Nick Stephenson - Eight the Hard Way

“So, are you a man or not?”

“You wanna come check?”

“Only if you promise to pull my hair and pinch my butt...”

He grinned. His gun hand relaxed ever so slightly and lowered a bit.

That was her chance, the opening she needed, exactly what she had been angling for. Bullets or not, she had to do something.

She swung her open hand at the gun. He was quick with it, but she caught just enough of it for the gun to drop to the floor.

He looked at her surprised, but fell to the floor for the gun. She dropped right after him, having guessed wrong about the gun being empty. He went after the gun because it was still loaded.

In the small space between the heavy coffee table and the couch, they fought feverishly for the gun. Back and forth it went from one set of fingertips to the other, until it finally ended up in his grasp.

A shot rang out in the house, and wall plaster shattered. They wrestled more. It was his body weight against her training. She had to be better at ground grappling than him.

June splayed her legs out and hooked an ankle around a coffee table leg so she couldn’t be flipped. She got an arm around his neck, using his armpit as a grip and pulled back, stretching his spine backwards. Her other hand still tried to get control of the gun. Or at least her finger through the pistol guard so it couldn’t be fired. Anything to keep the muzzle pointed away.

As their hands frantically fought for the gun, he gave her an elbow to the jaw. Seeing stars for a moment was nothing new to her during a fight, and she grunted through the sharp but temporary pain. Unable to see the gun then, she pulled back on his neck even harder, trying to keep the gun aimed away from her.

Another shot rang out. That time there was a jolt of pain in her ribs.

June almost let go. But she had to hang on. She had nieces to protect. She was so close to winning the fight.

June saw something she could do. The man’s arm was almost straight at the elbow. If she could lock it straight, she could turn his arm and force pain down the length of it. It was a struggle, but she got his elbow straight and locked, and began twisting. Arching her back as much as she could with the pain of a gunshot wound to her rib cage, she pulled hard.

The man groaned and the gun fell from his hand.

Just as she couldn’t hold him any longer, he elbowed her ribs and broke loose.

Before he could get to his pistol, June kicked it under the couch. They were now even in weaponry, but she was fighting injured.

She had no idea how bad her injury was. So far, it was only searing pain, but she could still take deep breaths. Wherever the bullet went, it hadn’t gone through her lungs, and maybe didn’t even penetrate her chest at all.

She couldn’t look. She had a desperate ex-con in front of her, and she needed to do something with him. She got both her hands up and prepared to throw a cross.

Instead, he dropped to the floor to grab for the gun. It was a mistake, and she took full advantage of his sudden vulnerability. Raising one fist over her head, she sent a hammer strike to the back of his neck. He collapsed flat on the floor, but she kept with the hammer strikes, one after another, his neck, his head, his back, his neck again, until all that happened was his body bounced on the hardwood floor.

She stopped and stood upright, looking down at him. He didn’t move.

June arched her back, trying to ease some of the muscles, but there was a massive spasm in her chest wall, bending her sideways. She lifted her shirt looked at her wound for the first time.

The bullet had plowed a deep furrow through her flesh just below her bra, running right over a rib. She knew then the bullet hadn’t entered her body but had skipped off the rib and continued on past her. She had been lucky she was only deeply grazed. It didn’t mean she wasn’t in pain though.

One of the girls called from inside the guest room. “Auntie, can we come out?”

“Not yet, honey,” she called out. She still felt frantic over the scene in her home, strange men unconscious, her chest bleeding, the girls wanting to get out of the room. It took more effort than what she realized to talk after being shot. Panting for air barely helped. “Be good girls for auntie and stay in there. I’ll come get you in just a minute.”

She pulled her torn and blood soaked shirt back down.

June went around to the man’s head, grabbed a hold of his collar and dragged him into the middle of the floor. She had one last plastic tie in her pocket and used it on his wrists behind his back. She felt for a pulse at his neck and found one, then listened to his breathing. It was good enough as far as she was concerned. Alive anyway. Just as she was picking up her phone to dial 9-1-1 for the police again, she heard sirens outside the house. Her earlier anonymous call in the bathroom had worked.

She opened the front door to see a black and white patrol car angle parked at the curb. The cop got out, stayed behind his door, his pistol in his hand.

“It’s alright now. Just bring lots of handcuffs.” She got another spasm in her ribs and had to lean against the doorjamb to stay upright. “And an ambulance would be good.”

June turned around and tried taking a deep breath. She heard a new round of crying in the bedroom and couldn’t put off her nieces any longer. Walking to the guest bedroom, her phone rang with her sister’s new number.

“Having fun?” Amy asked when June answered the call.

“Something like that.” June had no idea of what to say when she pushed the bedroom door open, either to the kids or to her sister. But they ran to her, pressing their faces into her body to hide their tears. With her free arm, she hugged them close to her. “But something has come up. Maybe you should come pick up the kids. It seems I’m not such a good babysitter after all.”

_______

Kay Hadashi learned Japanese traditions from her grandparents, and the lessons of modern-day life in Honolulu, Hawaii. Dividing her life between Hawaii and the mainland of America, she spends her time refining her tai chi skills, taking zumba classes, and has a busy career in health care. You can find out more about Kay Hadashi at her website here: http://www.junekatointrigue.com/

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Recidivist

By Alan McDermott

David Bowden looked out of the minibus window at the driving rain. The journey had taken them from the outskirts of the city into the heart of the countryside and for the last twenty minutes none of the names on the myriad signposts along the route had been familiar.

His fellow travelers were a boy of similar age whom he had never seen before, a social worker whose name he had been told and which he had promptly forgotten, and Steven Howe, an eleven-year-old from a neighboring estate whom he had met on a couple of occasions, which was two occasions too many.

Two hours earlier David had been told by his regular social worker to meet the minibus with enough clothes for an overnight stay. When he pressed for more information and was simply told that it was a “rehabilitation weekend.”

“My mate told me about these places,” Steven suddenly offered to no-one in particular. “They’ve got all sorts of water sports and climbing and stuff, and it’s all free. Something about us being disadvantaged or something, and giving us a free holiday makes us stop nicking stuff.

“Did it work for your mate?” the other boy asked.