ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
Disabledveteran Viet Nam [February 2012]
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (12) A Missed Love (Short Stories) A missed love that occurred during the Viet Nam War [2,782 words] [Drama] A Son Is Born (Agent Orange) (Short Stories) Son is born with physical problems from father's exposure to agent orange [2,475 words] [Health] Edna Benz Store Detective (Short Stories) Elderly woman tough as nails [871 words] [Humor] Ghosts Of Viet Nam (Short Stories) Ghosts in viet nam [925 words] [Mind] I Was Told I Was Wrong To Go To Viet Nam (Short Stories) Soldier arrives home and is told his war service was wrong [853 words] [Relationships] Mr. Whiskey Viet Nam (Short Stories) Soldier has a imaginary friend [1,223 words] [History] Nurses In Viet Nam, They Served Too (Short Stories) Nurses served in viet nam and deserve respect [800 words] [History] Saving Sarah (Short Stories) Cop save Sarah's life at risk of his own [923 words] [Drama] Seeing Eye What??? (Short Stories) Blind Nan stop by the cops for driving blind [1,096 words] [Humor] The Viet Nam Experience (Short Stories) Trying to understand PTSD from War [800 words] [Health] When One Becomes Aware Of Their Mortality (Short Stories) When ne becomes aware of their mortality [606 words] [Health] Woman Attempts Suicide (Short Stories) Woman attempts suicide and runs into a cop who try but looses his patience [1,043 words] [Humor]
An Attempted Mugging Of An Old Man James J Alonzo
An Attempted Mugging of An Old Man
(C) James J Alonzo
On the early evening of Tuesday, September 25th, 200, two weeks after the terrorist attacks on our country, with the help of an heavy oak cane, I was walking back from the local neighborhood store when an incident occurred that I never thought would happen to me.
I noticed a large black male about 18 years old approaching me with menacing manner. Having had a career in law enforcement I knew menacing, so I became on guard as I continued walking towards this clown.
"Are you a die hard," he asked as I got closer.
I had no clue what this idiot was saying, so I chose to ignore him and continued walking to my home. Hearing his feet shuffle as he turned towards me, I stopped under the street light and turned to face him.
"Hey man. Is you willing to die for things?"
"You got a problem?" I asked, tightening up on my cane, knowing he was at least 30 years younger than me.
"What would happen man if you died tonight?" he asked, as he shrugged his shoulders, jerking his head back ands forth, looking around. I now knew I had a problem here, and my adrenaline started to kick in,
"I'd go on to the next life," I responded sarcastically.
A smug all knowing look came across his face as he said,
I have gun in my pocket old man, which I am going to show you man!"
As he said this he kept slapping his pant pocket with his flattened right hand. I heard the metallic sound from his large ring connecting to his pocket.
("Shit," I thought, "This punk may have a gun!")
"What I want to know cracker," he continued, "are you willing to die for your money?"
("Great,!" I thought, as I felt fear creeping in, "this clown has a gun and the one time I didn't bring mine!")
He asked me the same question, taunting. I refused to respond to this asshole, wondering to myself, was this the way it was going to end for me? I remember from my time in Viet Nam and my career in law enforcement, to remain calm, listen to my instincts. And my instincts were telling me I would get through this, but I will have to fight this clown. So I started to look for an opening to launch a pre-emptive strike, but not in a way he would notice.
He must have gotten impatient, for he sternly said,
"Look man, you hand over your wallet and money or else I'll kill you!"
The time for talk was over for me, the time for me to let my anger flow, it was time to get insane, mad, devil eyed mad! I could feel my heart beating faster, breathing was controlled. The few moments that passed quickly showed him that I was not going to follow his orders. He fooled his eyes and exhaled a deep sigh, shook his head in mock disgust as if to say,
" I guess that means I am going to have to kill you mother-fucker!"
With a smirk on his face, he started to put his hand into his pocket, at which I reacted by stabbing his throat with the handle end of my cane, following up with a smashing blow to his face. As he backed up from the blows, I drove my foot into his groin!
As he fell to the ground, i followed up with more blows from the heavy cane, and I continued to kick him over and over. I was starting to see that even though he was dazed and hurting, he did somehow manage to get to his feet and run down the street.
I started to chase after him, but shit, I was winded, and had to stop to catch my breath. But then I remembered he had a gun, or claimed to have a gun. I saw him halfway down the block under another street light where he had stopped.
I defiantly assumed a fighting stance, but he raised his hands and shook them indicating he had enough, then turned and shuffled off down the street. I should of called the police but that would of been a problem and they might not of left me alone. As I walked home I realized I should of got the gun away from him, if he had one.
It is funny how you can have an incident like this in your life, and then over time sit around and dwell on on "coulda, woulda, shoulda". The war and my law enforcement career had stayed with me on some level of consciousness after all these years. Besides I don't think my instincts allowed me to survive Viet Nam just to be taken out by some punk. It put me to mind and ok'd verse from my combat unit;
"this man means trouble for all your kind,
you shirkers and cowards with a sick soul and mind,
Beware his temper that you do not burst,
For he is a fighter from the 101rst!
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