My belt was a classic black Levi, silver one prong buckle, waist 34", soft cowhide. I slowly unbuckled it and pulled it from the loops on my well used Levi jeans. I usually wear Levi's, soft brown leather boots, a blue t-shirt and dark brown leather jacket. You know, one of those soft lambskin zipper front jackets with a Nehru collar? Yeah, it's so comfortable. Oh, and by the way I don't usually carry a weapon.
The assassin's eyes followed each of my fingers as I slipped my belt from the loops. I'm sure he wanted to break all my fingers if not one at once then all at the same time. Some assassins like to torture their victims before they kill them, and other assassins want to kill immediately. This assassin wanted an immediate kill.
We are at St. Ives, a coffee shop on Victoire Boulevard in Paris, a splendid sandwich and coffee shop. The tiny eatery seats 45 customers either sitting on counter stools or standing, and this morning twelve customers were sitting and drinking and conversing while watching streaming Internet deals on their iPads and phones, except for one adorable female. She sits tall on a stood, legs spread, white jacket with shapely calves highlighted with black heels, her fabulous twinkling bedroom eyes glued to mine, or are they killer eyes?
I liked to drink my deep roast coffee black while standing and that's what I was doing making eye contact with a potential that potential sexual partner, when this fucker came up behind me and pulled a fillet knife. I caught the glint of silver in a sliver of streaming sunlight through the front window.
If he wasn't going to slice me like a fish he should neither have jerked the knife at my neck nor pulled the handgun from underneath his jacket to shoot me like a hoodlum. Sitting on the floor below me after I had kicked his left knee hyperextending it, and consequently stomping on it and breaking it, he'd have been a happy camper with me dead on the floor at his feet, examining my priceless Michelangelo diamond and emerald necklace between his fingers, the exquisite necklace Michelangelo had designed and made. This fucker would have snatched the jewels from underneath my leather jacket pocket.
But now he's cradling his leg and whimpering like a baby. The gal on the stool didn't flinch or scream, of just off her stool, she watched with that unnerving twinkle in her eyes.
Being on the run from big money execs and government officials on the take isn't a fun profession, but I'm not on the run, I'm not afraid and I rather enjoy being in control taking out the best of the best assassins, not actually killing them but incapacitating them for pretty much of the rest of their lives. Most of them know the consequences of losing a fight but don't consider losing since they believe they're the best at what they do. I don't lecture them or lecture anybody else, but situations aren't always in one's favor and you have to be prepared for that special time.
As all the customers in St. Ives watch me as I wrap my Levi belt around this stupid guys neck. They cringe and whistle, a couple applaud and one or two stand to get a better look. The three employees lean against the other side of the main counter and stretch their necks across it to watch the proceedings.
It's not that I'm going to kill the fucker, after all he is the son of somebody, he possibly even has a brother or sister. Maybe he has a wife and child. Perhaps he's a university graduate, or a high-tech entrepreneur trying to make a fast buck by killing me. Whatever he is, I'm not going to end his miserable life, I'll just teach him a lesson or two.
He grabs my belt as I tighten it around his jugular. He pulls against the soft belt trying to loosening the choking leather. I tighten it by twisting it and pulling it up and watch his face turn pink and his fingers whiten underneath the strong leather. He face turns reddish then slightly purple, I release my belt and he falls back smashing his head on the tile floor. With a broken knee and now unconscious, all the customers silently watch me as I unstrap my belt, loop it through my Levi's and buckle it.
Sirens screech in the background and it's time for me to leave with my Michelangelo necklace secured inside the black felt bag that's inside my jacket pocket. Out the front door carrying my black coffee, standing on the sidewalk in front of St. Ives, the pale glow of the morning, such a natural packaged charm, lit some mischief I had on my mind when that young seductive woman who was sitting at the counter took my arm in hers and smiled.
The fug of auto traffic and pedestrians is an excitement I couldn't ignore. This day is going to be wonderful. I gently smiled back at the woman, and we walked up the block. Would I get laid today by a fragile but not helpless straw blonde with a long neck and bedroom eyes? Take a guess.