The Car

I stepped into my car. As soon as I sat down something dark flashed before my eyes and I felt it tightening horribly around my neck, it was a noose. It felt like wire digging into my flesh. I couldn’t breathe and started to panic but I quickly realized panicking would be a sure way to die. The old noose trick behind the driver’s seat, I thought. It was a pretty incongruous thought to have at a moment like this, but its levity actually helped me calm down a little. My left hand sought and found the lever to lower the seat’s back rest. I pulled it and leaned my full weight back. As I slammed back into my assailant, the noose slid over my head bruising my chin, this guy had obviously been using the backrest for support and hadn’t expected my little trick. As the seat’s back came to rest on my attacker’s legs, I instinctively extended my right arm into a powerful punch to where the face should be. I missed his face. But got really lucky and hit the neck instead. The guy let out a sort of “gahh” choking sound and started gasping for breath. I seized my chance, arched my head and back to get a bearing on the attacker, then shot out my left arm, grabbing him by the neck, right above the Adam’s apple, and using the thumb and first three fingers applied all the pressure I could muster without crushing his windpipe. This way, I could strangle the flow of blood to the brain and the guy would pass out in less than ten seconds, but it would be a very long ten seconds.

I realized this put me in a very vulnerable position, belly up like a landed fish. If the attacker had a knife, it would be game over, I’d be gutted like said fish. But I was counting on the lucky hit to the throat having left the him dazed. The bastard, fighting for breath, grabbed my left arm with both his hands, trying to shake me loose. This was gonna hurt later on, he had a grip like a pit bull, but at least the assailant’s hands were busy there and not trying to claw my eyes out or something. Seeing as he couldn’t shake me loose, he started frantically searching for the door handle with his left hand. He didn’t find it, so he grabbed my arm again and then started hitting me on the chest with his right, big pounding blows like a jackhammer, this fucker was big and strong, there would be bruises. I braced my feet on the steering wheel, putting all my weight into that backrest to make sure this bastard didn’t get away. Once again, my luck held. Within seconds, which seemed like eons, the guy’s eyes rolled up into his eyelids and he passed out. I kept the pressure on his neck for a couple more seconds to make sure he was really out. Before letting go of the fucker’s throat, I opened the door with my right hand, never taking my eyes off the bastard, then quickly stepped out, pulling out my gun and aiming it at the unknown man in the back seat.

Passing out from arterial strangling wouldn’t last very long, seven to ten seconds probably. I holstered my gun so I could use both hands, quickly opened the back door, grabbed the man by the hair and coat lapel, yanked him out of the car, and threw him to the ground. Once on the ground, I rolled him over onto his back and quickly handcuffed him before he had a chance to wake up. With the suspect handcuffed, I pulled out my gun again and watched over him, wondering what the fuck this could be all about. He was a pretty big guy, I’d been very lucky this time. If my reaction had been slower, it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d lowered the seat or not, once the garrote went around my neck and crisscrossed behind my head, there was no shaking it loose, the fact that the backrest was very high had also saved my life. No doubt the assailant was counting on getting a good grip quickly because garroting was quite an old-fashioned and not so easy way to kill. The high backrest had prevented him from crisscrossing the wire behind my head in which case I’d been fucked. Yes, I’d been extremely lucky, I laughed, feeling my bruised neck and not feeling lucky at all.

The garrote, a piece of piano wire with wooden handles at each end was a very peculiar choice as a murder weapon, I could think of some more direct, easier ways to kill, like a bullet to the back of the head for example. But few of them were as personal, and potentially enjoyable if you were a sociopath, as the garrote. I’d heard it once compared to fishing, you could feel as if you were landing your prey and enjoy every second of it, someone had said. But maybe this fucker hand’t wanted to kill me, maybe he just wanted to scare me or take me somewhere. Who knew? I’d have to have a nice little chat with him.

The guy was very big and I didn’t want to take any chances. I reckoned I could try to put him in the trunk of my car and then take him to the station, but how would that look to the kiddies on Sesame Street? I was a public defender, to protect and serve and all that shit. Actually, getting the guy in and out of the trunk was just going to be a nightmare, this guy must weigh as much as a refrigerator, and there was no way in hell I was going to put the bastard in the back seat where he could cause all sorts of trouble. I would call a patrol car with two burly wops to come and pick him up. Much better.

I took one of the tie-wraps I always carried around (just in case) and bound the fucker’s legs together. I didn’t want to go a second round with this guy. I then radioed dispatch and asked for a patrol car to pick up a large individual who had just attacked me. Location? In front of my very own house, the bastard. Yes, send someone big and angry. Bye.

The guy was coming to and started thrashing around as soon as he felt he was bound hand and feet.

“Ah, ah, ah” I said waving my gun, “we’ll have none of that. Just sit tight while your ride gets here and we can kill the time by chatting. Now, who are you and why did you attack me?”

The man said nothing, he just looked at me with a steely gaze.

“OK, not the talkative type. I can relate. How about, who do you work for?”

Nothing. Just cold staring. I looked around, there didn’t seem to be many people about, and we were secluded from anyone on the street by my car. I made sure there wasn’t a round chambered in my Glock 17, most of the pistol was made of a plastic-like polymer material that was very light, yet sturdy. This was good in a gun fight, but not so good if you wanted to use it as a club, you had to swing harder in order to make a dent. I reversed my grip and swung the gun at the man’s head. It connected with a solid klunk. The man had been sitting resting his back against the rear tyre and now he went down sideways into the asphalt. As he did so, he let out a guttural cry in a language that sounded Eastern European, perhaps Russian. Some choice expletive, no doubt, judging by his tone, that wasn’t really helpful at all.

“You feeling more talkative now?” I asked.

Another string of nasty-sounding foreign dribble came from the guy as he got up to a sitting position again. I didn’t really think another whack to the head would help things, but what the hell, the bastard had tried to kill me. So fuck him. I hit him again, this time on the other side, just to even things out.

“Fuck you!” snarled the man in heavily accented English.

“Oh, so you can speak English. Well that’s a step in the right direction! Now, how about we get to know each other? Hi, my name is Detective-with-a-gun, what is your name?”

More angry-sounding gobbledygook, but nothing intelligible in my language. I was tempted to give him another whack, just for the garrote thing. But I figured that was bordering on animal cruelty and there might be some asshole filming everything with his iPhone, these days you just had no privacy to operate.

“Alright Tovarish, we wait.”

I stepped back a few paces away from the man and this time I did cock the gun, chambering a round. I didn’t want to get caught unawares by this guy, tied up as he was, he could still be trouble, I waved the gun in his face so he could see it was cocked and ready to fire if he became nasty. Chambering a round on an unarmed and bound suspect was definitely not proper police procedure (hell, battering the suspect with the butt of your service weapon wasn’t either), but it was safe enough. Keeping my finger on the trigger guard, I looked at the suspect.

“You know Tovarish, I have half a mind to call off the patrol car and take you to a nice, secluded spot where I’m sure you can be persuaded to be more friendly. But, somehow, I have a feeling that no matter what I do to you, you just won’t say shit will you?”

The man didn’t say shit.

“That’s what I mean.”

I thought about frisking the suspect for any ID he might have on him, but it was highly unlikely that a guy trying to kill a cop would carry his driver’s license and social security with him. Plus, I didn’t want to risk getting close to the bastard. He might be bound hand and foot, but the guy was obviously a professional, and these fuckers were dangerous, he might literally bite my head off. So we waited.

Eventually the patrol car showed up. Out stepped two big patrolmen whose uniforms seemed to be bursting at the seams. They smiled when they saw me and my ward who was now bleeding a little from one of the kisses I’d given him upside the head.

“Ah, Mick and Steve, my two favorite bruisers.” I said. I knew the unis from the precinct. These boys were into the whole weight training and measuring body fat bullshit, they would do perfectly.

“Harding, you got into a little scuffle here, did you?” said Mick, eyeing the bleeding and handcuffed suspect on the ground.

“Just a school-ground bully who needed a lesson Mick.” I said.

“So I see. Big fella, ain’t he? What you want us to do with him?”

“Take him. Book him for attempted murder of a servant of the people, that would be me, and throw him in a fucking cage until I can figure out what to do with him. Be careful boys, this here is a crafty fucker.”

“You want us to take him bound like that?” Mick asked, a little dubiously.

“Yes. Otherwise he will try to run, or something worse, and you’ll have to shoot him and there’ll be more paperwork, an investigation, etc. You know how it is.” I said.

“OK, Boss.” Mick wasn’t too convinced, but these were good lads, he turned to the man on the ground, “Come on fuck face, get up.”

Each officer grabbed one arm and hauled the suspect on his feet. He had to hop to the patrol car since his feet were tied with the tie-wrap. The officers looked uncomfortable with the hopping man between them, that was definitely a violation of the bastard’s right.

“Don’t take that off until you’re at the station, this fucker is dangerous.” I told them. “Oh, and be sure to read him his rights, he understands enough English for that.”

“Yeah, OK.” said Mick, he was usually the more talkative of the pair. They put him in the back of the cruiser and took off. I just stood there for a while, not really thinking about anything. Just surprised and glad to be alive.

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