A thin smile curled across the junkie’s cracked lips. Then he hurled the handbag at Jack’s head.
Jack snagged it with one hand. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” As Jack glanced down at the bag, a flash of bright sunlight caught his eye. He blinked and looked up to see a knife in the druggie’s hand.
“Whoa!” Jack raised his hands.
The serrated blade was short, about four inches, but long enough to kill.
The junkie took a step forward.
Jack cursed himself. Once again his need for justice had short-circuited his instinct for self-preservation. I should bolt—
Before Jack could make up his mind, the junkie lunged straight at him. The knife cut through the air. Jack jumped back, but not quite fast enough—the blade sliced through the front of Jack’s shirt, grazing his skin.
The junkie thrust again.
All of Jack’s training took over. He pushed off with his right foot and twisted sideways. His right hand swept down in a scoop block, and he used the momentum to knock the junkie’s jab to the side.
Remembering what he’d learned about self-defense, Jack quickly sprang forward. His right elbow shot out and connected with the thief’s face, just under the nose. The sound of the druggie’s teeth snapping shut echoed off the bricks in the narrow alley. The knife flew out of the junkie’s hand, the blade clanging as it skidded along the tar, and the thief was thrown into the wall. His legs wobbled and he slid down into a heap.
“Freeze!” The sharp order came from behind Jack.
Jack started to turn toward the opening of the alley.
“Don’t move!” the policeman yelled. His gun was raised, and he moved forward. “Put your hands over your head.”
“Who, me?” Jack stared at the cop in disbelief as he realized that the order was directed at him. “But…” He looked at the purse still in his hand. “Wait a minute—”
“Put your hands above your head,” the policeman ordered again.
Jack raised his hands.
The junkie rose to his feet and slyly stepped closer to the opening of the alleyway.
Jack moved toward the junkie. The policeman barked, “Freeze!”
“But—”
As the policeman’s attention was focused on Jack, the junkie bolted past the cop and toward the street.
“That guy’s the crook.” Jack pointed at the fleeing thief.
“Hands in the air, now.”
Jack’s jaw clenched, but he lifted his hands. “He’s getting away.”
“You’re the one with the purse. Now show me your hands.”
Jack did what he was told.
“Drop what’s in your left hand.”
Jack started to lower his arm.
“Drop it.”
“It’s that old lady’s purse. Can I set it down?”
“DROP IT!”
Jack released the purse.
“Keep your hands in the air and face the wall,” the policeman ordered. “Feet out and spread ’em.”
“I’m the good guy,” Jack grumbled as he put his hands on the brick wall and set his feet wide apart. “Can we hurry this up so you can catch the real thief?” His foot tapped impatiently, his body yearning to continue the pursuit.
The policeman holstered his gun as he moved up behind Jack. “Do you have any weapons on you?”
“I don’t. But that junkie did. A knife. It’s over there.” Jack nodded in the direction of the blade.
“Why were you beating that guy up?” the policeman asked in a low, authoritative voice.
“He stole a woman’s handbag outside Ma Barker’s.”
“That still doesn’t explain you bashing the guy into the wall.”
“He pulled a knife on me. What was I supposed to do—ask him if he cared for some tea and crumpets?”
“Jack!” Chandler panted as he thumped to a stop at the front of the alley.
“Stay where you are.” The policeman kept one hand on Jack’s shoulder and pointed the other at Chandler.
“What happened?” Chandler asked.
Jack grinned. “I’m getting frisked.”
Chandler shook his head. “That’s not a good thing, Jack. Why are you getting frisked?”
Jack shrugged as the policeman patted him down. “He thinks I was beating up the junkie.”
Chandler walked forward.
“You were fighting.” The policeman stepped back and pointed at Chandler. “You get against the wall too.”
“Yes, sir.” Chandler moved right over and stood next to Jack, his back to the wall and his hands in the air.
“Why are you making him get against the wall?” Jack asked. “Is it because he’s black—”
“Shut up, Jack,” Chandler snapped.