A Fight Story

The following is an excerpt from a story I’m working on, but it’s essentially a sitrep about an actual incident.

No, I didn’t wind up in lockup, there were too many police witnesses to how the whole thing went down and I was working for a few of them. The only real difference was that my father was the cook, not my brother, and my dinner guest was a detective sergeant; but he was definitely my boss.

The story picks up in a restaurant, just before we got our orders.

So we chatted about the manning, every time we get to the required level, corporate wants us to do more. The roll call and how it could be improved, Ed promised to lobby HR about the unnecessary fluff; and training issues. We had just started to touch on personnel issues, when the food came out, steaming. But Peggy brought the order out.

“What happened to the kid?” Peggy put down the two chicken fried steaks, with an offhand shrug she said, “She left out the back door, her brother came to pick her up, their little sister is sick” Peggy started back to the waitress’ station, “She said she probably wouldn’t be back in today” I put my napkin on the table and started towards the door at a jog trot, I could hear Ed behind me, “Do you know the family? Is it serious?” I half turned, replying, “She’s an only child” I finished my explanation as I turned to leave, “and her boyfriend used to beat her, badly” I stepped out the door.

Just as I thought; they were just leaving the side street and the imbecile hadn’t even waited to get completely out of sight of the restaurant as he half dragged her down the street, accompanied by three other goons. “Hey you” I shouted; they turned to look, she was half on her knees, trying to wave me off, “is that the best that you ball-less cunts can do? Brutalize a five foot, one hundred pound waitress?” They stopped, staring and began making the usual comments. God, was originality so totally dead as that?

Let’s see, Bruno was the biggest, but all of them were bigger than me, good, no one could say it wasn’t a fair fight. “Why don’t you come on over and see what you can do against someone who can fight back” my feet shifted position slightly, bracing myself and “gripping” the ground.

Hands slightly away from the body, palms in, hands open. No one who saw me, unless they were well trained, could tell I was ready for an attack.

They were still standing there, talking, laughing, and trying to work up the nerve to attack. I needed to get this going, or David was going to give me grief for letting the food get cold, “The uniform bothers you? Don’t worry about it, no one here but a man and four worthless pieces of shit” I unbuttoned the shirt and it slid to the ground; the equipment belt soon followed, good, they were focused on me. I waved them on over, assuming a “peek a boo” defense posture, if Pretty Boy Floyd can make it work, so can I. Besides, it’ll keep them guessing. Bruno tossed Angela to the ground and told her, “Stay put, bitch, this won’t take long” O.K., one more thing to make him pay for.

All four moved in, then I heard a hiss/click as the door behind me opened and closed, nothing to worry me back there, his cronies were all with him,. I ignored the noise, focusing on the targets in front of me.

They moved into a loose wedge with Bruno in the lead, stupid, why didn’t they just send me a written notice that Bruno was going to lead the attack. Their loose easy strut/attempted glide/swagger/walk was a clear signal that they had done this previously; probably successfully.

Too bad they moved like constipated orangutans.

Bruno dropped his head to his chest as he attempted a long, looping roundhouse punch. Much to his chagrin I stepped inside the swing, guiding his right outward with my left, catching hold of his arm just before the bicep. Pulling forward with my left, I continued his swing past me and pulling him into my right cross, a hesitation, a slight move back and my right arm came forward with an elbow smash into his left cheek, smashing the zygomatic arch. That caused his eye to pop out slightly, a macabre sight.

All this action took place in slightly less than two seconds but it covered his face in blood. The next few seconds involved Bruno’s head becoming one with the concrete of the sidewalk as my right arm suddenly reversed direction, making contact with his neck and throwing him over my right hip, the action pitching him forward onto his face. This left me in a left lead, preparatory position facing the nogoodnik who had been on his right.

He looked at Bruno, his face slowly contorting with rage, “Look what you did to my brother, you motherfucker!” While speaking he pulled a balisong knife from his right pocket, waving it in an exaggerated figure eight. That can be an effective move, but generally speaking it isn’t. Lord, save us from people who watch too much T.V., just don’t make it too soon.

He started with a couple of feints, pretty lame ones at that, I maneuvered backwards, keeping him between myself and the other two.

My posture shifted, slightly crouching, hands out to the sides without moving past the shoulders, palms toward each other, time to setup for defanging the serpent. I taunted him, voice low, splitting his attention between what I was muttering and what my hands were doing. Sooner or later he was going to take the bait.

Tag the back of his hand, move back before he could reverse direction, another insult, keeping my weight low and centered to insure my mobility.

Right hand, then left, keeping the patter coming, never letting up on the tagging action or the insults. Bruno started to moan, then tried to move, whoops, can’t have that.

A low level snap side kick and he was out again. The brother screamed something and made his move.

Bad for him, good for me as I pivoted outside the thrust; immobilized his right hand with my right and delivered a palm smash to his elbow with my left. Ever wonder how to break an arm in less than a second? He didn’t scream, much to his credit, but he did offer a few choice observations on my presumed parentage while he held his arm. Two down and … huh?? Looking down the street I saw the other two high tailing it away from the fight … and right into the arms of the security team that someone had dispatched. There were shouted orders, insults, then a small pop followed by an unearthly scream, ouch, someone just got tazed.

I picked up my shirt before walking over to Angela, “You O.K. hon’?” I crouched down beside her, pushing her hair back, checking the damage, didn’t see anything serious, both pupils good, “Might have a shiner there, we need to get you back to the restaurant, have Uncle David take a look at it” I helped her up as she stood; started to sob. “Uncle David, hell” Ed’s voice came from behind as I wrapped my shirt around her, “that little lady is going to the damned hospital, a medical team is already enroute.”

I handed Angela off to Ed, picking up my equipment belt from the ground, where I had thrown it, “How much did you see?” Ed grinned, “Enough, you’re an evil bastard, you know that?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard it once or twice, in my life.”

We went back into the restaurant; Ed got some traffic on his radio and stopped to answer as David took Angela from him. He sat her in a chair near the entrance and put an ice pack on her eye.

Angela looked at me through her good eye, “Why?”

I plopped my over aged backside into a chair, taking the cup of coffee that Peggy pressed into my hand, sipping it as Peggy said, “It’s all in the genes hon’, the whole family’s crazy like that” she sauntered back into the kitchen, “Never back down from a fight, never leave a wounded bird unprotected.”

The last thing I need to add here, is that Peggy is real, she was one of those waitresses who could have been the inspiration for “Flo” in that television series about Mel’s Diner. Except that far from being a whipcord thin little cowgirl, Peggy looked like a Valkyrie incarnate and knew no fear of any man I ever saw her around.

Other than his wife, Peggy was the only person I ever saw Big John back down from (he was a beat cop in Cleveland) and it didn’t look as if he was joking. There were plenty of other times I’d seen that seven foot plus Polack (his own description, so don’t get touchy) joking around but that wasn’t one of them.

The only real difference between Flo and Peggy is that Peggy had a bigger heart, and had little or no patience with bullies. One day, as I dealt with an irate customer (being twelve years old did not exempt me from having to do that when I was managing the restaurant) I suddenly became aware that he was no longer focused on me, but on someone behind me. It was Peggy, holding a tray full of dirty dishes with absolutely no effort, and tapping her foot very deliberately. I’m not so sure I wanted to know what she had in mind if he tried getting out of his chair, or tried grabbing me. I do know that it wasn’t because she thought I couldn’t defend myself as she had already seen me knock out a customer earlier that week (think about the mechanical advantage I had and the how becomes very clear).

So, the parts of the story where she is “seen” are a kind of homage to Peggy. I don’t have any idea where she is, or if she’s even still alive; (I’m constantly losing track of my friends, almost as bad as me and my glasses) I just think something should be said that memorializes one of the truly wondrous women I’ve met in my life.

One last thing, there’s a scene that takes place between David (David being my actual brother) and Peggy, after the fight; which is played out just as it had happened in real life.

You’ll have to find the book if/when it gets printed to read it but it is one hundred percent true to the two people involved and not changed one iota from the actual incident.

There isn't one of us that doesn't want to be someplace else. But this is what we do, who we are. Live for nothing, or die for something. Your call.

John Rambo