Kellyewis wasted no time making a hasty retreat.
He spun on a dime, broke into a dash, and before I even knew what I was doing I found myself in hot pursuit. I had no time to try and explain things any further to Annie as after a few quick steps forward I was at a sudden and literal impasse.
On my left, dozens of children clustered around a circular, above-ground, man-made pond serving as a temporary home and cool aquatic respite for dozens of ducks and geese. The children giggled and milled about as they crushed crackers and tore up pieces of bread to feed the waterfowl, blissfully unaware that they were serving as a barrier to my efforts to confront the man responsible for my loss of consciousness and lingering ache in my trachea.
I pivoted and took off to the right, around a pigsty until I slammed right into a line of leash-bound alpacas being led out of the petting zoo by yellow-shirted attendants. They gasped in horror as my full weight crashed down upon a large and particularly fluffy-fleeced creature, knocking it to the ground. The alpaca let out a wail and toppled over faster than a frost-bitten Tauntaun taken down by the cold on planet Hoth. Shrieks and screams from both adults and children rang out across the family-friendly venue. I pushed myself up with my hands, only to find myself face-to-face with the buck-toothed beast. The llama-like mammal looked at me innocently with its big black eyes. Overwhelmed with guilt, I petted its long furry neck.
“Sorry about that, Bub,” I said soothingly, as I scratched behind its ears. For a moment the alpaca and I shared an intimate gaze and I thought my accidental tackle was forgiven—until the long-necked bugger spat directly in my face. Still, I could hardly blame the woolly critter given the sudden and forceful way I had bowled it over. If I had any chance of catching Lewis, I couldn’t exactly linger, so I bounced back up on my feet, wiped the spittle from my face, and, with no other choice, leapt over the fence and into the hog pen.
Pigs squealed and scurried in all directions as I weaved in-between and hurdled my way over the pack of them. My Converse sneakers chewed up chunks of mud behind me as I cut through the large sty and closed the gap between Lewis and me. He stopped briefly to watch the commotion, but seeing that I was gaining on him, continued his escape. But the tide turned in my favour as I had cleared the far side of the wooden enclosure with a leap so perfect that gold-medal hurdler Edwin Moses himself would have been impressed.
Once clear of the obstacles, the crowd thinned out, leaving only an alarmed Lewis and me sprinting across what was left of the field. I started gaining ground fast. My confidence growing with each stride, I stayed on Lewis and narrowed the gap between us. Sensing me nipping at his heels, he hung a hard right. Within moments I realized where he was headed—directly toward the long line of people patiently waiting at the pony ride station.
“Get out of the way!” screamed Lewis, and his high-pitched heads-up caused such alarm children and parents alike scrambled in all directions.
But it was too late. The chaotic scene was all the opportunity I needed, except this time I intended to make a flying tackle. Throwing myself forward into a dive, I wrapped my arms around Lewis from behind and pulled him tight as we tumbled to the ground. We rolled over a few times before I lost my grip, but the chase was over, and whatever opportunity he might have had to get away was gone. Although I had halted his escape, I only succeeded in escalating the conflict, for by the time I climbed to my feet Kelly Lewis crouched before me, vibrating with anticipation, waiting to take me on.
I held up my hands in defense. “I only want to talk.”
“Fuck you, Private Dick.”
“Jasper was a new pal and seemed like a good man. I just want to know what happened.”
Kelly’s eyes began to water and his fierce demeanor was replaced with a trembling lip. “You mean you don’t think I killed him?” he asked, his voice rife with emotion, oblivious to the parents and children who slowly formed a circle around us.
I wasn’t surprised Lewis had heard the news about Jasper’s death by now, but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why, if he was mourning, he would be creeping around the Agri-Zone. It seemed like an odd play if his grief was as genuine as it appeared to be.
“No, Kelly, I don’t.”
“Then why are you after me?”
“Like I said, I’m only looking for answers. Starting with why you had your barrel-armed buddy try to choke me out with a flank strap.”
“I panicked, okay? And you leave Buffalo out of this.”
“You mean the animals?”
“No, I mean the man. Buffalo. He’s harmless and only put you to sleep because I asked him to.”
So, “Buffalo” was the big-armed brute who had me seeing stars in record time. Not to mention another nickname for me to remember. I put my hands on my hips, growing frustrated with the mounting miscommunication. “Look, Kelly, I think we want the same thing here. I’m trying to find Jasper’s killer. And so far, all I can think of is maybe it has something to do with the money in his locker.”
The whites of Lewis’s eyes widened until they were the size of saucer plates. I silently cursed to myself as I realized I may have overplayed my hand.
“Take it easy,” I said, softly. “I only just found that cash after you—”
“You shut your fucking mouth!” he screamed, startling the circle of onlookers who had now fully surrounded us.
Any further attempt on my part to defuse Lewis’s agitation was cut short the moment he snaked a hand behind his back and unsheathed a Bowie knife so shiny when the sun glinted off the blade it nearly blinded me.
“Back the fuck off, Ounstead!” he warned.
“I can’t do that, Kelly. Not until I get some answers.”
That was it for Lewis. He let loose a primal roar and charged at me with the weapon. I still didn’t know much about Jasper Adams’s former beau, but realized pretty quickly the man knew how to handle a knife. And since the Bowie was infamous for being able to cut like a razor, chop like a cleaver, and stab like a sword, my life was suddenly on the line.
Fortunately, I have a former IRA operative for a cousin, and he liked to unwind and pass the time practicing self-defence techniques together. One of Declan’s preferred styles is KMTKF — Krav Maga Tactical Knife Fighting—a brutally efficient Israeli style of combat.
Lewis came at me strong by snaking out his Bowie toward my upper right chest. I blocked him at the wrist with a hardened palm. He retracted the knife and struck again, this time low and away. I swept downwards with my other hand, executing a “Sand The Floor” defensive half-circle motion with such precision that
Mr. Miyagi would have been impressed. I could tell the blade-wielding bull-wrangler was growing frustrated. Lewis tossed the knife upwards, caught it in his left hand with an overhand grip, then took his most dangerous swipe yet with a jab toward the side of my neck. At this point my KMFKF training had taken over and I reacted instinctively as if on autopilot. Except instead of sparring with plastic blades with Declan, I was fending off lethal strikes from a bloodthirsty rodeo clown.
Lewis continued with a flurry of increasingly aggressive attacks, including stabs toward my sternum, ribs, and abdomen, all of which I swatted away. I moved fast, efficiently, and I dare say even gracefully, so for a moment I felt as if I were kung fu training with a Wing Chun dummy.
Festering with rage, Lewis kept swinging his Bowie harder with each successive strike. He let out another bellow, this one more anguished, and in his vexation opened himself up by arcing his knife in a wider stabbing movement. Recognizing this mistake, I was able to deliver an open-handed blow to his biceps. While his blade hand was still rotating backwards from my fierce chop, I managed to connect with an uppercut to his Adam’s apple where the top of his throat met his jawline. He gasped, hacked, and clutched his throat as he stumbled backwards, and I took the moment to pull my hands in close to my chest, steady my footing, and centre myself before another round of attacks.
It was only then I realized that the Agri-Zone had grown silent save for some clucking chickens, oinking pigs, and one cow off in the distance lowing, while nearly everyone present had formed a very wide circle around Kelly Lewis and me as we engaged in battle.
Lewis snapped his head from side-to-side, cracking his neck, and sugar-footed his way around me with an impressive Muhammad Ali shuffle, all while getting his bearings and priming himself for another attack. In a flash, he lunged forward and I was caught off guard by how much ground he covered so quickly. I was trying to dodge left as he raised his blade up above his head when I heard a whooshing sound.
A split second later a thin noose of white rope looped around Lewis’s wrist and suddenly cinched so tight the Bowie knife went flying out of his hand. I was certain I heard a pop or a snap of either ligament or bone breaking before my attacker howled in pain. By the time I realized what had happened, Annie Tibbs had not only lassoed Kelly Lewis, but had him face down on the ground, her knee in his back, as she hog-tied his hands behind him in what I’m sure would have been a record had she been in an arena and with a four-legged animal instead.
Lewis yelped in pain. “Ow!” he screamed. “What the fuck—what are you doing?!?”
Annie responded by elbowing him at the base of his skull, knocking him out instantly. A few moments of total silence ticked by before the crowd broke into thunderous applause and hooted and hollered for my cowgirl saviour. Annie stood up, took off her hat and tipped it to her fans, and basked in the adulation like the seasoned pro she was.
“How’s that for a finishing move?” she asked, cheerily.
I tried to respond, but was still in such a state of shock my mouth was unable to form any words. Instead, I just stood there dumbly, doing my best not to spoil Annie’s heroic moment in the spotlight.
“Shouldn’t you be breaking a two-by-four piece of wood over your head in celebration right about now, Big Guy?” she asked, before giving me a sly wink.
I couldn’t help but smile.