by Ammar Habib
“Hundred fifty.”
“Minimum of two hundred for a new client.”
I know he’s lying through his teeth and just trying to see how much I really have on me. But I play along. “Aight… I got that on me.”
“You just said—”
“I have another fifty in the car.”
There is another uneasy silence before Miller breaks it. But when he does speak, his smirk grows. “Meet me behind the store. We’re too out in the open here.”
***
I drive my car out back and see the two waiting for me next to the shop’s back door. There aren’t any windows along the store’s back wall and no other places where people could spy on what happens here. Perfect place for an exchange. I keep my car running as I step out of it. My pistol is still concealed.
Holy—I can’t believe that I’m not dreaming. 10 minutes ago I was driving down the road. Now I’m staring a suspected criminal in the face.
I’m not far from the two of them. Five yards at the most. More than close enough to smell their stench. As soon as I’m out of the car, I get an uneasy feeling in my heart. But it’s too late to turn back now without blowing this whole operation. I’ve already tagged their license plates. Just make the buy and get out of here.
“I don’t see no bags,” I annoyingly comment upon noticing Miller’s empty hands.
“It’s inside. Money first.”
Keeping my gaze on him and his lank lackey, I produce a few bills from my pocket. But I immediately put them away after he gets a look at them.
“Money first,” he repeats. “Then the stones.”
“You think I’m an idiot? Show me the goods first.”
Miller stares at me for what feels like a long time. He’s trying to intimidate me, but unluckily for him, it’s to no avail. “You want the goods, girl?” He looks at his henchman. “Here they are.”
The look in his eyes… something feels off. Something feels way too—
No!
The lackey suddenly leaps at me. He’s holding a switchblade! And it’s aimed at my stomach!
My mind doesn’t realize what is happening. But my instincts do. Impulsively, I sidestep the attack and quickly register everything. As he stumbles past me, I violently crash my elbow into his face, breaking his nose and making him let out a painful grunt.
I whip out my loaded Glock as Miller comes at me with a knife of his own. He’s close—too close for me to get a shot. Miller swings his blade, forcing me to duck down. His free hand grabs the barrel of my gun before his forearm crashes into my jaw. I feel blood running out of my nose as his boot smashes into my stomach. I quickly stumble a few feet back. I lose my gun and it slides underneath my car.
I regain my balance as the two men rush me, switchblades in hand.
Come on, Ana. Get control of yourself. Remember everything. Don’t get emotional. Predict and attack—predict and attack.
Miller is the closer of the two. With the right side of his body cocked back, his right hand holds his blade. He’ll lead with it. A quick glance at the lackey tells me that he’s waiting for his boss to make the first move. Blood running from his broken nose, the lackey keeps his eyes on Miller. Once his boss attacks, the lackey will follow to finish me off.
Or so he thinks. My heart is racing—my mind runs wild. But I control my breathing like I was taught to do.
Wait for it. The best offense is a good defense. Wait for it. Let him make the first move. He’ll come at you with the knife. Ignore the blood and block out the pain. Concentrate on him. Patience… patience… patience.
There is a moment of calm. Then Miller makes his move.
He lunges at me with his knife. But I already saw it coming and sidestep him with ease. The blade runs right by me, mere inches from my ribs. As he misses, I step up into him.
Attack with precision. Don’t go for the finishing blow. Just stun him to even out the odds.
My open palm strikes Miller right below the diaphragm, knocking the wind out of him.
“Uuuff—”
I bring my knee up. It nails Miller right between his legs. Before he can even fully register the pain, I powerfully strike his skull with my elbow. He spits out a stream of blood as I forcefully shove him onto the concrete ground.
Turning around, I dodge the lackey’s knife, leaving it to cut the air a few inches away from me. Grabbing his wrist, I powerfully yank him in close, while keeping my free hand’s palm open.
Make this strike count. Finish him before Miller regains his composure.
Forcing him close enough, my palm mercilessly nails his trachea. His eyes widen. His whole body goes numb for a few moments as he lets out a gurgle. Any harder and it may have killed him. The knife falls from his hand and loudly lands on the ground. Grabbing him by his hair. I smash his face against the metallic hood of my car with everything I’ve got. His face fills with blood and his unconscious body collapses.
I waste no time and twirl around. Miller comes back at me with his knife. I duck and his blade passes right over my skull. Coming up, I grab his wrist and twist his arm while powerfully kicking him in the stomach.
Finish him quickly. No telling how many others he might have here.
He howls in pain as he lets go of the knife and stumbles back. Taking advantage, I snatch up the switchblade and spring onto him. I ruthlessly jam the blade right into his calf, making him fall to his knees as he howls in even more pain. Seizing his hair, I raise my other fist bring it down. The blow draws blood. It comes down again. More blood. Again.
Still holding him by his head, I bring up my knee and shove his head towards it. They both collide with enough force to be heard at the front of the store. I let go of the bloodied body and it falls to the ground.
But there is no time to think. Right as his unconscious body hits the concrete, I hear something behind me.
The fight’s not over yet.
Turning around, my entire vision is engulfed by a fist a moment before it slams into my face.
Clap!
I stumble backwards, completely dazed. Without seeing the man, the back of my mind screams that it is the storekeeper. He must have been in on this. His powerful fist strikes my skull again and I stagger back before falling onto a knee.
Protect your skull, Ana! Whatever you do—
Still on a knee, I shield my head with my arms just as he sends his boot. It smashes against my forearms, numbing them with pain. But better them than my head. My forearms immediately catch another kick. Then a third.
Let’s move, Ana. You’re not going to let some punk kill you. Not some low-life filth like this. You’re better than him. You’ve got the badge, not him.
I block another kick.
Wait. Patience. Wait… attack when there’s an opening.
He sends his next kick. This time, I don’t block it. Moving on pure instinct, I firmly grab his boot mid-flight. Stepping up, I shove him backwards as I rise to my feet. Blood is streaming down my face from multiple cuts on the sides of my skull. My head is spinning and my body aches, but the adrenaline keeps the pain at bay while my focus keeps my mind in the game.
I finally get a good look at my foe as I come at him. He’s big. Strong. And this isn’t his first brawl.
But now he’s going to get a load of me.
The dark-skinned man keeps his brutish gaze aimed at me. He raises both powerful fists up like a boxer. With his right leg cocked back, I know he’s right handed. That’s his power arm, and that’s what I need to look out for. Let him throw that and then get in close. Take away the advantage of his height and play to my strengths.
He sends a jab with his left fist, but I sidestep it. It comes again, but I avoid it by stepping back. The brute throws it a third time, but I again easily sidestep it.
That’s right big fella’, get annoyed. Get angry that you can’t hit a woman. Come at me with your power arm and I’ll end this.
With a roar, he wildly sends his right fist and leaves himself exposed.
I duck to avoid the strike and step up into him, no more than a foot away. I swiftly kick him right in the crotch, but I don’t show him any mercy. My right fist smashes against his face. I follow through with my elbow, fist, and elbow again, all in quick succession. He may be stronger, but I know how to focus my energy. And with each blow, he spits out blood.
With him dazed, I plunge my knee into his stomach, making him keel over. Grabbing him by his bald head, I sling him onto the ground. He crashes headfirst onto the pavement. His eyes tell me that I almost have him.
Finish him Ana.
Running up to him, I give him a quick kick to the head, leaving him out cold.
Chapter 3
Growing Pains
What just happened?
My breaths are quick. My heart is on the verge of bursting. Pain rings through me. Streams of blood run from the sides of my head and down my cheeks, while cuts, sweat, and bruises are scattered across my body.
A part of me still can’t believe what occurred. It all happened so fast, and my mind refuses to register this as reality. It tries to convince me that, at any moment, I’ll wake up from this nightmare. At any moment, I’ll realize that this is all just a bad dream.
But that doesn’t happen. This is reality.
Thousands of thoughts clog my mind as I stare down at my work. All three men are out cold. As bad of a beating as I took, it is nothing compared to what I dished out. None of them will be getting up anytime soon. As I focus on the largest thug, I can’t believe that I actually took them all out, especially this one. God must have really been on my side.
The memory of the fight races through my head, every movement replayed. The brawl moved so quickly that I never even had a chance to soak anything in. Every action, reaction, and thought was purely instinctive.
Luckily, those instincts were good enough to keep me alive.
Even with the imminent danger gone, my heart rate won’t slow down. And neither will my breathing. With the adrenaline kicked in, there’s no stopping it now.
Stepping over the unconscious bodies, I crouch down and see my Glock underneath my Avenger, barely within arm’s-length. I reach towards it, feeling its grip brush against the tips of my fingers, before I painfully pull it towards me. Rising up to my feet, I quickly make sure that the gun is not jammed. I pay one last glance at the largest thug. He probably received a decent concussion, and his head is bleeding worse than mine is. But he’ll live.
Turning away from them all, I make my way towards the shop’s heavy backdoor. The sun seems hotter than ever as it beats against my back. I thought it would be impossible, but my heart is pounding even faster now as my mind quickly imagines the worst things that could be waiting for me inside.
But I’ve never been one to give in to fear.
With my gun raised and aimed straight ahead, I step up and forcefully kick the metallic door. It swings on its hinges with a loud screech before fully opening. My finger is on my gun’s trigger. There’s no safety on the weapon, and I can’t control my arm from trembling a bit. Not hesitating, I charge in with my weapon readied, quickly looking and aiming to either side. The shop appears empty… at least initially. It’s completely silent, almost to the extent of giving it an eerie presence. The florescent lights are flickering and there’s a foul stench in this place that I can’t recognize.
I ignore it and make a quick sweep of the aisles, just to make sure that I am alone in here. I keep my weapon raised as I do so. The racks are mostly full of alcohol, snacks, drinks, and candy. But no people. My only companions are a couple of cockroaches scurrying around and another few that are dead on their backs. Glock still in hand, I cautiously walk over to the phone next to the cash register. I look behind the counter and find it vacant as well. No fourth hostile anywhere. Thank God.
Letting out an inner sigh of relief, I slowly holster my weapon. My head has finally stopped spinning. With a few quick hits, I dial a number and put the phone to my ear. It quickly rings twice before a female voice answers the other end.
“South Houston Police Station.”
“This is Officer Rocha.” Speaking into the phone, I do my best to mask the unrelenting pain. And for the most part, I think it works. “I’ve been assaulted by three suspects but have them all in custody. I need a unit sent to bring them in. I also believe that the convenience store I’m at may house a stash of drugs in the back. I need a warrant to search it.”
She doesn’t hesitate. Her tone doesn’t even change. It is as if this is the normal type of call she receives. “Where are you, officer?”
I tell her the address.
“Units will be there shortly and Judge Bradley will be contacted about the warrant. Stay on the scene and keep the perimeter contained until then.”
“Will do.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Only my pride.”
“Do you require medical attention?”
“…not for anything major.”
I hang up the phone and slowly stagger towards the bathroom. Holding my Glock with both hands, I again raise the gun and keep it steadied straight ahead. The closer I get to the restroom, the stronger this place’s foul odor grows. But I’m not surprised by it.
Coming to the door, I raise my leg and forcefully kick it open. It flies on its hinges before loudly crashing against the wall. I move in and do a quick scan of the single-person restroom. There’s nobody here. Still quivering a bit, I again holster my weapon.
The bathroom’s lights flicker like the shop’s. The walls possess countless cracks and the mirror is partly broken. There is a spider web at the top left corner and another one is currently being built in the opposite corner. I look at the reflection staring back at me and a part of me thinks I’m hallucinating. I’ve been feeling the blood, but I didn’t think that it was this bad. I look like Rocky Balboa after a boxing match, only a little uglier. If someone sees me like this, they’d think that I just came out of a war.
Then again, that is not too far from the truth.
Reality quickly sets in. I violently pull out countless paper towels from the dispenser. Turning on the water faucet, I lightly wet them with the dirty water. Using what minimal training I have about treating wounds, I apply pressure to the two largest cuts on the sides of my head. They sting for a quick moment, causing me to wince, but I don’t stop. I feel the towels start to slowly get soaked by the blood seeping out of the wounds—my blood—and the more I think about it, the more lightheaded I start feeling. Closing my eyes, I try to not think of the wounds. Instead, I take several deep breaths to clear my head and to get my heart rate under control like I was taught to do in Taekwondo.
The first few breaths don’t do much. With my eyes shut, all I see are the countless times I was nearly killed only minutes ago. I see the murderous faces of Miller and his merciless goons. Their eyes are filled with evil and greed. I remember feeling the knives cutting only a hair-length away from my skin. I remember my head spinning so bad that I could barely think straight enough to defend myself.
But… somehow I made it.
The next few breaths clear my head of these thoughts. The more pressure I place onto the wounds, the slower the bleeding seems to become. But I keep my eyes lightly closed and continue to control my breathing. I don’t know how long it takes, but I doubt it’s more than a handful of minutes. My heart rate finally comes under control and the bleeding is now minimal at best.
Opening my eyes, I toss the bloodied paper towels into the trash bin. I lean my palms onto the cracked sink’s sides as I take one more good look at my beaten face. And as I look at the reflection of my brown eyes, all I can think of is one thing: I survived. I made it through. I took whatever those animals dished out and I gave them more.
…I survived.
***
The police arrive at the scene a few minutes after I walk back outside. One right after the other, four patrol units come speeding around to the back of the store, their sirens deafeningly blaring. Arriving at
a halt, eight officers rush out with their guns drawn and readied. They are quick in their work as each officer knows their assignment before they even step out of the car. All three suspects—still unconscious—are soon in handcuffs. Miller and his lackey are thrown into the back of one patrol car while the larger brute is put into a second vehicle. By the time they wake up, they’ll be on their way to the station. And Miller will have to tell everyone that he was beaten by a woman.
I’m sure that’ll hold up well in prison.
Judge Bradley was apparently quick in issuing the search warrant. There was more than enough probable cause for him to sign off right away. Four of the officers immediately barge into the store with their guns drawn. Two do a quick sweep of the building one more time to make sure no remaining hostiles are lurking around; the other two carry out the warrant’s orders. Minutes later, they come out with two crates in their hands. Even from where I stand, I can smell the drugs. Their expressions suggest that this type of score is far above the average bust.
Another uniformed officer sits me down on the trunk of his car as he examines my wounds. I doubt he’s had any more formal medical training than I have, but at least he acts like he knows what he’s doing. Maybe he’s done this sort of thing before. I hope it’s not something that is too commonplace on the job.
He uses a first-aid kit to try to sterilize the cuts in an effort to ensure that they don’t get any kind of infection. While he works on me, another cop takes down my report detailing all the events that happened. I don’t think he can really fathom that I took down all three of the hostiles without a weapon. He soon leaves, but the officer working on me continues to do so for a few minutes.
The ‘medic’ keeps a piece of cloth pushed up against the cut on the right side of my head for a few moments before finally breaking the silence. “Keep this cloth pressed up against the wound.”
