Mad Powers (Tapped In) by Mark Wayne McGinnis Page A

I’d be most appreciative.” Wriggly and Jordan, mouths full of mashed potatoes and gravy, chuckled and looked up to see how Ken would respond. Moving fast for an older guy, Ken reached for Russell’s arm, obviously intending to forcibly drag him out if necessary. Russell stood up to meet Ken’s advance and slapped him, open-handed, across his face. The loud crack reverberated throughout the now silent room.
    This was the second time these three had acted inappropriately in my presence. The first time, I’d pretty much let it go. But not now. Even before Ken grabbed for Russell, I was well on my way to their table. I stepped in between Ken and Russell and turned my back on the larger biker. I faced Ken and smiled. “Let me talk to them. I might be able to convince them to leave.” Few things are as humiliating as being slapped in the face, especially by another man. Ken didn’t say anything, but took a tentative step backward. Russell was ready for me when I turned to face him. Knife in hand, he would not have been happier to see his own mother’s face.
    “If it isn’t my friend from Denny’s. You know, I’ve been looking for you. Seems like destiny, don’t ya think?” His mistake was taking his eyes off me, even for the quick second it took him to look over at his two friends. I’d moved just slightly to his right. When his head jerked back, catching my movement, I was in a better position to grab his wrist with my left hand and then, using both hands now, I twisted his knife in and towards his own body. Even after he’d been forced to release his knife, there was an audible crack as his carpal bones snapped like dry kindling. Russell yelped in pain, bending over to protect his ruined wrist. Wriggly and Jordan had lost their smiles and were up out of their seats. Wriggly, the taller, fatter of the two, moved to my left, while Jordan, the more muscular and seemingly more intelligent of the pair, was attempting to flank me around the right. I waited for them, expending no more energy than necessary. Almost simultaneously, both pulled knives from their boots. I had the distinct feeling they had rehearsed this maneuver before. Even with my memory a total wash, I instinctively knew that how an opponent holds their edged weapon speaks volumes. While untrained combatants hold a knife skyward, as if waving a flag, pros typically hold a knife downward, in line with their wrists, keeping it moving. Both Jordan and Wriggly had opted for the flag-waving technique.
    I had just enough time to pluck Wriggly’s tray off the table. Plates with half-eaten mashed potatoes, turkey and gravy scattered to the floor. With eyes on Wriggly, I spun 180 degrees around backwards and caught Jordan by surprise with the edge of the tray, hitting him in the temple. He went down like a bag of rocks. Then I turned to face Wriggly. “Your two friends are on the floor, do you want to join them?” Apparently, Wriggly did not. He took several steps backward, looked down at his two friends and rushed for the door. Ken was still standing where I’d left him. Malinda, at the far end of the cafeteria, was on her cell phone—it wouldn’t be long before the police were dispatched.
    “Thank you for …” Ken paused and looked around the room. “Listen, we’re not unaccustomed to trouble. It comes with the territory. It follows people like them—and it follows people like you. I saw the way you moved; you’re military or ex-military. What you’re doing here, I don’t know—or particularly want to know. But I don’t want any more trouble. You got that?”
    I knelt down to clean up the mess we’d made. Marco was at my side and stacking plates onto a tray. Ken slowly walked out of the cafeteria without saying another word. As I thought about what had just happened, what I had reflexively done, it occurred to me that my past was quickly catching up to my present.
    By nine o’clock, everyone was hunkered down on their cots for the night. The