Derby Mystery
Another set of wheels stopped beside us and I looked over and saw the number
65 on a chest at eye level. I looked up. And up some more. I stand a solid six
feet but I was a head shorter than this individual. With almost four inches
of skate and a couple inches of helmet on top, she must have topped out at almost
seven feet.
“Fresh meat, Jason?” She leered down at me, at least looking up at her nose from this angle it certainly looked like she was leering.
“We’ll see. I’m going to pick his brain on some things and maybe I can convince him to hang around. Mike, this is Belle Ringer.”
She was a brunette according to the ponytail under her helmet, wore glasses and, like Terri, was sporting a big smile. I looked around at the others skating in the group and that would be the single factor that seemed to be pulling them all together. Everyone of them that wasn’t actually skating faster than a stroll had a smile on their face. Most of them were wearing t-shirts with numbers and names on the back, some just had on long sleeved shirts. They all had on leggings or heavy hosiery, long sleeves were the norm, as well as various pads and helmets.
. . .
“Buddy, I’m tired of you talking.”
“That’s a good point, I’m tired, too, and I want to spend the night in my own bed. You don’t like your bed?”
I was trying to get his mind off Belle and onto something besides bothering her or punching at me. I could see that evidently he was just too far gone for my question to penetrate and he had already made up his mind to go for some sort of action. Not wanting to be seated when he finally got his brain engaged with his body enough to take a swing, I stood up and moved away from the table. My hands were up in front of me in the universal palm out signal for stop.
Jason made a move to get up and I just shook my head at him. No use getting two of us in the line of fire and I knew I could handle the guy. The punch he threw was a swinging right hook. I debated about how to handle it, looping around that way it was I had lots of time to figure out what I wanted to do. I ended up popping my left arm up and deflected the punch upward over my head.
I wiped it on by with my right hand with a bit of force to push him on around and he spun a bit to his left due to the momentum. I kept my hands wide open as I did so. His less than steady footing probably helped, too. I didn’t counter, I had a clean shot had his ribs or kidney, but I really hoped the spinning around would be enough to wake him up. He spun unsteadily back to face me and his eyes narrowed a bit. I couldn’t tell whether it was because he was so drunk and the world was spinning around him or he realized I wasn’t scared of him. Or there was something alarming going on in his guts. I was a bit afraid to hit him in the stomach or gut, he’d likely spew and I had no desire to be anywhere near the results of that torrent.
My opponent squared himself up and took a deep breath. This time there was a bit more deliberation in his attack, but he still went with the same looping right roundhouse, though he did have a bit more speed on it. I stepped in towards him and shoved the fingertips of my left hand into his shoulder, hard, dissipating all of the force of his attempted blow and leaving it short of my head by a couple inches. With a bit of grab and a tug with my left hand, I pulled him into me a bit closer, enough so that the palm strike I delivered into his ribs was at the ideal point for my hand to transfer all the strength from my heel all the way through my torso square into his lower ribs while avoiding his stomach . He staggered back gasping for breath. I hoped that would be enough to get the message through the alcohol fog and into his brain. It wasn’t.
This time he decided it was time to wrestling. He charged at me with his arms spread attempting to tackle me, or at least get me in a bear hug. I wasn’t about to let him get me wrapped up like that. I slipped off to the side, and did a circle block on his right arm, switching my hands around and locking his elbow up. Stepping in with my left foot, I started him falling backward and then reversed it when he started to fight it. That forced him face down and around onto the floor. I rolled his wrist around and pinned the back of his hand directly under his arm, pinning his elbow in place with my foot and then took a good look around at who might be looking to help him out. Evidently he didn’t have any friends that were willing to join into the fray. The regulars seemed to be more interested in the entertainment value. So far there hadn’t been any blood shed, and no real damage, though I wouldn’t want to be on the inside of his ribs in the morning.
“Sorry
mister, I’ll see that he doesn’t bother you again. Rocky has the name but not
the moves and he never learns.” The bartender had decided to protect his interests
and had finally came over. He nodded his head indicating for me to move away.
I moved my foot off his elbow and backed toward the table. The Bartender was
big enough and strong enough to hoist this guy up and sit him down on a chair
near the door. The stuffing seemed to be knocked out of him and I hadn’t really
hit him. Seeing Rocky was pretty much out of it, I returned to my seat, the
adrenaline still racing through my body.