Chapter TWENTY-SIX
J.D. never knew what it was. Maybe a minuscule change in air pressure brought about by the proximity of another person. Perhaps she heard a footstep on the asphalt of the parking lot or a squeak from a running shoe worn by the man in the shadows. An intake of breath, an exhalation, a grunt as he pulled the large KA-BAR knife from its scabbard. Something. Somehow she knew that danger was close, that her life was about to be snuffed out. Whatever it was, it put her on alert and set off the alarm bells in her mind, the ones that she’d honed during her fifteen years of police work and regular workouts with her martial arts master.
She pivoted on the ball of her left foot, coming to rest facing her assailant, her knees bent, her arms up in the strike position. Only a fraction of a second had elapsed since she felt the alert. It was almost enough.
She saw a big man, maybe six two, 220 pounds, a large knife in his left hand, held at waist height in striking position. As she planted herself on the asphalt, the knife was moving toward her midsection. She dodged to her right, putting her weight on her right foot as she felt the knife slice into her left side. She refused to think about it. Her left foot came up in a power kick, catching her assailant off guard, his momentum from the slashing dive still carrying him forward. Her foot impacted with his left rib cage. J.D. knew that bones were broken.
The big man fell forward and to his right, the blow from J.D.’s foot pushing him off balance, the pain of the broken ribs already flooding his system. J.D. brought her left foot to the ground, shifting her weight onto it as she pivoted again. The man was hitting the ground, his knees bending to catch himself, his arms outstretched to break his fall, the knife skittering across the surface of the parking lot. He was hurt badly, moaning as he landed on his knees. His hands had slid along the rough surface, but his knees held. He was in a position not unlike that of Muslim men praying, his legs slightly splayed. J.D. finished her pivot almost directly behind the man. She aimed her right foot between his legs and delivered a powerful blow to his scrotum.
The man yelled in pain, turned on his side and drew his legs up in a fetal position. J.D. sidestepped and kicked him in the face, just for the hell of it, and because the adrenalin rush was still in full force, giving her more energy than she’d ever felt.
Then, the pain hit her. She felt her side. Her blouse was wet and sticky with blood. She was armed only with a cell phone. She looked down at the man writhing in agony on the pavement. “Look, buddy,” she said, “I know you’re hurt. I’m calling the medics, but if you move a muscle, I’m going to kick you in the face again. Understand?”
The man on the ground nodded. Blood was running from his nose and mouth, but his hands were still in his crotch, holding onto what he probably considered his most important body part. J.D. dialed 911.
“This is Detective J. D. Duncan, Longboat PD. I’m in the parking lot behind Lynches Pub on St. Armands. I’ve been attacked, but I have the assailant under control. I need two ambulances and backup ASAP.”
“On the way, Detective. Are you hurt?”
“Yes. He got me with a knife.”
A couple of minutes after she hung up, she heard a siren and saw the blue lights of a police cruiser rushing into the lot. She wasn’t surprised at the quick response. She knew that the Sarasota Police Department always had a unit near the Circle. It allayed the fears of the tourists who sometimes kept the bars open until the wee hours of the morning.
The cop behind the wheel came running, his pistol drawn. He recognized J.D. and said, “Are you okay?”
“I got a knife in the side. I don’t know how bad it is, but it’s bleeding.”
“Let me take a look.”
“Secure that a*shole first,” she said pointing at the man on the ground.
“I don’t think he’s going anywhere. Did you search him?”
“Not yet.” She smiled to let him know she wasn’t angry at the question.
The Sarasota officer did a quick pat down of the assailant and then pulled his arms behind him and cuffed his wrists. J.D. heard another siren and looked up to see a Sarasota Fire Department ambulance pulling into the parking lot. She thought it was probably from the St. Armands station three blocks away.
A paramedic rushed over. “Who’s hurt?” he asked.
“This dirtbag can wait. Check on Detective Duncan first. She’s bleeding,” said the Sarasota cop.
The sirens had brought Jill and a cook out of Lynches’ back door. Jill sat on the pavement next to J.D. and put her arm around J.D.’s shoulders. “She’s bleeding pretty badly,” Jill told the medic.
“I’m okay, I think,” said J.D. “I don’t think he got me too bad.”
“What’d he get you with?” asked the medic.
“A knife. In the left side. I don’t think it’s too deep.”
“Let me take a look,” said the medic. He placed his kit on the pavement and knelt beside J.D. “I’m going to have to cut your blouse.”
J.D. nodded that it was okay. The medic pulled a pair of scissors from his kit and began to cut the side of the blouse. The Sarasota cop called over. “Detective Duncan, your department has been notified. Your chief is on his way.”
“Thanks,” said J.D.
“What do we do with this idiot?” the cop asked the medic.
“Another ambulance is on its way,” said the paramedic. “From the Longboat South station, I think. It’s the closest one to us. Is he hurt bad?”
“I don’t think so. It looks like the detective broke his nose and kicked his nuts up into his chest, but I think he’ll live.”
“You’ll want a statement from me,” said J.D.
“Yeah, but we’ll wait until your chief gets here.”
“Doesn’t look too bad,” said the medic. “It’s just a slash, no puncture, but I think we’d better transport you. You’ll probably need some stitches.”
J.D. looked down at her side. “There goes the bikini,” she said.
The medic smiled. “Maybe they’ll be able to use some butterfly bandages and it’ll heal without a scar. How’s your pain?”
“Not too bad.”
“You want something for it?”
“No, thanks. I think I’d better keep my wits about me.”
Another ambulance came into the parking lot, its blue-and-red flashers alive. J.D. saw the Longboat Key Fire Rescue logo on its side and felt oddly relieved. It was nice to have the home team there.
The Longboat Key paramedic went to the man who lay groaning on the pavement, squatted down and looked closely at his face. They spoke quietly and then the paramedic stood. “Guy says you kicked him in the face, J.D.”
“I sure did. Right after he knifed me.”
“You did good,” said the Longboat Key medic. “Took out a couple of teeth and broke his nose.”
J.D. grinned. “I don’t think that’s all I broke.”
The medic laughed. “He’ll be walking gingerly for a while.”
The back door of Lynches swung open and a man ran toward J.D. The cop moved forward to intercept him, but J.D. waved him off. “He’s okay,” she said.
The man knelt beside her, looked at her slit blouse and the bandage on her side. He pulled her toward him and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. It’s just a little cut. Probably won’t even leave a scar.”
He held her, his cheek to her forehead. “Goddamnit, J.D.,” he said. “Goddamnit it.”
She reached up and put her hand gently on his cheek, and said quietly, “I’m okay, Matt. I’m okay.”