Free Fallen Hunter (Jesse McDermitt Series) by Wayne Stinnett Page A

the other people, mostly tourist couples from a cruise ship, I guessed. The singer inside said he was going to do a Jimmy Buffett song and when he started into a slow ballad, the crowd inside about went nuts. I caught part of it, where he sang about a Blue Heaven rendezvous. No wonder the crowd ratcheted it up a notch. Just then, I heard a loud smacking sound and turned to see one of the drunks trying to climb across the bar, grabbing for Tina, while holding one hand to the side of his face.
    Without thinking, I launched myself off the stool and pushed through the guy’s buddies, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. I yanked him backwards and he landed solidly on his butt, in the sand. I felt someone grab my right shoulder and instinctively swiveled my body toward him loosening the guys grip, while I brought my right elbow around and took him in the side of the head. He landed in a heap, next to the first guy.
    I took one step backwards, along the bar, so that all of them were in front of me. Two were still on the ground, but they had three friends arranged in front of me. Two were medium height and a little overweight, but the guy in the middle was at least six one and over two hundred pounds.
    I said, “If you boys help your friends up and walk out now, nobody else will get hurt.”
    The guy that I elbowed wasn’t going to be moving under his own power any time soon, but the one Tina smacked was struggling to get to his feet. He said, “You’re the one gonna get hurt, old man.”
    He was on his feet then, reaching into his pocket. He came up with a Buck knife, flipping it open, dramatically. Guys with knives are usually very over-confident and this guy was about as normal as they come. He lunged with the knife in his right hand. I took his knife hand with my left, brought it high and landed a hard right to his solar plexus. A rush of air escaped his lungs as I took the back of his neck in my right hand, still holding his knife hand high. I stepped back toward the bar and as he came off balance, I shoved down hard on the back of his neck, so his face hit the hard, wooden arm rest on the bar. He collapsed, like a suddenly deflated parachute.
    When faced with multiple opponents, you have to take out any with a weapon first, then go after the biggest. Usually the others will retreat, once the big man is down. I stepped over the two men in the sand and with both arms raised wide, at shoulder level, I said, “Come on, guys. It doesn’t have to be this way.”
    With my arms still stretched out wide, I took a long stride forward and head butted the big guy in the face. I heard a crunching sound, as his nose broke and felt something warm on my forehead. The forehead is a marvel of genetic evolutionary engineering. It’s harder than even the toughest bare knuckle brawler’s fists, to protect the brain. Few brawlers expect a head butt.
    The big man crumpled to his knees, both hands over his ruined face. I turned to the last two men and growled, “Do you guys want to walk out, or be carried out?”
    They were both ass over teakettle, trying to get the big guy up, so they could drag the other two out. A bouncer appeared through the door, just as the five guys got through the gate and several people at the nearby tables started clapping. The bouncer walked toward me in a menacing way, but Tina stepped in front of him and put a hand on his chest.
    “It’s alright, Jared,” she said. “He’s a friend. One of those guys grabbed my boob and I slapped him. Then he tried to come across the bar. Jesse stopped them.”
    Then she turned to me and grabbing a clean bar rag, said, “Oh my God, Jesse. You’re bleeding.”
    As she started wiping the blood from my forehead and face I said, “It’s not my blood. It’s that big dudes.”
    She wiped the rest of the blood from my face, and finding no injury she looked up at me and said, “Thanks, but you didn’t have to do that.”
    “Yeah,” Jared said. “That’s my