Once Bitten by Stephen Leather Page B

behind us and then I heard someone running, the slap-slap of training shoes on the sidewalk. It was a man, a big man with wild, untamed hair and the beginnings of a beard. He was wearing a stained leather bomber jacket and torn jeans and he was heading right for us. I figured he was drunk maybe so I pulled Terry to one side to give him room to pass but as he drew closer it was clear from his staring eyes that we had a problem. We were the only three people on the street and he stopped running when he reached us. I held Terry tighter and she put her hand on my stomach as if seeking reassurance. The guy was breathing heavily and he ran a huge, dirt-encrusted hand across his unshaven chin. The other hand appeared from inside his jacket with a switchblade that must have been at least a foot long. He pressed a chrome button on the side and the blade sprang out with a metallic click. I felt Terry's hand tense on my stomach and then her nails scraped my flesh.
    “Your fucking wallet,” he said and thrust the knife to within an inch of my nose. “Give me your fucking wallet you mother or I'll slice your nose off.”
    “OK, OK, just don't hurt us,” I said, keeping my voice low and my eyes averted. I'd been mugged twice before in LA, and I knew all the do's and dont's. Don't give them an excuse to hurt you, don't pose a threat, don't piss them off, just do as they say and appear to be as meek as possible, give them what they want and don't try to stop them getting away. Just remember as many details as possible so that you can tell the police afterwards, even though they've almost no chance of ever catching the guy. After the first mugging I began carrying around a spare wallet containing a few dollars and a couple of out-of-date credit cards but that was back home in my other jacket, I hadn't thought to bring it with me tonight. And the wallet in my back pocket had several hundred dollars in it and my gold Amex card. Damn. But no matter how much cash it contained I'd happily hand it over if it meant he wouldn't hurt me or Terry. Money I could always replace, even with my alimony payments. I reached into my back pocket and took out the wallet.
    “Come on, come on, gimma the fucking wallet!” he hissed and touched the knife against the tip of my nose. I felt Terry's hand slide across my stomach as she stepped to the side, putting distance between the two of us. I didn't want that, it was better for him to regard us as a couple, as one entity, because if he saw her as an individual then he might start to get other ideas. I tried to reach for her hand but she moved away.
    The mugger kept the knife on me but looked across at her. “Stay where you are, bitch!” he said.
    A car drove along the street, a red pick-up, it slowed as it went by but then accelerated as if the driver had seen what was going on and hadn't wanted to get involved.
    Terry spoke to the man in what sounded like Spanish. She took off her sunglasses and her eyes flashed. She was angry and she sounded it. Bad idea, I thought, if she wasn't careful she was going to push him over the edge, he was nervous enough as it was.
    He grinned evilly and said something to her, also in Spanish. The knife wavered but not enough to make it worth my while trying to grab it, besides, he looked a hell of a lot stronger than me and I doubted that I'd be able to overpower him, with or without the knife. His grin changed into a leer and he said something else to her, his voice softer this time, and she cursed him. He laughed and he took the knife away from my face and moved towards her.
    “Leave her alone!” I yelled and I grabbed for the knife. He swore and pulled it away and then slashed it across my arm. It was razor sharp and it sliced through the leather sleeve and I felt it cut into my flesh. As he pulled the knife away pain seared through my arm and I cried out and he drew back and then plunged the knife forward towards my chest. I thought I was going to die. I really did. But