Free Calypso Directive by Brian Andrews

annoyance and reached inside the flap of his unzipped motorcycle jacket. His fingers found the contoured plastic grip and closed around it.
    The spectators, who had already begun to aggregate, uttered a collective gasp as he pulled out his weapon of obligation. Since he was not above showmanship, he squeezed the trigger and let the crackling, purple arc of current announce to the crowd that he clutched not a pistol, but a stun gun. One zap and the fight would be over. One million volts of electricity would transform the American into a limp, helpless pile of flesh and bone on the pavement.
    Udo smirked and in heavily accented English said, “When you think of this day, remember that Udo, not God, gave you this pain.”
    As the word “pain” rolled off his tongue, he lunged at Will Foster’s chest.
    If not for the eight years of high school and college wrestling practice, Will would have been down for the count. Instead, his reflexes took over, twisting his body clear of the crackling electrodes. The smell of charred fibers on his coat sleeve wafted through the air, lingering evidence of the near miss.
    He circled, trying to maintain six feet of separation from his long-armed foe. In a position of weakness, the key was to keep moving. Dart and feint. Keep your opponent off-balance and guessing. To gain the upper hand, he would need to grapple, but a traditional takedown would be risky. Even if he were successful at grabbing the German’s legs and upending him, his own back would be exposed and vulnerable during the take down. His only chance was to wait for his adversary to make a mistake. Then, and only then, could he grapple.
    An unbroken chain of onlookers now encircled them, hesitantly enjoying the unusual spectacle. After a minute of circling, Udo made a second lunge at him, followed by a third, then a fourth, and then a fifth—each time shocking nothing but air as Will darted about like a hummingbird. Udo’s face twisted in frustration, and with a throaty growl, he charged. Will rotated his torso parallel to the vector of attack. As the German sailed past, he pounced, like a lion clawing the flank of a stampeding cape buffalo. The two bodies crashed to the ground as one, with Udo absorbing the brunt of the impact. Will wrapped his left arm around the big man’s neck from behind, fashioning a headlock. In his peripheral vision, he noted that Udo was still clutching the stun gun in his outstretched right hand, so he grabbed Udo’s wrist. Udo tried to roll over and free his left arm, which was now pinned beneath his chest, but Will’s legs were extended outward in a wide inverted “V,” giving him just enough leverage to exert control. The stun gun arced and sparked as Will dragged Udo’s hand across the pavement. Rough as sandpaper, the textured concrete tore the skin from the big German’s knuckles. As soon as he felt the tendons in Udo’s wrist slack, he smashed the hand on the pavement. The tactic worked, and the taser popped loose and skidded across the ground. Udo jerked violently to reach it, dragging Will with him. Still maintaining his headlock, Will crabbed his lower body to the right, giving him a better angle to reach the stun gun with his right hand. Both men’s fingers pawed at the plastic handle, but Will found a grip first. He tightened his headlock and then arched his back to lift his foe’s chest off the ground, exposing a target. Then, he slammed the shiny protruding silver electrodes into the brute’s sternum and squeezed the trigger.
    Udo’s body seized violently, went rigid, and then fell limp.
    Will released his headlock, lifted himself off the big man, and rose up onto one knee. Udo blinked and shook his head, trying to snap himself out of the fog of pain and disorientation. After a second’s pause, Udo cursed and tried to stand, desperately wanting to get back into the fight.
    Will zapped him in the back of the neck,