“Hay! Looks like we got a new face today.” Little Latina, she leaned over, and put her hand down, got up. Childbearing hips stuffed into a pair of yoga pants, sports bra, tied on mask, cheerleader braids, no top.
“Maureen?” She looked around the rest of the class.
“What brings you here today?”
“Well?” She reached back, and scratched behind her ear. “I heard about this man attacking women at work, and I thought I’d bone up on my Self Defense.” She offered her hand.
“Ken Shapiro.” She looked up, searched my nose, and hairline.
Let go my hand. “You teach Krav Maga?”
“No,” fucking racist, “I don’t believe in Krav Ma`ga, as self defense. Maybe if you live in Łódź Ghetto.”
“…Bratislava, Greenwood, SoWeTo, Gaza or the West Bank.” I’d done my research.
“Why, you got any formal training?”
“Just Basic, and Retention.”
“Weapon retention? Where do you work?”
“You know any disarms?”
“Yeah, I got trainers over here. Class, take a breather, and pay attention. We’re about to demonstrate some advanced techniques.” I snapped to Josh, who threw me the keys. “Balisong, Kerambit…”
“That powder blue M9 looks good.”
M9, Beretta. Military designation for the P92FS. Basic Training… “Where’d you say you work again?”
“County Sherriff’s Department.”
“SWAT?”
“Corrections.” She hefted the blue foam simulate. “Weighted?”
“Just in the grip.”
“Nice, what do I do?” Holding it straight down, right about thigh holster level.
“Just point it at me, and say Bang, Ah!” I barely indexed my thumb on her wrist for a lock/break, before she switched hands, and backhanded me.
Stepped back, and switched hands again. Set her feet in 2 handed Weaver stance, and lined up the sites. “Bang.” They never moved.
“MP?” I rubbed my temple, where the rubberized grip didn’t cushion the lead weight quite enough.
She laughed, “How’dja guess?”
;
Marie(…N. Undercover)
He let me into his office. He won some, he lost some, but gun disarms are bullshit. Once you have the safety off, and your finger in the trigger guard, there’s nothing they can do in the time it takes me to pull the trigger back a couple millimeters. Then, I have 9 of them, and 14 of his friends. (I’m assuming male, because they’re semi-jacketed Hollow Points.)
“So, what’s this about?”
“Like I said, I heard about this guy at work, and the theory is he’s got training.”
“What kinna training?”
“MMA, Muay Thai, and BJJ.”
“We teach those here.” He nodded.
“Well, he’s good, and you’ve got some of the top ranked locals in the feeder league cage matches, or so I hear.”
He leaned back in his chair, and pulled a frame off the wall. I didn’t have to do my research on him, I’m literally a walk-in. He’s got a McDojo, so…
“Jon “J.J.” Jennings, one of our best students. Why?” Junior Jui Jitzu belt buckle. It’s not a rodeo, but when in Texas. 90s hair, big braces grin.
“Well,” dropped it on the desk, and got out my secure tablet. No phone, only connects to our secure databases. Close enough to the car, if I’d driven the squad car, so no connection.
“I’m looking for someone that may be training for Offense, but claiming “Self Defense.” Do you have any legal training?”
“We have consultants.” He leaned over to flip through an honest to God Rolodex. Had to be an Antique, plucked off a hand punched business card for the [USCCA: CCW Licensing, Self Defense Attorney.]
“Can I keep this?” I tucked it in the strap of my sports bra. “Well, self defense is legally problematic, when there’s Premeditation.”
“I know where you’re going with this, but being prepared for an attack isn’t premeditated murder in Self Defense.”
“It’s not self defense if you arm yourself up for lethal force, go out looking for trouble, and escalate for an excuse to shoot someone.”
“Well, that sounds like Vigilante’ism,” pretty sure that’s not a word, “But we don’t do firearms training here.”
“Retention?” He shook his head. “So, just disarms,” I rolled my eyes.
“With all due respect, I don’t teach my students to get attacked by Marine MPs with guns.” Marines don’t call it Basic Training, it’s BC for Boot Camp. I just let him guess, and don’t deny his assumptions.
“You train them to be attacked?”
“No, of course not. You don’t have to go looking for trouble for it to find you.” Well, that’s well rehearsed.
“No, but if you do go out, looking for trouble, you can’t claim Self Defense. Besides that, this guy would be obvious.”
“How so?” He leaned back, and tried to act relaxed, but didn’t stop bouncing his foot on his knee.
I’m getting good at this! “Well, first of all, you remember G.I. Joe?”
“Yeah, of course. I was more into Rocky than Rambo, and…” Street Fighter.
“You had a Snake Eyes Action Figure, and I had a Baroness doll.” He didn’t wear a red Ghi with the sleeves ripped off, or bleach his black curly hair blond, but he had the black belt. Framed on the wall, but he had on grey Coach Sweats. No hood.
“Baroness, and not Scarlet?”
“I didn’t like her outfit, nor her weapon.” Besides, my sister picked Scarlett. Well that, and she had the Ariel wig.
“Yeah, a crossbow?” As much as I hate to bond with this guy, I have to build back some trust, after that crack about Israel’s Ghettos. (And our Kristallnacht.)
“So anyways, this guy is more. Uh.” I had to think back, “Mall Ninja, Columbine Trenchcoat Mafia, and less. What’s the white one? The Ninja, for C.O.B.R.A?”
“Storm Shadow.”
“Yeah, jungle boots, BDU pants, junior amateur militia teeshirt, trench coat.”
“We talking about a school shooter scenario here?”
“Why? You know anybody likeat?” I don’t actually have anyone to suspect, but he suspects he might be a suspect, so he subtly tried to eliminate himself.
Not to mention, that description was practically the uniform for every misfit you stayed away from in high school. Before the school shootings started, we just thought they looked like wannabe Serial Killers.
He watched the movie Heathers a few too many times. I was more of a Pump Up The Volume kinda girl. Everybody knows that the dice are loaded… “Hm?”
“Not in my class, but I seen him around Matches.” Correction, seen Fight Club a few too many times. “Back when we could have matches, so not for a couplefew year.” Oklahoma? Norman, Oklahoma? My husband and I were stationed in Lawton temporarily, when his Squad was training with Artillery Support. If remember right, something about Artillery Support. Marine wives, Marine lives, we always said.
Still, too close to home with that Greenwood reference. “That it?”
“How much you charge for classes?”
“You free to teach classes in Retention?”
“I thought you didn’t teach firearms.” I wouldn’t say free, but that’s not why I asked how much he charged. Still, not a bad tryout if I do say so myself.
“No, because I’m not certified to teach firearms.”
“Yeah.” Got that.
;
Janus (FF No Sex, Violence)
“Marie?” I was hoping she’d show up.
“How’s your leg?”
“Fit enough,” to kick her ass. “So what classes you taking?”
“Well, I tried out, and he decided to let me teach Tactical Light.”
“Ooh, you mean Cop Light, or like.” I dug in my purse. “These little ones he gave me.” Well, he sold them, or gave us his discount at KarateMart.Com.
“Master Ken?” Everyone giggled, so I looked over at the office.
“Yeah,” she walked over barefoot. In black BDU pants, the legs bloused up above her calves, a grey wife beater, sports bra, and 2 flat braids down the back, not even close to her collar. Or were a collar would be, if she where wearing her uniform.
“You know Maureen?”
“Yeah, I met her at work.”
“At the county jail?”
“Yeah,” so that’s her story. “Just stopping by for breaking and entering, and assault.” Inspecting the quicks of my flush-cut nails. “In Self Defense of course, so I got off.” I didn’t lie.
“How’d you break and enter in self defense?”
“I was trying to get away from the guy, so I didn’t stop to ask the owner’s permission.”
“So, then what happened?”
“He grabbed me, wrestled me down, and I tried to get my legs up, but he pinned them. He started ripping my clothes off, and calling me names. You know, “Fucking bitch, slut,” and that kind of thing.”
“Anger Retaliatory?”
“What?”
“Anger retaliatory rapist. It’s not about sex for them, it’s about punishing women. Or gays, or whatever.”
#MeToo “Thanks professor.” #NotAllMen. She takes 3 semesters of Psyche. Well, a year of Pre-med, and a semester of Pre-psyche. So, now she thinks she’s a profiler?
“So then what happened?”
“He couldn’t do anything with my knees pinned together.”
“Between his legs? Why didn’t you kick him in the nuts?”
LOL! “Because he caught my legs, and pinned them. I tried to, and that’s how I got my legs caught!”
“Oh.” They nodded to each other.
“So get this, when I pulled my legs out, I kicked him off. He sat down, and I managed a TKO. I got lucky with an ax kick. Honestly, I couldn’t even see what I was doing. I just wanted to get him off…” Okay, now I was lying. “… of me.”
“All right girls, now line up.” Marie came out, if that his her real name, and pushed a cart. I got all the way on the end, and tried to stand at attention, but I wasn’t like an R.O.T.C. girl in high school, or anything.
They picked up these cute little pink dumbells, and I resisted the urge to scoff. Cop Lite, looks a little too light, but I picked one out of the box, and stood back.
“You got all your shots?”
“Yeah, booster and everything. AstraZeneca if that helps.”
“Well, your probably going to be wearing a mask,” she winked? “On the street, so you might as well get that out.”
“Oh, kay.” I went over to my hoody, and fished it back out of the pocket.
Then, she turned out the lights.
“Okay, girls. Line up.”
She turned on the flashlight, and shown it across the line, so I could join them on the end.
“Master Ken?” She called him out, with a blue plastic toy gun in his hand.
The other girls snickered again, because we all watched his videos. Not Dr. Shapiro, Master Ken, on Youtube? Check it out, while you got a chance…
;
Author
Psi here again. One does not simply jump right into crime/fighting, without at least a little training…
Ps: Ken Shapiro isn’t all Master Ken. That’s just a nickname, but there’s a lot more Ben Shapiro with just a pinch of Captain Krav Maga to taste.
Youtube is right there…
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