Yesterday's Echo by Matt Coyle

back his right hand, but his punch never landed. I kicked him in the crotch like I was punting a football. It would have been a fifty yarder. He yelped and fell to the ground in slow motion, curling into a fetal position.
    The boss tightened his grip on my throat. I stomped my right heel down on his instep but only made him squeeze harder. I tugged at his arm. It was like trying to pull a branch off an oak tree. My face burned, and my head pounded. Then he relaxed his choke hold and moved his arm two inches down. My mouth opened wide and vacuumed in as much air as it could, then I heard a shout from across the street.
    â€œThe police are on their way!” The voice was a high-pitched whine. It was the most beautiful voice I’d ever heard.
    The huge arm now clamped both sides of my neck. A police choke hold, back when they were still allowed. I could breathe, but felt dizzy. I grabbed his arm with all I had left but couldn’t budge the tightening vise. My legs wobbled and everything turned red.
    Then I heard it again.
    â€œI called the police! They’re coming!”
    â€œTalk to the cops and you’re dead.” The Brooklyn-accented voice hissed in my ear.
    Then he let go of my neck.
    My knees hit the sidewalk first, and then my hands and face. I heard the neutered one struggle up off the ground, then running footsteps, car doors slamming, and finally a vehicle peeling out and zooming away. I didn’t see any of it because my eyes were closed. When I opened them I saw the sidewalk, up close.
    â€œAre you all right?” It was the voice from heaven again.
    I rolled over on my back and groaned. My whole body felt like an open wound. After someone had rubbed salt in it and squeezed on some lemon juice for flavor.
    â€œYes. I’m fine.”
    â€œThe police should be here any minute!”
    I rolled back over onto all fours and stood up in stages. My car sat twenty feet away. The police would have to question my savior across the street alone. Brooklyn’s threat hung in my ears under the pounding in my head.
    When I finally made it to my car, the seat belt felt like an iron maiden when I cinched it around my torso.
    I got home safely, locked the front door behind me, then glaciered through the kitchen to the back door and let Midnight in. He bounded in and jumped up to greet me before I could stop him. I stepped aside and tried to avoid his clawed embrace. My right foot caught the leg of the kitchen table and my back hit the ground at the same time Midnight’s front paws landed on my rib cage. Pain shot through my front and my back and met in my middle. Laughter came instead of tears.
    Midnight raked his tongue along my asphalt-scraped cheek.
    Love hurts.

Muldoon’s
C HAPTER S EVEN
    Three hours later, after ice on my kidney and ribs and Motrin down my throat, my house phone rang. I struggled off the couch and answered it, hoping it was Melody.
    â€œRick, it’s Dan Coyote.”
    Not even close.
    Dan was a detective for the La Jolla Police Department. He was the only cop I knew who liked me, and that was probably because he didn’t know me very well. We’d met playing golf at Torrey Pines a couple years ago. We hit it off and now hit the links together every month or so. He’d joined the LJPD from the Phoenix PD when La Jolla was short on manpower. It was a few years after I’d returned from Santa Barbara. If he knew or cared about my past, he never mentioned it.
    â€œHi, Dan. If you have a tee time, I’ll probably be out of action for a couple days.” I didn’t think I could put a tee in the ground, much less make a golf swing.
    â€œActually, I’m calling about an incident that occurred today that may involve you.” His voice was more detective than golf buddy.
    The ancient Good Samaritan who saved my life must have given the police my license plate number. I didn’t know whether the goon’s threat had been idle or serious and I