“Sharp edge of the blade down,” Bird said as he stepped behind her. His breath was hot and stank of whiskey. A wild impulse to turn and kiss him swept over her, as if she could draw from his lips the essence of the alcohol and thereby quiet her quaking nerves. He slipped his left arm around her waist. His grip rough and powerful. He slid his right hand down her arm and used it to turn the knife to its correct position. Then he put his right hand over hers and squeezed, “Hold the knife tight so it doesn’t wobble when it meets resistance.”
He took two steps back from the counter, taking her with him. They stood in a small open area between the racks of stinking clothes, her body held tightly against his. He whispered, “You gotta be fully committed to the act, which shouldn’t be a problem if you’re close enough to a guy to even think of using a knife.” His hot breath fluttered wisps of her hair. He began to sway, moving her with him. “As small as you are, you better be face to face with the guy. Go for the gut. Act fast. Hit hard. Don’t try to pull out the knife. Let him do that. It’ll keep the bastard busy while you get away.”
He laughed and continued, “Keep your elbow close to your body and your hand against your side until you’re ready to thrust. Step forward with your left foot, turn, and thrust at the same time. The thrust is the least of the movements, delivered as you turn, so your weight will be behind it. Ready?” He eased her one step forward and turned, guiding her as if they were dirty dancing. “Step, turn, thrust hard.” They did it again and again with Bird repeating step, turn, thrust hard each time.
Keith, so massive and his unkempt hair making him look even bigger, beat a rhythm on the top of the glass case and counted off like a dancer rehearsing for a stage play, “Five, six, seven, eight…step, turn, thrust hard.”
Sheila and Bird whirled around the floor. She repeated the words as they moved and felt, when she did it right that her weight would drive the knife home. In the step and turn part they were almost graceful, but the thrust hard part always came out a crude movement, a reminder of the unimaginable ugliness of what she might have to do to protect herself. The thought sickened her. But she forced herself to visualize driving the knife into someone’s gut. AS they moved step, turn, thrust hard, she realized that she had reached out to the devil. Whatever the consequences in this life or the next, she had no choice but to follow his lead.
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