“You were a dirty cop,” Katrina replies, ducking as Samuel grabs a little knickknack off the top of the television and throws it at her. Katrina moves so quickly that it almost looks like the porcelain projectile passes right through her, exploding on the wall behind her. “You were a dirty cop who worked for Peter more than you worked for the people of New Orleans.”
“You don't know a damn thing about what I did!” Samuel screams, trying to grab Katrina again, who blocks his hands, slapping them away before shoving him in the chest. Samuel stumbles back, and gets ready to charge Katrina, who I can see is obviously ready for him. Before he can, though, Theresa is up and out of her chair, trying to get in between her daughter and her husband.
“Michael, no! Stop!” she yells hysterically, grabbing his arm and yanking. Samuel's not in good shape, hell, I'm worried the man's going to have a heart attack if this goes on much longer, but Theresa's scrawny. Maybe Katrina doesn't understand, but I do. She might get some of her height from her father, and I can see a little bit of his face in hers, but the hair, the slender frame... that's all from Theresa Grammercy, and that body's been worn down by a decade of guilt, so what was once thin has become bony and weak.
Theresa tugs, but Samuel barely moves at all, except for turning and pushing his wife, sending her sprawling. “Shut up, bitch. You're half the fucking reason I left anyway, you and that constant harping on me, threatening to go to Peter and tell him about me and Margaret. If you were a good wife, I wouldn't have had that problem!”
Samuel turns to kick Theresa, and I start to move, but before I can even take a step, Katrina's right there, spinning him around and sweeping his legs out from underneath him. “Don't touch her!” she screams, stomping down on Samuel's left ankle. I don't hear anything break, but that doesn't mean it doesn't probably hurt like hell. “You have no right!”
Unfortunately for Katrina, while she's an expert in the martial arts, she probably hasn't watched as many cop shows as I have, and she forgets one of the main cop rules in a domestic disturbance, which is never ignore anyone. Her own mother, who should have been grateful for her daughter's assistance, instead throws a shoe at her. It catches Katrina in the chest and surprises her just enough that Samuel is able to grab her ankle, sending her tumbling to the floor next to him with one hard yank. Theresa's still trying to get involved, but I grab her, dragging her away toward the bedroom.
“Sit down!” I say, shoving her into the bedroom and closing the door. It's not great, but it's better than nothing, and before she can push the door open, I grab a bookcase and jam it under the handle. It's not much, but it’ll give me a minute.
I run back to the living room, and watch as Katrina flips Samuel over neatly, landing on top of her father, anger and rage etched on her face. “You son of a bitch! You fucking bastard! You left me, you cheated on your wife, and you try to pretend that you're the victim! I hate you!”
Katrina starts pounding him in the face, vicious elbows and forearm blasts that batter away at his arms. He's beyond trying to defend himself, he's out of shape and exhausted already, but Katrina isn't letting up. Samuel's just got his arms up over his head to try and absorb the punishment, but I can tell from looking at Katrina's face, she isn't letting up.
His arms slip, and one of Katrina's elbows slices through, shattering Samuel's cheekbone, and his head drops back, stunned. His arms fall to the side, and she grabs him by the throat, a look of murder on her face. “Katrina! Katrina, stop!”
“No way, Jackson,” she hisses, her eyes locked on Samuel's face. Her fingers start to tighten, and he hacks, trying to grab at her wrist, but her grip is too strong. “He's got to pay.”
“By turning you into a murderer like him?” I ask, coming next to her. I can't grab her, she's so high-strung right now that I'd probably just make her angrier, but I lay a hand on her right arm, just above her elbow. “Katrina, do you want to become as bad as he is? To become like him?”
“He took ten years of my life away,” Katrina hisses, twisting Samuel's hand with her left when he finally gets a grip on her wrist. I hear something snap like dry twigs, and Samuel's gasps and coughs weaken as he gives a pained whine. “I think I deserve that much, with interest.”
“Then do it the right way,” I whisper, closing my hand on her arm. Her arm is thin, wiry with muscle, and I can close my fingers all the way around it, but I don't tug. I have to try, to let her do the right thing. “Let him go, Katrina. Do it the right way.”