Blindside (Michael Bennett #12)(73)

I took a few steps back to give me some distance. I had to suck in as much air as possible. This guy was full of surprises. I didn’t want this to be his final one. But it wasn’t like I’d never been in a fight. I was a New York City police detective.

I had a great reach advantage, if I could just keep him from using his feet. I had to think.

Henry charged me and leapt into the air to deliver a kick to my head. I swung hard with my left arm and knocked him onto the asphalt half a dozen feet from me. He didn’t scramble to get up like I thought he might. But he did make it to his feet and faced me again.

I said, “Maybe your time would’ve been better spent studying a Japanese martial art like Shotokan. More practical, lower to the ground. No fancy moves like that. But it might not work with a little short guy like you.”

Again I noticed his face change color. My comment had exactly the effect I wanted it to.

He let out a low growl as he stepped toward me and raised his right fist like he was going to punch me. This time I was ready for the fake. I moved my left arm slightly, but as soon as his foot came off the ground, I shifted my weight and used both of my forearms to block the kick. I didn’t know how a guy that size generated so much power. Maybe it was from his anger. Either way, I was glad the kick hadn’t landed on a rib or my chin.

He danced away from me and we squared off again.

I said, “Aren’t you getting tired yet? I’d like to wrap this up. I have a lot left to do today.”

This time, as he came at me, he kicked low. Very low. It caught me right on the shin. I was shocked how much pain shot through my system. I tried to hop back, but he was on me. An elbow crashed into my temple.

This fight was definitely not unfolding the way I had expected.





CHAPTER 102





AS I BREATHED hard and did my own dancing to get a little farther away from Henry, I glanced around the street, wondering where the reinforcements were. Then Henry forced me to focus on the fight again.

I managed to parry two hard punches aimed at my face. Now sweat was starting to pour into my eyes, and the pain from the kicks to my ribs and my shin intensified. I felt my breath become labored. My vision blurred.

I needed a change in tactics. I gained a little more distance, backing farther away from Henry.

He had a real swagger about him now. He was enjoying this. Maybe he thought he was putting on a show. Too bad for him there was no one around to see it. I would have gladly led him back to Terri Hernandez if I thought he’d bite on that idea. I also realized that if I went for my gun, with his speed he’d be all over me.

Henry took a big step to his left, then spun and kicked me with his right foot. It hit me high. Just above the solar plexus. At least a blow like that in my chest didn’t knock the wind out of me. I took the kick and stepped back, then slipped to one knee. This was not the position I wanted to be in.

Henry let out a laugh. “This feels about right. You kneeling before me. Now all you need to do is ask for mercy.”

“Does that mean you’ll show me mercy?”

“What do you think?” He swung his left leg high over his head to bring an ax kick down on my shoulders. It was a lot easier to do something like that when your opponent was on his knee. At the last moment, I rolled to one side and avoided the kick. But I could feel the effects of the fight catching up to me. I tried to clear my head.

I was still on the ground, and now my limbs were shaky. Henry jumped to one side so he could attack me from behind. This time, instead of blows, he wrapped his arm around my neck. I felt his other arm brace my head. He had me in a solid choke hold. This was the last place a cop wanted to be.

He leaned in close as he used his arms to slowly cut off my air. He whispered in my ear, “Not what you expected, is it? I don’t know about you, but I don’t like surprises.”

That’s when I reverted to what we like to call nonconventional street tactics. It really wasn’t that hard, either. As he shifted to get a better position on his choke, his groin ended up next to my shoulder. I wasted no time in making a fist and punching him in the balls as hard as I could.

I could tell by the way he released me instantly and the sound he made that I had been right on target. I rose to my feet as he staggered back, holding his crotch the entire way.

He worked hard to shake off the blow. I used the time to catch my breath. He came at me again, only this time much slower. I blocked a right cross, and while he was close to me, I head-butted him in the face.

I felt his nose shatter. I’d caught him with the top of my forehead, just the way you’re supposed to. He staggered back. His eyes weren’t focused. After three steps, he flopped onto the ground, then lay down, like he needed a nap.

I resisted the urge to kick him while he was on the ground. But I wasn’t a big enough man to resist standing over him, with my hands on my knees so we were looking at each other, and saying, “I guess all those brains couldn’t cushion a good head butt. You’re under arrest.”

Terri Hernandez led her dazed prisoner over to me. She held two of his interlocked fingers on his head, an old trick for holding people if you didn’t have handcuffs close by.

She said, “You okay?”

All I could do was nod.

Terri said, “He wasn’t a bad fighter. Clearly he was never a street fighter.”

I couldn’t even answer verbally. I just nodded.