changes to one of anger when he sees my gawking expression.
“Lady, what are you staring at?” He staggers again and fumbles the half-rolled joint, almost dropping it. Instead, he recovers and quickly stuffs it into his pocket.
“N-nothing,” I stutter, my knees now shaking. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.” I figure he’s probably already high. “Hey, you friends with Bobby Taylor? I think he’s staying here.” I notice my voice is getting higher in pitch from nerves.
“Yeah, well, maybe we’re friends…” he mumbles, and drool runs down his chin over a nasty sore. “What’s it to ya?”
If Bobby Taylor looks like a low-life, then this guy looks like absolute gutter trash. His clothes are filthy and torn, his face is slobbery, and he stinks. He probably hasn’t had a shower in many days. His stench, combined with the sweet smell of whatever he’s smoking, just about overpowers me.
I snap to when he suddenly lunges at me, and I hastily step to the right. He crashes into some garbage cans and grunts as he lands on his side. Now he’s really mad.
“You bitch,” he yells at me, as he pushes himself up. He lunges at me again, and this time I physically freeze. He shoves me up against the building, grabbing me around the neck with a front choke.
All my Aikido techniques fly out the window while I go mentally blank. In my panic, I flail around, trying in vain to break his hold around my neck. I struggle for air and scratch at his face, but he won’t let go. God, he’s got a tight grip for someone who’s stoned. My arms thrash even more at the thought of dying in this alley. I go lightheaded from a lack of oxygen, and that’s when I hear a voice from inside the motel yell, “Hey, Jimmy, you outside?”
The man’s hands immediately drop from my throat, and he looks in the direction of the voice. “Hey, Bob-beeee,” he slurs. “Wan’ some good weed?” That’s all I need to break away.
I haul out of there as fast as I can to the front of the motel. Then, just as I come to the street, I hear a noise behind me. I turn to see the pot-smoking creep running after me and yelling, “You bitch. I’ll kill ya.”
I head for my vehicle where I see Warrior still on the alert, waiting for me. I jump into the van and jam the keys into the ignition. My dog’s agitation is growing, and he growls continuously while he watches the bum—I guess Jimmy—run toward the passenger door. I hit the button to raise my dog’s window and click the lock just in time, thank god. As the engine turns over, Warrior’s growl evolves into ferocious barking.
Jimmy’s eyes are filled with rage and he pulls on the door handle then spits on the window of the car. “You don’t know what hurt is until I get done with you.” He leers at me. “Me and Bobby are comin’ for you.” He pounds the window.
Warrior jumps at the glass on the passenger side, fully baring his teeth and snarling at my attacker. The guy totters back, hitting the fire hydrant and toppling over it to the sidewalk. “Holy shit,” he sputters.
“Hey, you OK, Jimmy?” Bobby Taylor runs out just as I pull away leaving Jimmy still sprawled on his back. “What’s goin’ on, man?”
When I glance in my side mirror, driving the van down the street as fast as I can, I see Bobby helping Jimmy up. I also see them both look in the direction of my van. I keep moving and finally slow down a dozen blocks and three turns later. My breathing is still as rapid as if I’d run all the way here. Where I struggled for air moments ago, now I almost hyperventilate. My hands on the steering wheel shake.
What the hell did I think I was doing back there, going into that alley without Warrior? I’m not a professional private eye like Will Benson, just an idiotic, nosy amateur trying to look out for her brother. And an amateur who turned useless when the time came to defend herself. A coward. What happened to all my Aikido? Where was it when I actually needed
“Lady, what are you staring at?” He staggers again and fumbles the half-rolled joint, almost dropping it. Instead, he recovers and quickly stuffs it into his pocket.
“N-nothing,” I stutter, my knees now shaking. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.” I figure he’s probably already high. “Hey, you friends with Bobby Taylor? I think he’s staying here.” I notice my voice is getting higher in pitch from nerves.
“Yeah, well, maybe we’re friends…” he mumbles, and drool runs down his chin over a nasty sore. “What’s it to ya?”
If Bobby Taylor looks like a low-life, then this guy looks like absolute gutter trash. His clothes are filthy and torn, his face is slobbery, and he stinks. He probably hasn’t had a shower in many days. His stench, combined with the sweet smell of whatever he’s smoking, just about overpowers me.
I snap to when he suddenly lunges at me, and I hastily step to the right. He crashes into some garbage cans and grunts as he lands on his side. Now he’s really mad.
“You bitch,” he yells at me, as he pushes himself up. He lunges at me again, and this time I physically freeze. He shoves me up against the building, grabbing me around the neck with a front choke.
All my Aikido techniques fly out the window while I go mentally blank. In my panic, I flail around, trying in vain to break his hold around my neck. I struggle for air and scratch at his face, but he won’t let go. God, he’s got a tight grip for someone who’s stoned. My arms thrash even more at the thought of dying in this alley. I go lightheaded from a lack of oxygen, and that’s when I hear a voice from inside the motel yell, “Hey, Jimmy, you outside?”
The man’s hands immediately drop from my throat, and he looks in the direction of the voice. “Hey, Bob-beeee,” he slurs. “Wan’ some good weed?” That’s all I need to break away.
I haul out of there as fast as I can to the front of the motel. Then, just as I come to the street, I hear a noise behind me. I turn to see the pot-smoking creep running after me and yelling, “You bitch. I’ll kill ya.”
I head for my vehicle where I see Warrior still on the alert, waiting for me. I jump into the van and jam the keys into the ignition. My dog’s agitation is growing, and he growls continuously while he watches the bum—I guess Jimmy—run toward the passenger door. I hit the button to raise my dog’s window and click the lock just in time, thank god. As the engine turns over, Warrior’s growl evolves into ferocious barking.
Jimmy’s eyes are filled with rage and he pulls on the door handle then spits on the window of the car. “You don’t know what hurt is until I get done with you.” He leers at me. “Me and Bobby are comin’ for you.” He pounds the window.
Warrior jumps at the glass on the passenger side, fully baring his teeth and snarling at my attacker. The guy totters back, hitting the fire hydrant and toppling over it to the sidewalk. “Holy shit,” he sputters.
“Hey, you OK, Jimmy?” Bobby Taylor runs out just as I pull away leaving Jimmy still sprawled on his back. “What’s goin’ on, man?”
When I glance in my side mirror, driving the van down the street as fast as I can, I see Bobby helping Jimmy up. I also see them both look in the direction of my van. I keep moving and finally slow down a dozen blocks and three turns later. My breathing is still as rapid as if I’d run all the way here. Where I struggled for air moments ago, now I almost hyperventilate. My hands on the steering wheel shake.
What the hell did I think I was doing back there, going into that alley without Warrior? I’m not a professional private eye like Will Benson, just an idiotic, nosy amateur trying to look out for her brother. And an amateur who turned useless when the time came to defend herself. A coward. What happened to all my Aikido? Where was it when I actually needed
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