The guy started struggling, and Sam’s grip tightened, and the fingers got right down on the nerve and took hold of it as if it were a cobra’s neck. To control the rest of him Sam got the fingers of a hand and twisted the hand back at his side. Screaming religion in the form of cuss words, the guy tried to escape a second time. Sam let him come down to the sidewalk, as if laying his head on the concrete might bring some comfort.

“This is a quiet place but you aren’t a quiet person. Calm down.”

The guy’s buddy suddenly got active, seemingly over the shock of Sam’s attack, and actually took a swing at Sam’s torso. Without thinking about it, Sam knew this man had no training. He blocked the punch and kicked him hard in the ass so as not to hurt him. Not much for valor the man held his butt and backed off, while the big guy kept screaming. Then he started begging. “Lemme go Lemme go.” Next it was back to the colorful cursing.

“Sam, don’t hurt him. He looks like he’s gonna die,” Sherry said. “Even if he is a pig.”

The man was on his knees with his nose about six inches from the pavement and Sam knew the man couldn’t think about anything but that big nerve near the base of his neck and the hand behind him that felt as if it were about to be wrenched off.

“Have we got your attention?” Sam said.

“Yes.” He’d stopped cursing at least. Sam let go. His buddy was still rubbing his butt and keeping his distance.

“I oughta kill you,” the black man began. Obviously what had happened had not yet become a part of his reality. He was used to being the aggressor.

He took a good swing, pretty fast under the circumstances. Sam caught the fist as one might catch a fastball.

“You need to stop fighting and start—”

Before Sam could finish his sentence the man grabbed for his throat. It was skilled, with fingers closed, and only his thumb open. Now the fellow was starting to act like he knew something about fighting. Before the man could close his grip Sam stepped inside and delivered a moderate blow with his palm to the point of the chin. It stunned the man, and for a second the man lived in suspended animation. It was enough to force the man to relax his hands. Sam grabbed his little finger and held it as if it were a hot wing ready for the blue cheese.

“If I break the pinky at the first knuckle it will hurt a lot,” Sam said. “You are not that good at pain.”

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