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Climbing a steep street, he was suddenly boxed in by two men. One was heavy, squat, powerful. He reminded Alex of the doorman at the Casa de Los Angeles. His companion was short and skinny, dressed in a loud check suit. He was the dangerous one. It was almost over so fast, Alex nearly missed the whole scene. The heavy-set man moved forward, grabbed him by one arm and flipped him to the ground. At the same time the skinny man lunged in and his knife seared along Alex's ribs like a red-hot razor blade. |
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Quickly the squat man knocked the little man's knife arm up and yelled, "No muerte, Antonio!" The little man's ferrety eyes glared and he wavered, half- determined to charge again, this time with his big companion as his target. It wasn't much, but it was a chance. Alex rolled free and then kept rolling and sliding down the steep street as fast as he could in a shower of stones and loose dirt.
The little man was first after him. His pointed Italian shoes plowed paths in the loose trash as he literally skiied down the slope on his heels. He held the knife ready and when he was close enough, set his feet and lunged. Alex rolled away. This was no game. The little man was playing for keeps He followed Alex relentlessly, holding his knife ready for the taste of blood. Alex scuttled along on his back trying to get away, but the killer had him cornered and was closing in for the finish. He held his knife low, blade up. When he lunged, he came in low trying to make a horizontal stab into Alex's body.