The mall wasn’t too crowded. But I had to face the facts. I was hobbling after a younger man. That was stupid move number one. He was a black belt in judo. That was stupid move number two. And I couldn’t call in a dozen uniformed cops to help me. Stupid move number three.
Somehow I closed the distance on Bobby. Mainly because he didn’t bother to look behind him. He was confident he’d taken me out of action. I was pretty sure he was headed toward his car to get rid of the DVD shard. It may not have been the brightest move to show him the photo, but I’d had to get him talking.
I was almost on him. Thank you, Mary Catherine, for making me ride bikes with you so often. I managed to get a hand on his shoulder.
Bobby skidded to a stop. Once again, I was in the air without even knowing it. This time I hit the concrete path hard. I rolled to my left quickly. I had to do something to counter his judo skills. But what?
Somehow I managed again to stagger to my feet. Now my left leg had just gone numb. There was no one around us here. No one dialing 911 so the DC cops would swoop in and rescue me. I was woozy. How could I counter judo when I could hardly stand?
I turned to face Bobby, then suddenly had a strange sensation. In a split second he had stepped toward me and wrapped his hands around my throat. My air supply just stopped mid-breath. I saw stars immediately.
Damn was he strong.
The sunlight started to dim.
Chapter 101
I flailed at Bobby’s wrists. His hands were still locked on my throat. My training failed me. My brain was so scrambled I couldn’t think back to all the ways I had been taught to get out of a chokehold. I wasn’t having any meaningful effect on Bobby. I just panicked.
What was judo’s weakness?
I desperately needed air. My oxygen debt was growing exponentially. I tried to make my brain work more efficiently. I tried to remember what I knew about judo. Then my mind jumped back to the pain I felt in my neck as Bobby’s surprisingly powerful hands tightened their grip.
Judo was a sport. There were rules. No strikes. No kicks or punches allowed. Jesus Christ, that was it! Bobby might be following the rules, but it was up to me to break them.
I raised my right leg to strike Bobby in the thigh with my knee. It was a solid blow. I felt his grip loosen slightly. I slammed his arm with a forearm strike. That broke the stranglehold.
I sucked in my first sweet lungful of air. Then another. I eased away from Bobby as I regained my senses.
Then Bobby tried to skirt past me. I shuffled to the side to block him. Every second I could breathe, I felt better. Stronger. Now I had the blueprint. I feinted with a right cross. When Bobby shifted his weight to block the punch, I kicked him hard. I aimed a kick at his groin but struck his hip. It was enough to knock him backward. I gulped more air and raised my fists. I realized I would enjoy smashing his nose into his face. I was ready for whatever came.
Bobby had other ideas. Apparently, I had already won the fight. I just didn’t realize it. Bobby turned and sprinted north toward Constitution Avenue. He should’ve been a track star the way he could blast out of the blocks.
I grabbed another lungful of air and started to follow him. After two hard flips onto the ground, my body just didn’t have much left. He had to be heading for his car. That’s what I would do.
I crossed the wide, busy street at a full sprint. At least a full sprint for me. I dodged a delivery van, just catching the driver’s raised middle finger out of the corner of my eye.
Bobby turned onto a side street. Once I fell in behind him, I could see his brown Taurus parked at the end of the block. There was no way I could let him drive away. Only God knew what he would do. There was even a chance he could disappear and never be found.
I felt panic rise in me. I didn’t want to pull my pistol. But that’s what it had come to. Even if I broke the law and shot out his tires. I’d rather explain that to a judge than let Bobby get away. Because when I looked up the street, Bobby was running faster and getting farther ahead of me. He still had to cross the street to get to his car.
I sighed as he started to change his angle and run into the street. He was only thirty yards from his car now.
Then a white Chevy Tahoe turned the corner. Fast. It caught Bobby solidly and sent him flying to bounce off a parked Toyota Corolla.
I kept running, then skidded to a stop near Bobby. He lay on the asphalt, moaning. The first thing I did was secure his pistol. I yanked it from his waistband and slid the Glock into my own belt.
The driver of the Tahoe approached us. I looked up at the grinning Detective Dave Swinson from the DC Metro Police Special Investigations unit. Perfect.