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Standing beside Eliot on the corner of Marshall Street and 13th Avenue, I watched him wave to Hardison and Parker as they walked up to the brewpub.
“Go ahead,” I said, gesturing to his friends. “I’ll get our coffees and be right there.”
“Ya sure?” he asked, but I could tell his attention was focused across the street.
“Go.”
He smiled and grabbed my elbow, giving me a reassuring squeeze, then said, “The Sumatran. Black.”
I rolled my eyes and laughed, shaking my head. “Like I’ve never ordered you coffee here before,” I responded, gesturing to the coffee shop we’d been frequenting since moving into a rented condo in the Pearl District.
Watching as he jogged across the street, I waited until he’d gone inside, then turned for the door. A stocky man grabbed the door handle before I could and held it open.
“Thanks,” I said as I entered, but when I felt the man push up close behind me, I knew something was off.
Stopping just inside the door, I half turned and looked at him.
“Do you want to die?” he asked, glaring at me as he pulled a pistol from the waistband of his jeans.
“Do you?” I responded quietly, lowering my eyes as the tip of the push knife I’d pulled from its hidden slot in my belt buckle poked him in the upper thigh before I slid it higher until it was nestled against his groin.
His eyes widened but he remained still.
“Do you have kids?” I asked quietly. “Because if you don’t, you won’t.
I moved the knife ever so quickly, cutting his thigh superficially.
“Okay!” he said roughly, eyes wild.
Our standoff caught the attention of a nearby customer who screamed and yelled, “He’s got a gun!”
As the store employees and patrons erupted in panic, I felt the robber’s own panic start to bubble over.
“Everybody stay calm,” I said loudly. Turning my attention back to him, I said, “Look at me. Listen to me!”
Looking around frantically, his thoughts were a jumble as he tried to figure out what to do.
“There are three ways out of this, and two of those end with you dead,” I said in a low voice.
Realization slowly dawned on him, and he sighed.
“Just do what I say and we both walk away from this.”
He nodded sharply in understanding.
“Now slowly put your gun on the ground.”
***
Eliot and Hardison joined me on the street corner, and I handed Eliot his large black Sumatran. Two cop cars had blocked the intersection and were escorting the handcuffed suspect out of the coffee shop.
“What happened?” Hardison asked.
I shrugged, then said, “Not sure.”
Hardison headed back into the brewpub, but Eliot looked at his coffee cup and then at me as I took a sip from my cup.
“Uh huh,” he said, his left eyebrow raised in doubt.
I simply smiled as we strolled into the brewpub.