stepped back behind a parked Suburban.
Nadia did as told. Spot watched her come and go. Miraculously, he stayed sitting, a performance so impressive it suggested that he thought there was a steak reward waiting for stellar behavior.
The guy came in at a trot and saw Nadia hurrying out the other side. He sped up. I couldn’t see what he looked like in the darkness of the garage. Squatting a bit so that the man couldn’t see me, but in full view of Spot, I waved at Spot.
Spot stood up, wagging. The man stopped, alarmed. He turned and faced Spot, hesitant. Now that he was momentarily still, he looked thin to the point of being tiny. I quietly stepped behind him.
Without touching him, I said, “Looking for the woman you’re following?” I said.
As he spun, his hand went to his shoulder holster under the unzipped leather jacket. I was ready and grabbed his hand before it got the gun. I pulled down and twisted. He grimaced and grunted in pain, but it was the high-pitched cry of a woman.
TWO
The woman reaching for the gun was strong and put up serious resistance for a diminutive female as I cranked one hand up behind her back, held the other at her side, and marched her over to the wall, her face to the concrete.
“We could have had a simple chat,” I said, “if you hadn’t reached for your weapon. Never think you can best someone who gets the drop on you. It will get you killed.”
Out past the garage entrance, Nadia had turned around to watch. I sensed her movements in my peripheral vision.
When she saw me grab her pursuer, she did a sideways skitter like a water drop on a hot skillet. She continued sideways until she hit the ticket dispenser. She seemed to slam into it, which made a loud noise. She cried out in pain.
At that moment, the woman I was holding stomped the top of my left foot. She twisted 90 degrees and tried to knee me in the crotch. The foot hurt, but she missed my crotch. She lurched to the side and tried to run.
I held firm and twisted her back against the concrete wall.
“You okay?” I said to Nadia.
“I just hit... I’m sorry. Yes, I’m fine.”
I pulled back on the other arm of the woman in black and hitched it over the first so that I could hold both of her slender hard wrists with one hand and keep her immobilized. I kept enough upward pressure on her wrists that her shoulder and elbow joints would be screaming and she wouldn’t be able to even think about kicking back or slamming her head back into my chest.
She made no sound. Impressive.
With my free hand, I reached around and pulled the weapon from her holster. It was one of the pocket Glocks, Model 26, a small but serious 9-millimeter weapon. It had a round chambered, common for those who concealed-carry. I gently slid it into my front pocket.
“Gonna pat you down,” I said, assuming this woman would have experience. I continued to hold her arms with one hand as I reached down and around and satisfied myself that she didn’t have a back-up weapon more significant than a fingernail clipper. She squirmed, but I held her in a firm grip. I found a cell phone and car keys, and a leather wallet that was connected by a chain to her belt. I slipped the phone into my other pocket. I couldn’t get the wallet chain unhooked with one hand, so I reached around and unhooked her belt. I pulled the belt off and tossed it on the concrete some distance away. I caught the wallet and chain before it fell to the ground. I let go of her arms and stepped back.
The woman turned around, rubbing her left shoulder.
Up close, it was hard to imagine that I’d mistaken her for a man. But she had narrow hips for a woman, and her leather coat hung straight, disguising the curves beneath. She moved like a man, a hard, straight walk with no hip swing.
She had thick, shiny, black hair cut off like broom bristles just below her earlobes. She glanced right and left, her hair swinging, a feral look in narrowed eyes. It was a look I knew well from my
Nadia did as told. Spot watched her come and go. Miraculously, he stayed sitting, a performance so impressive it suggested that he thought there was a steak reward waiting for stellar behavior.
The guy came in at a trot and saw Nadia hurrying out the other side. He sped up. I couldn’t see what he looked like in the darkness of the garage. Squatting a bit so that the man couldn’t see me, but in full view of Spot, I waved at Spot.
Spot stood up, wagging. The man stopped, alarmed. He turned and faced Spot, hesitant. Now that he was momentarily still, he looked thin to the point of being tiny. I quietly stepped behind him.
Without touching him, I said, “Looking for the woman you’re following?” I said.
As he spun, his hand went to his shoulder holster under the unzipped leather jacket. I was ready and grabbed his hand before it got the gun. I pulled down and twisted. He grimaced and grunted in pain, but it was the high-pitched cry of a woman.
TWO
The woman reaching for the gun was strong and put up serious resistance for a diminutive female as I cranked one hand up behind her back, held the other at her side, and marched her over to the wall, her face to the concrete.
“We could have had a simple chat,” I said, “if you hadn’t reached for your weapon. Never think you can best someone who gets the drop on you. It will get you killed.”
Out past the garage entrance, Nadia had turned around to watch. I sensed her movements in my peripheral vision.
When she saw me grab her pursuer, she did a sideways skitter like a water drop on a hot skillet. She continued sideways until she hit the ticket dispenser. She seemed to slam into it, which made a loud noise. She cried out in pain.
At that moment, the woman I was holding stomped the top of my left foot. She twisted 90 degrees and tried to knee me in the crotch. The foot hurt, but she missed my crotch. She lurched to the side and tried to run.
I held firm and twisted her back against the concrete wall.
“You okay?” I said to Nadia.
“I just hit... I’m sorry. Yes, I’m fine.”
I pulled back on the other arm of the woman in black and hitched it over the first so that I could hold both of her slender hard wrists with one hand and keep her immobilized. I kept enough upward pressure on her wrists that her shoulder and elbow joints would be screaming and she wouldn’t be able to even think about kicking back or slamming her head back into my chest.
She made no sound. Impressive.
With my free hand, I reached around and pulled the weapon from her holster. It was one of the pocket Glocks, Model 26, a small but serious 9-millimeter weapon. It had a round chambered, common for those who concealed-carry. I gently slid it into my front pocket.
“Gonna pat you down,” I said, assuming this woman would have experience. I continued to hold her arms with one hand as I reached down and around and satisfied myself that she didn’t have a back-up weapon more significant than a fingernail clipper. She squirmed, but I held her in a firm grip. I found a cell phone and car keys, and a leather wallet that was connected by a chain to her belt. I slipped the phone into my other pocket. I couldn’t get the wallet chain unhooked with one hand, so I reached around and unhooked her belt. I pulled the belt off and tossed it on the concrete some distance away. I caught the wallet and chain before it fell to the ground. I let go of her arms and stepped back.
The woman turned around, rubbing her left shoulder.
Up close, it was hard to imagine that I’d mistaken her for a man. But she had narrow hips for a woman, and her leather coat hung straight, disguising the curves beneath. She moved like a man, a hard, straight walk with no hip swing.
She had thick, shiny, black hair cut off like broom bristles just below her earlobes. She glanced right and left, her hair swinging, a feral look in narrowed eyes. It was a look I knew well from my
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