myself in front of my woman and be obliged to let us pass unmolested.
I settle for, “We’re just walking to our car.”
He moves a step closer. We move two steps back.
“What’s going on?” says the behemoth.
I’m confused. Is he making idle chitchat at two o’clock in the morning on this deserted avenue? So I answer as casually as I can.
“Not much, my man. What’s goin’ on with you?”
This immediately feels like the wrong response.
His breathing is labored and heavy.
“What does it mean?” That’s what he says to us. “What does it mean?”
Silence from me. Finally I squeak out a response.
“What does what mean?” I answer, even though we all know my mother said you should never answer a question with a question.
Is he going to eat us? My mind is in flight-or-flight mode (“fight” is pretty much off the table at this point), trying to figure out how best to extricate us from this bad and possibly cannibalistic situation.
“I was at the coffee bar. I saw you. I overheard the two of you talking,” he blurts out, and it suddenly hits me that he’s the big guy I momentarily locked eyes with over coffee. Okay, so this is now a stalker thing. Who’s he stalking? Obviously my bewitching companion.
“Dude, we just want to get home, okay?” I try. I feel I may not be winning chivalry points with Alice.
The behemoth reaches his right hand inside his long coat. Shit!! He’s got a gun! He’s going to shoot us! I push Alice away and dive onto this big freak, driving us both to the pavement. Even as I do it my whole being is screaming,
“Have you lost your fucking mind?! Good-bye, Charlie!” I can almost hear the muffled “pop, pop, pop” and smell the burned cordite, feel the warm, wet, sticky ooze as my life leaks out of me through the hot bullet holes while the city lights go dim and Alice weeps. “Just another true-life story from the City of Angels! Coming soon to a theater near you!” This is Hollywood, after all.
Goliath fights back . . . but not with the energy or conviction I would have expected from an insane, carnivorous serial killer benton adding two more innocent notches to his long list of beautiful and tasty victims.
“Get off me!” he actually shouts.
“Give me the gun!!!” I scream, because I heard it once in a movie and it sounded really good.
“I don’t have a gun, dipshit,” is the very unexpected reply. We continue to wrestle on the ground.
Mindful of “my girl,” I yell back, “I am light years from being a dipshit, my friend!!!” Not really apropos, but I am in a highly stressed condition. The giant finally pushes me off him so easily that I feel like a two-year-old wrestling with his dad.
I jump to my feet. Goliath struggles to his. Probably due to the handicap of the extra poundage. Should I kick him in the balls, grab Alice and run? It’s such a violent move, and I guess I’m not one of those tough guys who kicks first and asks questions later. I’m more the “I think we need to talk” type of person. Maybe it comes from idolizing an older sister.
By the time all this has run through my brain, he’s back on his feet and in his former advantageous position as the threatening stranger. Fuckit!!! I grab Alice’s hand, dodge, weave, and dodge again then take off to the other side of the street, figuring if he doesn’t have a gun, we can at least outrun the fat beast.
“Stop!!! Please!!!! Pleeease!!!!” he moans almost pathetically.
And we actually stop . . . and look on in wonder.
“What’s he want?” I ask under my breath. This has been a most unusual night, so why should it stop now?
“What do you want?” It’s Alice this time, voicing my sotto voce mutterings aloud.
Again Goliath reaches inside his coat with his right hand.
Gallantly (since he’s already claimed he doesn’t have a weapon) I jump in front of Alice. She pushes me to the side so I don’t block her view of this dangerous giant.
“He already said he
I settle for, “We’re just walking to our car.”
He moves a step closer. We move two steps back.
“What’s going on?” says the behemoth.
I’m confused. Is he making idle chitchat at two o’clock in the morning on this deserted avenue? So I answer as casually as I can.
“Not much, my man. What’s goin’ on with you?”
This immediately feels like the wrong response.
His breathing is labored and heavy.
“What does it mean?” That’s what he says to us. “What does it mean?”
Silence from me. Finally I squeak out a response.
“What does what mean?” I answer, even though we all know my mother said you should never answer a question with a question.
Is he going to eat us? My mind is in flight-or-flight mode (“fight” is pretty much off the table at this point), trying to figure out how best to extricate us from this bad and possibly cannibalistic situation.
“I was at the coffee bar. I saw you. I overheard the two of you talking,” he blurts out, and it suddenly hits me that he’s the big guy I momentarily locked eyes with over coffee. Okay, so this is now a stalker thing. Who’s he stalking? Obviously my bewitching companion.
“Dude, we just want to get home, okay?” I try. I feel I may not be winning chivalry points with Alice.
The behemoth reaches his right hand inside his long coat. Shit!! He’s got a gun! He’s going to shoot us! I push Alice away and dive onto this big freak, driving us both to the pavement. Even as I do it my whole being is screaming,
“Have you lost your fucking mind?! Good-bye, Charlie!” I can almost hear the muffled “pop, pop, pop” and smell the burned cordite, feel the warm, wet, sticky ooze as my life leaks out of me through the hot bullet holes while the city lights go dim and Alice weeps. “Just another true-life story from the City of Angels! Coming soon to a theater near you!” This is Hollywood, after all.
Goliath fights back . . . but not with the energy or conviction I would have expected from an insane, carnivorous serial killer benton adding two more innocent notches to his long list of beautiful and tasty victims.
“Get off me!” he actually shouts.
“Give me the gun!!!” I scream, because I heard it once in a movie and it sounded really good.
“I don’t have a gun, dipshit,” is the very unexpected reply. We continue to wrestle on the ground.
Mindful of “my girl,” I yell back, “I am light years from being a dipshit, my friend!!!” Not really apropos, but I am in a highly stressed condition. The giant finally pushes me off him so easily that I feel like a two-year-old wrestling with his dad.
I jump to my feet. Goliath struggles to his. Probably due to the handicap of the extra poundage. Should I kick him in the balls, grab Alice and run? It’s such a violent move, and I guess I’m not one of those tough guys who kicks first and asks questions later. I’m more the “I think we need to talk” type of person. Maybe it comes from idolizing an older sister.
By the time all this has run through my brain, he’s back on his feet and in his former advantageous position as the threatening stranger. Fuckit!!! I grab Alice’s hand, dodge, weave, and dodge again then take off to the other side of the street, figuring if he doesn’t have a gun, we can at least outrun the fat beast.
“Stop!!! Please!!!! Pleeease!!!!” he moans almost pathetically.
And we actually stop . . . and look on in wonder.
“What’s he want?” I ask under my breath. This has been a most unusual night, so why should it stop now?
“What do you want?” It’s Alice this time, voicing my sotto voce mutterings aloud.
Again Goliath reaches inside his coat with his right hand.
Gallantly (since he’s already claimed he doesn’t have a weapon) I jump in front of Alice. She pushes me to the side so I don’t block her view of this dangerous giant.
“He already said he
Similar Books
