Evade Them

"Hey there, pretty lady," says the lean guy with the neck tattoo that looks like a rabid coyote lunging out from beneath his collar.

"Yeah, pretty lady," echos the taller, broader guy whose eyes seem dull and half lifeless.

It doesn't take a trained investigator to recognize a **** deal happening in an obscure location in the dark of night, but I don't care. America's **** problem isn't mine to solve.

So, I put up my hands, showing that I am unarmed, and try to give them some distance as I walk around. Unfortunately, it doesn't work.

Neck tattoo shoves dullard at me and says, "What are you waiting for, get 'er."

As the big guy stumbles toward me, it's obvious that he has no idea what to do in a fight. Like some kind of clumsy bear, he swings his arms wide and tries to wrap me in a bear hug and I duck past him with ease, kicking him in the back of the knee and sending him sprawling to the ground in a ridiculous heap.

Neck Tattoo is there to greet me and, after a moment's assessment, comes at me like a knife fighter, though his hand holds only a nondescript paper bag, I assume that whatever is inside must be at least a little dangerous. So, I begin retreating and do what has come to be second nature to me, I lie.

Putting my hand to my ear, I begin calling out to an imaginary radio, "Code 9-33; 9-33; Sunset Point Marina; two suspects; first IC2 male with dog neck tattoo; second IC1 male, fat with...."

I never bother to finish, as neck tattoo turns and runs before I can finish the second "nine-thirty-three". Dullard is predictably slower and doesn't start his stupid looking waddle-run until I've said the word "suspects".

Still, they're both headed the opposite direction, leaving me free to continue to the lighthouse, though I keep much more attention on my surroundings, careful to hear them, should they be dumb enough to double back and try to follow me.