to him and quietly said, "We're looking for techniques where we don't have to kill people, you see."

He tore his eyes away from the BOB to look at me. Something in his face made him look smaller than he did before. He pointed at the BOB. "How'd she do that?"

In response, I punched the BOB myself. No combo, no Pugilist move...just all of my strength into my shoulder and arm going into one punch to the cracked plastic. There was a louder crack, and some of the plastic gave way. "Master Shen" looked at the hole and back at me. I said, "We're just that good."

"...Okay...look...I teach kids, okay? Little kids. Families. I do after-school programs. I get the occasional troubled teen who gets sent here to work out his issues on other kids. I don't...I can't..." His eyes drifted back to the BOB. "...I can't help you, okay? This is...I can't."

I nodded. "I understand. Do you know someone who can?"

He took a slow breath. "There's a guy...I've heard about...runs kind of a club. He's over on the northwest side of town."

"Name, number, address...?"

"...Bar. Place called Murray's. Ask for the Hammer."

"The Hammer? Seriously?"

He shrugged.

"The Hammer. Okay. Sorry about the BOB. We'll bring in a new one this week, okay?"

He just seemed happy to see us leave. As we headed out, Tsu'na asked, "Where does one buy a BOB?"

"Sporting goods stores. Maybe Wal-Mart."

"It looks useful. Perhaps we can make one?"

"Plastic, my love."

She nodded. "A lot of plastic. A lot of corn."

We got out our bikes and rode across the city. The area looked rougher the farther we went. Even the nail salons gave way before we got to where Google said Murray's was. It was an old neighborhood that had been nibbled away by encroaching warehouses and industry, but there was still a bar sandwiched between a pawn shop and an off-brand church. I'd seen places like this in the past...they were usually a sign that I'd taken a wrong turn.

The interior of Murray's reinforced this notion. The Pit was a kind of functional old that still looked like people came to it not expecting to be killed. Murray's gave me more of a biker bar vibe, despite the lack of motorcycles out front or big guys with beards and leather jackets inside. It was pretty empty, in fact, with just the bartender and three guys at a table.

We took stools at the bar. The bartender was a pear-shaped balding guy with nothing resembling Sam's welcoming smile. "Help you?"

"Hope so. We're looking for The Hammer...?"

He squinted at me. "Lookin' to get hammered? We got whiskey."

"Nah, that's okay, just whatever's on tap."

He looked to Tsu'na, who said, "I would like Coke, please." He nodded, eyeing us a moment before wandering down the bar.

As he got out of earshot, Tsu'na murmured, "I think the Coffer and Coffin was friendlier than this."

I nodded. "All the hostility of the Missing Member without the cute pirate girls."

"You like pirate girls, Husband?"

"Why don't you wear an eyepatch some time and find out?"

The bartender returned with our glasses and headed away again. Tsu'na tasted her drink and scowled. "This is not Coke."

I took a sip. "Pepsi. Same family of drink."

"I asked for Coke. Why did he give me this?"

"Most places have one or the other. Lots of people apparently can't tell the difference, so they serve whatever they have."

"That does not make sense. This tastes nothing like Coke. How is your beer?"

"Better than your Pepsi."

I heard the guys get up from the table. One with a cheesy mustache over a grin clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Hey there. Heard you folks were lookin' for something?"

"Yeah, a guy sent us here. We're looking for The Hammer."

"Well, I can certainly help with that. Why don't we step into my office out back and talk it over?"

He led the way to a door at the back of the bar, which opened onto an alley. We stepped through, with his friends behind us. He shut the door and turned to me with a smile, whereupon one of his friends got his arm around my neck from behind.

Mustache drove his fist into my gut. "Got yer hammer right here, buddy!"

The punch didn't hurt. I was more worried about the chokehold. Mustache was probably expecting me to go limp; he didn't expect me to grab his wrist with my left hand before he could pull away. My right hand went to the wrist at my neck.

The third guy had grabbed Tsu'na's arm. She stood there calmly, waiting for a lead to follow.

Mustache yanked at his arm. "Let go, fucker!"

I didn't let go. I held his eyes as I pulled on Choker's wrist. He had his arm braced with his other hand, but that wasn't enough to keep me from slowly pulling his arm down. He lost his grip on his arm, and then he was pinned against my back from me holding his wrist.

I wondered if this was some sort of audition or screening process for the club. I'd heard of a group called the Guardian Angels Safety Patrol who interviewed applicants by attacking them, to see how they handled themselves in a tight spot.

Mustache clarified that misconception for me. "Cut the shit, asshole! Gimme your wallet or your woman gets hurt."

Tsu'na looked politely interested. I sighed. "So...this is just a robbery?"

"The fuck do you..."

I squeezed and twisted both wrists. I felt joints shift and bones grind together. Both men yelled. Tsu'na took that as her lead, grabbed the shirt of her guy, and flung him to the pavement onto his shoulder. I wasn't sure if I heard something crack or pop.

I heard movement in the building. I released both men, shifted to Machinist and met the bartender with my pistol to his face as he came out the door with a shotgun. He froze, staring at the muzzle.

"Put it down," I said. "Now."

He bent down slowly, rested the gun on the ground, briefly contemplated trying something, and straightened up empty-handed. He attempted to open discussion with introductions. "Who the hell are you!?"

"That doesn't matter. Look. We came here looking for a fight club."

"Fight club?"

All four men were staring at me, though Mustache and Choker were doubled over, clutching their arms. Possibly-dislocated-shoulder guy was trying to sit up.

"Yeah...fight club. Some guy sent us over here, told us to ask for The Hammer. That doesn't mean anything to you?"

"We thought you were looking for drugs!"

Tsu'na covered her mouth with a hand and turned away. Glad she was getting a giggle out of this.

I lowered the gun an inch. "Okay. We all had a misunderstanding. Here's what's going to happen. We're going to walk away, and none of us have to see each other again. Okay?"

No one objected to that idea, though Shoulder squinted up at Tsu'na. "Hey," he managed through his pain, "aren't you Cat's Meow?"

Tsu'na and I exchanged glances. Fame was catching up to us. We left without another word, Tsu'na taking the lead while I kept the guys covered, and Returned to Wyatt as soon as we got around the corner.

Between the time on the bus, the time on the bikes and the time wasted at the two locations, we'd pretty much blown the whole day, so we showered at the house and settled at the diner. We speculated on what had happened.

Had "Master Shen" just made up the bit about The Hammer and sent us to the most dangerous bar he knew? Had he actually heard a rumor about a fight club there and sent us there in good faith? Or did he maybe have a code word set up with the bartender to roll anyone who came in asking for The Hammer?

All we know at this point is that we're definitely going back to Flying Tigers for another talk with "Master Shen". And when we do, we just might break more than his BOB.