by Stuart Woods
He took a large student by the wrist and led him in front of the class. “Assume a fighting position, any kind of fighting position,” he said to the young man, who turned his left side toward Josh and made two fists. Josh kicked him hard in the left shin. The victim grabbed his shin and hopped around on one foot, swearing. Josh kicked him in the ass, and he fell down.
“I did what women are taught to do in anti-rape classes,” Josh said. “I kicked him in the shin, and his response was to grab where it hurt and put all his weight on his other foot, making it easy for me to kick him to the ground. I could have pushed him with one finger, and he’d have gone down, but he has a big ass, and it was an inviting target.” That got a laugh from his audience. “Now he’s on the ground and at a disadvantage. If he looks like he wants to continue fighting, then I can kick him in the balls and put the thought right out of his head.” Josh helped the young man up. “I know that hurt, and I’m sorry, but I had to make a point. Get yourself an ice bag from the little freezer over there and apply it to your shin. It’ll stop hurting in a minute.” The young man limped away and did as he was told.
“My point is, when confronted with a threat, don’t wait, take action. Don’t tell him to get out of your way, don’t push him, don’t yell at him. Put him on the ground in a suitably painful way so that he won’t want to get up and take you on. By the time he’s decided he’s mad enough to fight, your client will be in the car and on his way, and so will you, and you won’t be the one in pain.
“That’s how to deal with a physical threat. The threat of a man with a weapon—a knife or a baseball bat, say—requires even quicker action. You have to act before he assumes an offensive posture, like holding the knife in front of him or backswinging the bat. A very good technique is a straight punch to the nose with either hand, while he’s still thinking about what he’s going to do to you. Don’t make your punch short—that might not stop him. Punch right through his head to a point six inches behind him. You’ll knock him on his ass, it will hurt him like hell, and he’ll be confronted with the sight of his own blood all over his shirt, which is very disturbing to almost anybody. And he will be afraid of you, giving you time to get your client into the building. By the way, when encountering that kind of opposition on the way into a building, always leave the building by another exit because the man you humiliated might be waiting outside for you, and you don’t want an angry man with a knife or a baseball bat waiting for you because next time, he’ll be ready to use his weapon.”
“What happens if he has a gun in his hand?” somebody asked.
“Not now, in a few minutes,” Josh said. “Other weak points.” Josh took Herbie by the wrist and led him forward. “Don’t worry, Herb, I’m not going to hurt you. This time.” Another laugh. “The knee is a very good place to kick a man, especially if he’s larger than you are.” He aimed a kick at Herbie’s knee, but stopped short of contact. “The only problem with the knee is, if you really connect, you may do serious damage, requiring a trip to the ER, surgery, physical therapy, and a personal injury lawsuit. But that’s what your client’s liability insurance is for. Also, you should have your own liability insurance, which is cheap as long as you don’t list your occupation on the application as ‘bodyguard.’” Another laugh.
“The throat is good for a punch,” Josh said, again demonstrating on Herbie, “but carries the same dangers as the knee, with the additional risk of death. Then there’s the solar plexus. If he’s drawing back with a baseball bat, his abdomen will be wide open for a hook to the solar plexus. If you already have your hands on your attacker’s upper arms or shoulders, the two-handed ear slap is a good shock tactic.” He brought both his open hands to Herbie’s ears. “The noise is stunning, and it’s painful enough to persuade him to be somewhere else. Cupping your hands increases the effect on the eardrums.
“You may find yourself in a situation where carrying a weapon is illegal—and you never want to break the law. If you can possibly help it. Then another kind of weapon can be useful. Not a knife or a blackjack, which is likely to get you into more trouble than your assailant, but something innocuous, like a very tightly rolled newspaper.” He picked up a Wall Street Journal from a table and began rolling it. “Nobody’s going to arrest you for carrying a newspaper, especially the Wall Street Journal, and it would be tough to sue you for it, too. But swing it across a man’s jaw, and you’ll knock him silly, and ramming it into the solar plexus will disable him for a few minutes.”
Josh picked up an umbrella from the table. “In rainy weather, the handle of an umbrella upside the head will divert an assailant’s attention from your client, same to the solar plexus, but don’t use the pointed end for that. Always use an expensive umbrella, because its handle will be heavy enough to hurt. A ten-dollar umbrella from a street vendor won’t be of much use.” He put down the umbrella and picked up a short, thick object in a plastic sleeve. “The folding umbrella—again, a high-quality one—makes a fine club, with just enough padding to keep from splitting somebody’s head open. Also, it’s a good puncher, and especially effective on the back of the neck, if you have that opportunity.”
Josh allowed Herbie to return to his place, then he sat on the table and addressed the group. “Now, let’s talk about guns. If you’re pursuing a career in protection because it allows you to shoot people legally, you’re in the wrong line of work. Join the army. Here are the rules about guns. One, never carry a gun. If it’s absolutely necessary to carry a gun, don’t, unless you’re licensed to carry a concealed weapon in the jurisdiction where you’re working. You are going to have a long class on how to become licensed almost anywhere, complete with the forms and fingerprinting necessary. Two, if you are carrying a gun, never withdraw the weapon from its holster. Three, if you ignore two, due to circumstances beyond your control, and withdraw the weapon from its holster, never point it at anyone. Four, if you should foolishly point it at someone, never touch the trigger. It is very good if eyewitnesses to a gun in your hand see your trigger finger laid along the barrel, instead of on the trigger. Five, if you should accidentally touch the trigger, never pull or squeeze it, unless during this whole process you have become absolutely convinced that the loss of your own life is imminent if you do not pull the trigger. Six—and this is the second most important rule, after number one—if you make the decision to pull the trigger, DO NOT MISS! We will be conducting classes in not missing every day of your visit with us.”
Josh hopped down from the table. “Now we’ll take a fifteen-minute break so that you can pee in your pants. After that, one of my associates, an expert with the fighting knife, will demonstrate to you how to introduce an assailant to his own intestines. Bring something to throw up in.” He walked out of the gym, leaving his students to mill about.
38
STONE AND DINO met for lunch at P.J. Clarke’s.
“Okay, what’s going on?” Dino asked. “You sounded funny on the phone.”
“Funny ha ha or funny queer?”
“Funny queer. Ha ha.”
“You’re right. Marla Rocker has a problem, maybe a very serious problem. I’ve moved her into my house for a few days while we sort this out.”
“You mean, while I sort it out.”
“I mean, I’ll sort out her problems, but you can make the arrest.”
“Gee, who do I get to arrest?”
“A man named Ed Abney.”
“And who the fuck is Ed Abney?”
“He runs a publicity agency called Bright Lights, Ink, with a ‘k.’”
“Cute. Did he issue an illegal press release?”
“You know the actress found dead in the apartment in your precinct a couple of days ago?”
“You’re just wondering if I know what goes on in my precinct, aren’t you?”
“Well, yes.”
“Annette Redfield.”
“You win this,” Stone said, handing him a French fry.
Dino ate the French fry. “I want to thank e
verybody who voted for me.”
“Ed Abney scared Annette Redfield enough so that she was about to flee the city to get away from him.”
“And you know this how?”
“Remember the other night at Marla’s opening-night party?”
“Yes.”
“She saw Abney there with Redfield. Abney has been sort of stalking Marla, in spite of her asking him to go away. Redfield followed her into the ladies’ john and told her to watch out for him, that he has a history of violence with women. Apparently, she was talking about herself, since she was about to make a run for it.”
Dino got out his cell phone and pressed a speed dial button. “Viv? Bacchetti. We’ve got a suspect in the Annette Redfield strangling, name of Ed Abney.” He gave her the name of Abney’s agency and told her about Marla’s conversation with Redfield at Sardi’s. “No, don’t pick him up just yet. I want to know if Abney has an arrest record and if he has any TROs out on him. Call me back with results before you make an arrest. Thanks, kiddo.” Dino hung up.
“So you’ve got DeCarlo on speed dial now?”
“It makes it easier to dial her.”
“I’ll bet. How many of your other detectives do you have on speed dial?”
Dino ignored that one. “What are you doing about Marla?”
“I’m keeping her at my house, and I sent Allison to court to get a TRO against Abney.”
Dino looked at his watch. “How long ago?”
“Around ten this morning.”
“See if you can stop her,” Dino said.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to rattle the guy’s cage just yet. We’ll have a moment later when we can use the TRO to piss him off.”
Stone pressed Allison’s speed dial number.
“Allison here.”
“It’s Stone. Have you made the application for the TRO yet?”
“No, not yet.”
“Get it but don’t serve it yet. Dino wants to wait a bit.”
“What’s Dino got to do with it?”
“Dino is the police, remember? He feels that he should do some investigation before we slap Abney with the TRO.”
“Whatever you say. Who do I bill for this on my time sheet?”
“Call it pro bono.”
“Sounds more like pro boner to me,” she said, then hung up.
Stone laughed and put his phone away. “She said it sounds more like ‘pro boner.’”
Dino laughed. “Smart girl, Allison.”
“Smart-ass,” Stone said.
WHEN STONE got back to his office he found Marla, Joan, and Allison sitting in his office, giggling.
“Did you ladies get into the cooking sherry?” he asked.
“No, it was your bourbon,” Joan replied, getting up. “Come on, Allison, Simon Legree has returned.” The two women went back to their own offices.
“So,” Stone said, “what’s happened that made the three of you need a drink in the early afternoon?”
“It’s not all that early,” Marla said.
“Two-thirty is early. I’m going to have to start marking the bottle. Now come on, give.”
“Oh, all right. I went over to my house to get a few things.”
“Marla …”
“I know, I know, you told me not to go over there without you. It’s all right, I took Joan.” She took a sip of her bourbon. “And she took her gun.”
“Swell,” Stone said. “What will the neighbors think? The two of you traipsing around Turtle Bay Gardens with a gun.”
“Who cares?”
“You still haven’t told me what rattled you. And don’t tell me you’re not rattled. I know when Joan is rattled, and she doesn’t rattle easily, and if she’s rattled, you’re rattled.”
Marla took another sip of her bourbon. “The house had been ransacked.”
“Ransacked?”
“Well, not the whole house, just the living room and my bedroom.”
“Ransacked?”
“Stop saying that—you know what it means.”
“What, exactly, does it mean in the context of your house?”
“Things had been upset in the living room, thrown around.”
“And in your bedroom?”
“The same. And some of the drawers had been pulled out.”
“Which drawers?”
“The ones with my drawers in them.”
“Did your visitor leave any, ah, message?”
“You mean like the semen on my drawers?”
“Exactly.”
“You could say he made his presence known.”
“How do you know it was semen?”
She rolled her eyes. “Really, Stone.”
“All right, all right. What did you do?”
“I grabbed a few things, and we got the hell out of there.”
“What did you do with the semen stains?”
“Do with them? Yuck!”
“I mean, are they still there?”
“Well, I wanted to put the garments in question in the garbage, but Joan stopped me.”
“Good,” Stone said, picking up the phone. “That’s evidence. I’ll get Dino to send somebody over there.”
“They’d better come here first and get my key.”
“Right.” Stone started dialing.
39
DINK BRENNAN was playing some one-on-one in the fenced-in exercise court of his unit with Otto, the large man who was his watchdog and only companion. Dink let him score, and then they sat down at a picnic table nearby to cool off.
“You’re doing okay, Dink,” Otto said. “I’m proud of you.”
“It’s important to me to do well here,” Dink replied. “And I want to thank you for helping me.”
“That’s my job,” Otto said.
“Tell me about you, Otto. You married? Kids?”
“Married fifteen years, a thirteen-year-old daughter.”
“What’s her name?”
“The wife is Betty, the daughter is Caroline. She’s something, Caroline—smartest kid you ever saw. Won a scholarship to Choate Rosemary Hall!”
“Funny, I went there,” Dink said. “Good thing she won a scholarship. It’s an expensive school.”
“Well, the scholarship pays only half. I’ve got to come up with the rest.”
“Jeez, that’s what, twenty grand?”
“Twenty-one,” Otto said. “I can manage the one. Betty wants to get a job to help, but she’s not well—really bad asthma.”
“Do me a favor, Otto,” Dink said. “Let me use your cell phone.”
“What for?” Otto said. “And you’re not allowed to have a cell phone. I’d get in trouble.”
“Okay, you dial a number for me. Don’t worry, it’s just my bank—you won’t get into trouble.”
Otto picked up his jacket and came up with his phone.
Dink gave Otto the number. “What’s your last name?”
“Krieger.” Otto tapped in the number and listened. “Whaddaya know?” he said. “It’s your bank.” He handed Dink the phone.
“Lora Trenkle, please,” Dink said. “Hello, Lora? Dink Brennan. Just fine. I assume you’ve made the necessary adjustments to my accounts since I have access to my trust. Good. I’d like to send a wire transfer to the bursar at Choate Rosemary Hall School. You’ll have to call them for the account information. Twenty-one thousand, for the tuition of Caroline Krieger. Can you still get that out today? Great, and please deposit one hundred thousand from my trust into my checking account. Thanks so much.” Dink handed the phone back to Otto. “Done.”
Otto stared at him in disbelief. “That was a joke, right?”
“Call the bursar in an hour,” Dink said.
“Dink, why would you do that?”
“It is for a worthy cause. Caroline sounds like a great kid.”
“I’m overwhelmed,” Otto said. He looked at Dink suspiciously. “You want something from me?”
Dink got up and grabbed the ba
sketball. “Just another game. I’ll spot you two points.” He threw the ball to Otto.
DURING THE next few days, Otto became Dink’s manservant. He brought burgers from a fast-food place, books from the library—self-help books, mostly. He couldn’t do enough.
“I’ve spoken to the director,” Otto said one day, “and told him I think you should be returned to your old quarters. I talked to Dr. Morton, too, and he seemed to agree with me. It’ll probably be tomorrow. I’ll get your things out of storage.”
“Gee, thanks, Otto,” Dink said.
The following day, Dink walked into his old room and found his civilian clothes on his bed and an envelope containing his wallet. There were no credit cards, of course—Herb Fisher had cut those in half—but his driver’s license was there, and a little over a hundred dollars. The next morning, Dink was having coffee with Otto in the rec room. “There’s a terrific movie on in town,” he said. “I saw it in the local paper. I hear the management allows trips to the village. Why don’t we go this afternoon?”
“They’ll sometimes let us take a day trip,” Otto said. “I’ll see what I can do.” He left and walked toward the administrative offices, then returned ten minutes later. “We’re on,” he said. “Starts at two-thirty.”
OTTO DROVE Dink into the village and parked on Main Street. The theater was two buildings from the corner gas station, as Dink had remembered. Otto bought him a ticket, and they went inside. Twenty minutes into the feature, Dink grabbed his gut and made a grunting sound. “I’ve got to go to the john,” he whispered to Otto.
“Okay.”
