Chapter 66
Three things happened simultaneously in Chuck’s brain.
The first was his next move, seen as if projected on a screen. Mad Russian was back against a retaining wall or small hedge––Chuck couldn’t tell in the light––and it was going to be just like the old schoolyard prank. Guy gets behind another guy, on all fours, and a third pushes the hapless victim backward.
This would be one push, and it would have to be now, and it would have to work.
The second flash in Chuck’s mind was Julia’s face. It held a grim, mocking look. It was a nightmare face.
Third, he heard Dylan Bly’s voice. He was talking about a truck . . .
Chuck put his hands out like battering rams and charged. Flush contact with his chest. And as the knife hit Chuck’s chest, Mad Russian fell over a hedge. The momentum of the hit thrust Chuck forward, and he fell, too, following Mad Russian over and on top of him, and they began to roll.
.
Sandy Epperson, Los Angeles Police Department detective, was trained like all police officers to handle a weapon. Her choice was the Beretta 92F, which had been standard issue before Chief Bratton took over in 2002. Bratton favored the Glock, but Sandy stuck with her Beretta––and a backup Smith & Wesson .38.
She’d only had to fire the Beretta once in the line of duty, and that had been two warning shots at the corner of Western and Santa Monica when two utes (she did like
My Cousin Vinny)
did not attend to her order to stop. She fired in the air––not SOP she would later learn before a board of inquiry––but it did get them hitting the ground so she could effect the arrest.
The brass was not happy with her, but the Korean liquor store owner brought his entire family down to the Bradbury Building and practically laid siege to it on Sandy’s behalf. Nothing further was done, not even a reprimand.
Now, out of her car on the road in the Malibu hills, Sandy had her weapon drawn again and was prepared for what might be coming down the hill toward her.
This was her position now, for better or worse. She and the entire ad hoc team would have to do what they hated most––make the best of a bad situation.
That’s when she heard the roar above her head.
.
Chuck Samson had never head butted anyone, even in his dreams. He knew it was a risky move and done clumsily could cause as much injury to the butter as to the buttee.
He knew it had to be the rim of the forehead. A Marine once told him that if your head was a cigar, the strike point should be where you cut the cigar, just below the rounded edge. Not the part of the forehead you slap when you forgot your car keys. Just above that.
But then there was the target. It couldn’t be the teeth or you’d get cut.
And it couldn’t be the forehead, or you’d get your own bell rung.
That meant the nose again, and that’s where Chuck, now atop Mad Russian on the ground, aimed.
Keeping his teeth clenched, he hit pay dirt with a satisfying thud. Clean, like hitting a pitch with the fat part of the bat.
He didn’t have to guess about the damage. Mad Russian was hurt. It was just a matter of how bad.
Now he had to get the knife.
If there had been something around he could have picked up and used as a club, Chuck would have done it. But there was no time to look.
There was only time to bite.
Chuck pushed upward then reached out with his left hand and covered Mad Russian’s right. He brought his right hand over and gripped Mad Russian’s forearm just above the wrist.
Then Chuck dove into that fleshy middle like a starving man taking his first bite of corn on the cob.
The Mad one screamed as Chuck tasted blood.
And felt the Mad hand loosen.
Chuck swiped with his left hand and made contact with the knife handle. He scraped the weapon out of Mad’s grip like one would get rid of a tarantula.
He heard something roar over his head.
Chuck brought his elbow up and brought it down toward Mad’s windpipe. But Mad heaved upward and Chuck made contact with the chest only, and not at full force.
His attacker issued a guttural cry like a wounded animal. It turned into a raging scream and all his muscles seemed to tense at once under Chuck.
From the feel of him, he was massively strong. Stronger than Chuck for sure. A cold-blooded killer he’d be if he was at full strength.
He could not be allowed to get to full strength.
Then Chuck’s world turned upside down.