The Breaking Point

Rini punishes some bank robbers, and then later finishes the job.

By Mongoose 750 (mongoose750@yahoo.com)

As a general rule, those who practice the martial arts never have to use them, outside of the military or law enforcement. Like insurance, it's a good thing to have in case something does happen. Of course, martial arts also provide physical fitness, and discipline among its many benefits. But how far does one go if you have knowledge of these arts, and you have to use them? It's also said that most martial arts are taught to be used as a form of peace. Yet I have once heard it said that the most peaceful warriors are also the fiercest.

My name is Rini, and I normally don't spend a whole lot of time dwelling on that question. I have a few other irons in the fire to keep me busy. To describe myself, I am 5'6" with long black hair, American, of Filipino heritage. I'm told I have a dazzling smile and a calm, easygoing personality. I'm slim, and that's roughly about it. No, there's one more thing that someone would point out if you saw me; I wear no shoes.

This drives one of my best friends, Jasmine Chang crazy (I admit I get a sadistic thrill out of that). It is true though. I have no use for them except on certain occasions. If someone asks why I don't wear shoes, I turn around and ask them why not? Jasmine is one of those people who has to wear shoes no matter what. The funny thing is she hangs around with one of her sisters and a cousin, along with several friends who are like me in wearing nothing on their feet. Still, she is still my close friend, and I love her despite her "handicap." My other close friend Michelle had seen the light a long time ago, and lives the barefoot life. I do wear socks or stockings from time to time, but nothing else on my feet.

Another thing that Jasmine pointed out about me is that I am in her words a "martial arts junkie." Yeah, I like reading up and studying the combat arts. How many martial arts do I practice at this moment? Four; escrima, a stick fighting art from the Philippines, a form of kung fu called chin na, tai chi, and aikido. How? I started early. When I was little, I saw the movie "Enter the Dragon" with Bruce Lee, Lee Van Clef, and others. When I saw the way Bruce Lee handled himself as he fought his enemies, I was hooked. Since then, learning all about the martial arts had become a passion of mine. I became somewhat of an authority on the subject. I even read up on those obscure martial arts you wouldn't know about unless you lived in that particular country.

Given my dislike for shoes, Jasmine thought she would have the last laugh. "Someday after you graduate, you're going to be looking for a job, and you'll have to wear shoes whether you like it or not," she said to me one day before bursting out laughing. Actually the laugh is on her, because I've been giving private martial arts instruction for quite a while now. I have quite a few students, and since I'm the instructor, I can wear what I want. I have recently graduated college, so I have something to keep money in my pocket until I find something, or maybe find a way to expand my little business. I don't know right now.

On this particular day, a Wednesday, I didn't have any clients to teach, so I decided to have a late workout in the backyard that morning. My friend Michelle, who also teaches private martial art instruction, has a selection of weights and other gym equipment to bulk up her students. Of course, she's also a bodybuilder, so what do you expect. Me, I prefer a more rustic approach. Did you know you have enough items lying around your house that could give you as good if not better workout as the gym? It's true. Martial artists in the past didn't have a Gold's Gym# to go to, so they had to think of something.

I was standing in a horse stance in the backyard holding two large Mason Jars full of marbles by my fingertips. The stance strengthens my leg muscles while the heavy jars strengthen my grip, arms, and other muscles as well. And like dumbbells, I can take them almost everywhere. After I stood for a few minutes, I then slowly walked from one end of the yard to the other. At the other end was the back porch, where I slowly placed down the Mason jars, and went in the house. I greeted my parents on the way to the shower. Later, while eating breakfast and talking with the family over this and that, I opened my mail. In the latest issue of Black Belt# magazine, there was a little reminder that my subscription needed renewing. I also received another reminder that my new book of checks were ready to be picked up.

"I thought they mailed your checks to you," I said.

"It's some new security policy they just started," my dad said. "Someone complained that their checks weren't being sent to them, so this rule started."

"I have a few errands to do on the way home," my mom said. "I can pick your checks up on the way home."

"That's all right, mom. I don't have anything going on today; I'll just drive down to the bank after breakfast. That'll probably be the highlight of my day," I replied, finishing my toast.

Little did I know.

A trip to the bank doesn't normally warrant dressing up, but I didn't feel like wearing jeans that day. I put on a purple short-sleeve turtleneck shirt and a casual black skirt. Instead of going barefoot as usual, I decided to wear socks; gray footies as a matter of fact. To most people I know, this is normally the closest I get to wearing shoes year round. I grabbed my fanny pack, jumped in the car, and off I went.

There's not much to say about the bank; it was like most any other bank in this country. Big lobbies, snobby tellers (okay, not all of them), and that same atmosphere that tries to convince you you're in an office, not a bank. The people are the same too, from very friendly to very surly. It was a nice spring day; jackets were optional; yet, I noticed four men wearing long jackets, like dusters. I would've paid more attention, but my interest was drawn to a young mother and her daughter, who couldn't be older than two. She smiled at me, and I smiled back.

The realization hit me a moment too late. Some time ago, some men wearing long trench coats invaded a high school. If it wasn't for the heroics of a creative writing teacher, who was a black belt in Hapikdo, the disaster would've been more tragic.

[Author's Note: That story, Rewriting the Script, can be found in my bookshelf. ' Mongoose.]

But as soon as I put it all together, the next words I heard were:

"This is a holdup!"

The men pulled out their guns, the customers stood aside, and politely let the robbers kindly ask the tellers for all the bank's money. I know what some of you are thinking, and no, I didn't attack the bank robbers. Banks are insured for this sort of thing, and money is not worth risking my life or the lives of those around me. Some people might consider me a coward; but I'm not a fool. These customers work, so they can always get more green paper. A life, short of the resurrection, is considerably harder to replace.

After they got their money, the bank robbers were making their exit. I inwardly breathed a sigh of relief that it was over. All that was left were the police coming by, an investigation, and some media coverage. But again, I was wrong. One of the robbers turned around and looked at the woman with the little girl, the same little girl I smiled at.

"We'll take her with us," he said.

Even if it was for the fact that they just were going to use her for insurance to leave the bank without being captured, I did not want that little girl to go through such a traumatic situation. I had a quick decision to make.

"Sir? Sir?" I said, almost on the verge of pleading, "Plaese take me. She has a child and a husband waiting for her at home, while I am single and have no one. Take me instead, please."

The robber looked at me in one of those ways that made me want to take another shower, and then he said, "Okay, we'll take her instead."

Another one of the robbers grabbed me roughly by the arm and pushed me toward the exit. The young mother caught my eye and mouthed a grateful but tearful silent "Thank you." I was pushed into the car, and burning rubber, we screeched off away from the bank.

There's not much to tell about the car ride. I remained silent while the four men were hooting about how they got away and how much money they had. It looked like they would make it without any pursuit from the police. All they would have to do would be to drop me off on the side of the road and drive off. However, I never did say my abductors were bright, did I? We ended up at this house on the outskirts of town.

I was escorted to the den, I think. It was a large room with a wooden floor, and a worn sofa and a wooden chair were the only pieces of furniture there. I sat down in the chair, and faced three of my captors; the "getaway" driver went to his car to do something with it. Two ladies appeared, one about 5'8" and had medium length blond hair, the other was about the same height and a long-haired brunette. They gave me a superior look, like I was beneath their notice, insignificant, then they returned to the kitchen.

I felt I held my peace long enough. "Why didn't you drop me off when you left the bank?" I asked.

The man who had the idea of bringing me in the first place was about 6'4" and medium build. He still had his gun out and was stroking my hair with it. "We were thinking of having a little fun first," he said.

"In front of your girlfriends?" I replied.

"Hey, they know it's only the spoils of our reward, it doesn't mean anything."

"Would you have done the same to the woman I replaced, the one with the little girl?"

"Oh, I'd make sure she'd get a ringside seat to watch the whole thing."

I could've said the classic phrases, like "you'll never get away with this," "it's not right," or just begged and pleaded, but I already knew that would not do any good. Aikido, primarily a "peaceful" martial art, dictated that you should negotiate your way out of any potential conflict. If that fails, then use force as the final solution. I already knew we were past the first stage.

Fortunately, they didn't try to rape me at that moment, or else I'd have to kill them. I pledged myself to that one man I'll share my life with, and that's when I'm married. Anyone who'll interfere with those plans would be dealt with severely. The man went on about other things, but I stopped listening. All I could think of was that little girl at the bank, and what she would have went through if she was here.

Remember that little exercise I did at the beginning of the day to strengthen my grip? Well, if you're involved in any martial art at all that involves laying a hand on someone to throw or disarm, like judo, jiu-jitsu, aikido, and some forms of kung fu, a good grip is very important, even more important than big biceps.

Case in point: when this man waved his gun near my hair one time too many, I grabbed his wrist, twisting it. The gun was turned away from me, which was the first intent. The second was to aim it. The gunshot sounded like thunder in the large room, and one of the men fell down, holding his grazed side. Using a twisting motion on his captured arm, my grab turned into a throw as he flew from behind me back first onto the floor.

Because of its peaceful intent and philosophy, critics ponder the question of whether aikido is a martial art at all. What they don't realize is it takes twice as long to achieve a black belt in the art (eight years at least) as it does with the others (four years). That's because we learn not to injure or hurt anyone with intent. Left without those safety measures, aikido can be a dangerous, even deadly art. My throw originally was supposed to end up with my pinning his arm to the floor. Instead, I continued twisting as I threw him, pulling and tearing ligaments in his arm and wrist, and breaking the bones in his arm as he landed. He won't be using his gun arm any time soon. I drew it out, but this only took all of two seconds, if that long.

I got up from my seat and prepared to face the third man, who had to jump over the second man to reach me. From the look in his eyes, he wasn't sure what he wanted to do. When he realized I wasn't running, he reached out his right hand in an effort to hit me or grab me. I grabbed his wrist, and using his momentum, spun him into a wall, back first, stunning him. Once I had him against the wall, I did what is known in Wing Chun kung fu and Jeet Kune Do as the one-inch punch. In the hands of an expert, it can be more devastating than a regular jab. I don't claim to be an expert in that area, my friend Michelle is more of master in that area. I flexed my left hand, clinching it into a fist, and then firing it from my waist as an upper cut into his left bottom rib. The man glared at me in horror as my punch broke his rib and bruised a few internal organs.

Contrary to popular belief, we do use strikes in aikido, mainly as the attacker in practice. One of them is the overhand chop, a simple overhead open-handed blow. In order to make the proper defense, the blow has to be delivered with the proper speed and destructive force. My right hand struck his right collarbone, possibly breaking it. Before he started coughing blood, I grasped his head, and threw him on top of the first man. He still had that shocked expression on his face that a mere woman shorter than he was did this to him.

By now, everyone heard the old stereotype about martial arts; you know, the one where a ninety-pound weakling can conquer a foe several times his size. The two facts about that is yes, it's true, but the second fact is in the martial arts, there's no such thing as a ninety-pound weakling. Anyone who has practiced a martial art for some time is not weak. From simple boxing and wrestling, to judo and other grappling arts, to karate and kung fu, and even tai chi and aikido, which barely uses strength at all, they all make one stronger. They're aerobic in nature, and even the repetition of simple moves, holds, strikes, kicks, and throws builds up muscle. Now does that always make one physically stronger than the next man? Not always, but it makes one tactically stronger than the next man. In short, they might be big brutes, but I know where to hit.

Speaking of these brutes, the second one who was winged in the side slowly rose up to engage me. I decided I'll use some tai chi on him. He delivered a few threats and called me a few names that I would be justified to break his jaw for. From the looks of things, the first man was the only one to hold on to his firearm; the other two either didn't' have them or had them put away someplace. I kicked the loose gun across the floor to the other side of the room, then I stood between it and my assailant, practically daring him to come get it.

He mouthed something to the effect that he didn't need a gun to take care of me. Despite the searing pain in his side, he moved quickly to grab my lapel with his left hand, and wound up his right hand to throw a punch at me. I stepped close to him, blocking the blow with my left upper arm, and then I struck his forehead with my left palm, and his jaw with my right palm. The dual blows each hit a pressure point, making the strikes even more powerful. After I struck, I lightly pushed his head, knocking him down.

I gave a quick survey of the room. The two men I engaged earlier were still trying to untangle each themselves without injuring each other further, my last opponent just landed on the ground, while the driver and the two women weren't anywhere to be seen. A good time to escape, if I planned to escape. Still thinking of that little girl, I wanted to stick around a while. I stepped behind the last man, and gave him a rear naked choke that left him unconscious. I dropped him to the floor, and started to leave the room.

The driver appeared with the expected look of surprise in the doorway. I don't know what went through his mind, but somehow he thought he could deliver a karate kick to get me. One of my teachers once said if you know how to kick, then kick; if you know how to punch, then punch. If you can't do one or the other, don't embarrass yourself in a fight by doing it. It was obvious this man didn't know what he was doing. In response, I caught the kick the same way one does in aikido with a punch; grab the wrist (or ankle in this case), and start twisting it, forcing a submission. However, the leg doesn't bend the same way an arm does. From the way he screamed about his broken ankle, it was safe to assume this man was taken out of the fight.

I looked up as I dropped his foot, and there in the doorway to the kitchen, was one of the women, the blond. She was in the middle of preparing to drink a glass of water, the glass inches from her lips. I was surprised with the gunshot and men screaming that they didn't come sooner.

"You need to surrender," I said. "The men need medical attention. One has a broken wrist and broken arm, this man has a broken ankle, and another man has a broken rib, collarbone, and possibly internal injuries. The faster the authorities can get here, the faster they can receive medical attention."

The woman instead backed up a few steps, looked at the injured men, then at me, and said, "You hurt my Barney!" and then ran away.

"Then prepare to meet the same fate," I replied, and went after her.

To her credit, before she ran, she threw her glass down, breaking it on the floor. Since she noticed I wasn't wearing shoes, she figured the broken glass would stop me. Unfortunately for her, from years of ignoring shoes, my soles are like thick leather; it would take more than mere slivers of glass to hurt them. Not long after I ran in the kitchen, I caught her and slammed her against a wall. I had a backhand with her name on it, and was planning to use it when suddenly I heard the sound of sirens. The woman seized the opportunity to break free, get her friend and escape.

I just walked out the front door, waved to the police officers, and said, "They're in there."

It turned out one of the bank bags had a micro transmitter on one of the bills. It took them only a moment to locate the signal and follow it to their source.

According to some of my fellow martial artists, it could be said I lost control, and used excessive force on the bank robbers. The use of excessive force could be argued, but I was in control, I really was. I know that for a fact, because if I wasn't, there would be four body bags instead of four stretchers being used.

As you can imagine, I became an instant celebrity for the next few weeks. I gave one interview on the local TV news, and then I hid from the media for a while. I went to Michelle's place to stay for a couple of days. I called my clients and told them that I would be teaching lessons in the backyard of a friend's farm. Regarding business, it increased quite a bit. I had to start teaching two, three, even four, and five at a time, several times a week. Those who wanted to learn martial arts would find me and practically beg me to pencil them in. In this case, I can see the advantages of having large classes like Jasmine had. I was making a nice living before, but now I was doing pretty well.

As far as how I was doing, at the end of the day, Michelle and I would sit at the dinner table and talk. Michelle was a 5'5" light brown black woman with wavy shoulder-length brown hair. Her build was muscular, because of the result of her bodybuilding. She worked part-time as a secretary during the day, and taught private martial arts classes during the evening. Like Jasmine and I, she also knew aikido and tai chi; unlike us, she also knew Jeet Kune Do, the martial art Bruce Lee created. I plan to learn that someday. Anyway, she stressed bodybuilding in her lessons. You can usually find out who her students are by how buff they look.

One evening after a well-cooked meal, we sat and talked. Michelle was in her way, "dressed up," wearing a khaki skirt, and wearing a brown shirt that said, "brown eyes hypnotize" on it. I thought that was sweet (I have brown eyes too). She leaned back, put her bare heels on the edge of the table, and said, "You know Rini, I've been thinking about what I would've done if I was in the same position you were, and my conclusion is I probably would've done the same thing, maybe a little bloodier."

"Probably," I laughed. She always had a little temper.

"You think Jasmine would've done the same?"

"Heh, she would've had them down in about five seconds, and that may have been before they left the bank."

Michelle smiled. "You haven't called her, have you?"

"I won't need to. She knows what goes on around here as much as we do, and she lives an hour or two away. I'm not sure how that is, but I have my suspicions."

"Oh yeah? What are they?"

Then the phone rang. Michelle answered it, smiled again, and then handed it to me. It was Jasmine. She started to chew me out about the sacrifice I made, and what could've happened. I waited until she took a breath, then I said, "Yes I know, Jas, and you would've done the same thing."

The line was silent for a moment.

The three of us, (well actually four, but that's another story) got together a long time ago, and reminded each other that we must always use our "powers" for good. That may involve sacrifices. That also may sound corny or self-important, but the three of us have been involved in the martial arts since we were kids, and by ourselves, one of us alone could wreak major damage. In a nutshell, at our skill level, we have to be accountable. Let me put it this way; I was trained to defend myself against those people better than anyone else at that bank, so it fell on me to become a hostage just because I could handle myself better. Jasmine was acting like someone who found out her best friend was in danger, which was true, but she remembered what we pledged.

"You're right, I would have," she said, "but what were you trying to do with that one guy, tear his arm off and beat him with it?"

The remainder of our conversation was pleasant, and she told us about the upcoming aikido convention in Indianapolis. In the busyness of my schedule, I almost forgot. When I finally hung up, Michelle asked me, "Did she tell you how she found out?"

"No, and I forgot to ask. Remind me around convention time," I replied.

Eventually, my fifteen minutes of fame had faded, and my life was back to normal. My classes were larger than before, but I also have contracts to make sure they don't drop out suddenly. I was working out with the Mason Jars of marbles again when I heard a ring from the doorbell. I was alone in the house at the time, so I had to hustle from the backyard. It was that woman from the bank with the little girl. I invited her in, and she thanked me for what I did and all; and then she said something else.

"My husband drives a truck five days a week, and that just leaves me and Shannon by ourselves during that time. I'm staying at home to take care of her until she's old enough to attend daycare, and I can go out and work myself," she said.

"Sounds like you're pretty busy," I said.

"Yeah, but she's worth it. I've been thinking about what happened to us . . . and you . . . and. . ."

I thought she was going to thank me again, but that wasn't it.

"Is there something I can help you with?" I asked.

"I want you to teach me how to fight," she said. "Money is not a problem; I heard you gave lessons, and from what I heard, you must be pretty good. Just give me a stable schedule, and I'll be here. Please?"

"What's your name?"

"Veronica."

I opened the door. "Come on in, Veronica, I'd love to teach you. Let's discuss what types of lessons you'll need."

Veronica turned out to be an excellent student. She was very attentive to instruction and even practiced when she could at home. I could say life was normal again, but that's not the end of the story.

The two women left the house early in the evening. It looked like they were leaving a party. From the way they were hanging all over those two men who escorted them to the door, it looked like they got over their former boyfriends who were now sitting in prison. "My Barney" indeed!

I reconciled to myself how brutal I was with the bank robbers, I talked with my friends about it, and I even asked forgiveness at church if my methods would leave them lame or wounded for life. Yet there were two things I could not reconcile.

The first one was an account of a young woman, a wife and mother, who was found beaten and raped on the outskirts of town a month prior to my encounter. She was shopping with her ten-year-old son at a convenience store for some last-minute items when these robbers came by. According to accounts, they tore the mother away from her son. For the next two to three hours, she was abused until they tired of her. They then dumped her out on the side of the road, and just to make things interesting, the shot her in the leg so it would be harder for her to get help.

After I subdued the robbers, she told the police they were the ones who did these things to her. She also pointed out there were two more who abused her. I already had an idea of who they were, despite the fact that the men did not give them away. When I found this out, I wished I beat them harder than I did the first time, but I had to keep reminding myself they were already paying for their crimes.

The second one was the two women. They got away with this the first time, and somehow they escaped a second time. The thought of that, the mother who was abused some time ago, and seeing Shannon's face if she saw what could've happened to her mother, Veronica, was a little too much for me to take. I will notify the authorities and turn them in, but first they will pay.

It's not hard to follow someone once you get to know your target by way of their habits, and regular hangouts. It took me a month to track them down, now all I had to do was wait. Contrary to movies and television, it's not easy to tell if someone's following you. If you're on any standard street or highway, there's at least twenty cars behind you. If you live on a regular populated street, most likely there will be people going your way. Only the paranoid look back to see if they're being followed. So no one noticed me.

They stopped at a duplex where I believe they lived. Their next-door neighbor seemed to be out, so that would make things easier. I parked down the street. I didn't dress fancy for this occasion, just a black tank top and dark blue jeans. Well perhaps I did, for dark colors hide bloodstains pretty well. I even painted m toenails black, though after I'm finished, they'll have a trace of crimson on them.

They were laughing and having a good time. Needless to say, that all came to an end when I opened the front door and came in. Both women grew pale.

"Your boyfriends are sitting in prison for their crimes, while you two are free," I said. "You will join them in custody, but first, you will suffer pain."

The blond woman, who I encountered before, went to get a weapon, but her roommate stopped her. "No Trixie, we can take her," she said.

"You didn't see her, she broke Barney's ankle like a twig, Nancy," Trixie replied.

"After we beat her, we can break her ankle like a twig."

"By all means, ladies, come and beat me," I said.

For something like this, I would normally carry my escrima sticks, but I felt a primal need to settle this with my bare hands and feet. The brown-haired woman charged me, seeking to rip my long hair out by the roots. She was actually making things easy for me. I used my one-inch punch uppercut again, this time to the center of her belly. My punch, aided by her momentum, penetrated her gut, robbing her of breath, and if I didn't act soon, empty all she had for breakfast, lunch, and dinner on my clothes. A left heel palm thrust put her down for the count before that happened.

Feeling a sense of d#j# vu, I slammed the blond (Trixie) against a wall, and began to deliver my backhand. This time, there were no sirens to stop me as I slapped her backhand and forehand about ten times before I let her sag to the floor. She managed to find a burst of strength and run into the kitchen on all fours. She came out, brandishing a butcher knife, waving it back and forth wildly.

"Stay back, stay back, I'm warning you!" She said, still a little wobbly from the slapping I gave her.

I said nothing, nor did I lose any ground. I just waited until she attempted another wild swipe with her knife. I parried her swing, and then I delivered a right shin kick to her left leg. It's been said in Wing Chun kung fu, you must develop kicks strong enough to break or seriously injure an opponent's leg in combat. Though the three disciplines I practice don't employ kicks, I do practice a few kung fu kicks every now and then. From the blood-curdling scream I heard, I evidently accomplished that purpose. She dropped the knife, falling to the floor holding her broken limb, wailing.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the other woman stir and slowly get to her feet. Good, because I wasn't finished yet. She regained her breath, because she started swearing and threatening me.

"Just like you left that one woman?" I interrupted, "Raped, abused, and bleeding in a ditch?"

"Yes, slut, except we'll do you worse!" She swore.

"Your friend might have a problem with that, seeing that she has a broken leg."

She paused to look at her roommate, who was quietly weeping, lying on the floor.

"I'll tell you what," I said. "I won't break your leg, but I'll make the rest of you look like that woman you beat. Did you know her son had nightmares for a month of his mom taken away from him? She had to see a therapist for a while, and it took that long for her to allow her husband to touch her again. She was an elementary school teacher who was loved by her kids. Oh, and she recovered fine from that gunshot wound to the leg, but if that bullet went one-inch the other way, she could've been permanently crippled."

"Who are you?" She demanded. If she watched the news for the past month, she would know, but since she didn't, I wasn't going to tell her.

"Who am I? Well, I'm not just the woman your friends took from the bank, I am justice; like the justice you didn't receive for that woman, and any other victim you got away with harming. Enjoy your last few moments of freedom, for it ends now."

The brunette took another glance at her friend. She couldn't go to her because I stood between them. Instead, she screamed, and charged me, her hands like claws. One of the worst things you should do when facing someone who knows aikido is charge them. This woman found that out as I sent her flying across the living room, using her own momentum against her. She landed on her back a few feet away from her friend, and a foot away from the butcher knife. Ignoring her pain, she inched closer to the blade until I placed my left foot on her wrist.

I considered stomping her in the face, but I was afraid I'd deliver too much damage at once. Instead, I knelt down and delivered chain punches, continuous vertical punches, one after the other, to her face, her chest, and everything in-between. I did this for about ten or fifteen seconds before I forced myself to stop. She was knocked out, but when she woke up, I doubt she'd be able to recognize herself in the mirror or move or do anything to her upper body without pain.

I turned back to the one whose leg I broke. She was still lucid enough to beg and plead to not hurt her anymore.

"Is this what that woman did when you abused her?" I asked. The only reply I got was whimpering, so I took my right foot and pushed her hard against the wall.

"I asked you a question," I said.

"Yes, yes! Oh my leg, what did you do to it?" The woman replied.

"What I should've done to your scrawny neck, broke it." Her eyes widened when she found out what I did. "Now tell me, why should I show you any mercy after what you and your friends did?"

She could only look at me and weep. In that, she had at least enough sense to not try to give me any excuse or flawed reasoning to answer my question.

"What are you going to do?" She asked.

When I encountered her cohorts a month earlier, I knew them as bank robbers with a little bit of mischief on their minds. If I knew then what I knew now, they would've been lucky to make it to a trial, or prison. With these two women, it would be so easy; I could finish them and leave, no one would ever know. But I would. That would be the breaking point, a line to cross. And I don't think it would be that easy to step back over, either. If I ran into this same situation tomorrow, and I punched their ticket instead of leaving them for the authorities, would that make life better?

No, I'm not God, I cannot do this. I got what I came for, vengeance, and to send them to the police. I look at the woman.

"I am going to put you to sleep to ease the pain," I said. "When you awaken, the police will be here to take you in. It is better than the alternative."

I knelt beside her, gave her a judo choke, putting her out in seconds. I pick up their phone using a cloth, and call the police.

After I achieved contact with the appropriate party, I told them, "I found the remaining two suspects from that bank robbery, kidnapping, and assault two months ago," and I gave them the address. "You'll need to send an ambulance, both are hurt pretty bad."

"Thank you for the information, we'll send one right away. And what is your name, ma'am?"

I hung up the phone and left the house, got in my car and drove off. I was finished there.

For comments, suggestions, or story ideas, email the author at shrewsberry@juno.com.

#2007, Barefoot Heroines, Inc.