Page 38 of The Game

He wrestles a hand out of my grip, and I manage to deflect another blow to my face just before it connects.Come on, Adam, he’s all action and no skill. I jump off him. I need to get him on his front, and I circle around with my hands out looking for a grab.

“What are you doing, youmudak! This is not a martial arts class.” He laughs as he watches me, running a hand through his hair, and that’s my opportunity.

I launch at his torso, twisting as we fall, and when we hit the floor, I manage to get him on his front and pin him there.Hallelujah!This almost never happens in jujitsu: My opponents are all too well trained. I twist his hand up behind his back. He squirms and kicks, but once you’ve got a hold like this, the person under you is going nowhere. Gah! my knuckles have started bleeding again.

The security guard scurries over, eyes bugging out. “Mr. Miller! Mr. Miller! Oh my God! I didn’t know what to do! I’m so sorry. He damaged the desk and the walls.” He gestures behind him. “I told him someone was coming down to talk to him.”

“It’s fine,” I grit out. “Can you find out if the cops are on their way?”

But as soon as the words are out of my mouth, the familiar wail of sirens reaches me from the street. Please let these sirens be for this prick. Sure enough,in seconds, three cop cars pull up outside the glass doors of the building and five cops lever out.

“This dickhead attacked me,” my friend on the floor shouts as soon as they come through the doors.

Jesus Christ, what is this guy on? But the doorman is outraged.

“What the fuck!” he yells. “This asshole came in here shouting and cursing, and now he’s damaged my desk and the walls.” He gestures to large gouges in the wood, and wow, that’s going to cost a mint to repair. “I’m in so much fuckin’ trouble here, man, you get me? I’ll have to pay it back ‘n’ all and … I’m gonna be fired and my old lady will be all up on my ass.”

Cops understand that doormen take a lot of shit in buildings like this: People wander in off the street, tenants complain, and they get sacked, and they don’t have anything to defend themselves and they don’t get hazard pay for dealing with people like Arty Maroz, who’s now squirming underneath me. Cops are always on their side. One of them heads over to me, nodding as he takes his cuffs out of his waistband, and he leans over to where I’m holding Arty down on the floor. I maneuver so he can slap them around his wrists. As I shift my weight off him, Arty kicks out, catching me on the ankle.

The cop hauls him up. “Hey, asshole, none of that unless you wanna be tasered for resisting arrest. You want to tell me what all this is about?”

“This is bullshit! I’m an Olympic skier.”

“I don’t care who you are, buddy.”

“He’s an ex-boyfriend of Anna Talanova,” I say. “He attacked her at an event tonight, I ended up restraining him, and now he’s turned up here.”

“She shouldn’t be out at an event where any crazy can get to her. It’s not safe,” Arty says. “I would never let her …”

What is this guy on? “What’s with the sudden show of concern? You cheated on her, you asswipe. You don’t get to dictate what other people do: That’s called restricting personal freedom. You’re the only one who’s putting her in danger,” I say.

“And you are?” The officer standing next to me says.

“A friend of Ms. Talanova who accompanied her this evening. It was a bigevent. If you need evidence, everything I’ve told you will have been captured on video.”

“Camera footage. Sweet. That kind of thing makes my job a helluva lot easier,” the officer mutters.

“Is that that cute chick that played in the Billie Jean Cup?” the other cop says, eyebrows raised.

“Yes.”

“You’re that tech guy who’s been dating her, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Holy shit. Are you an idiot?” he says to Arty, who glowers back at him.

“You got security cameras in here?” the other cop asks the doorman.

“Yes. Yes.” The doorman’s face relaxes a bit.

“She want to file a complaint?” another officer asks me.

“Let me speak to her.”

When I call Anna, she hems and haws about complaining to the police and the potential repercussions with Arty’s father, but eventually agrees to speak to her lawyer. One of the officers talks on his walkie-talkie for a while, as two more manhandle Mr. Olympic Skier into the car outside. Two of the cops come up in the elevator with me, and Anna gets her attorney on speakerphone and they all talk to Anna for over an hour. One of the officers encourages her to file for a restraining order, and her lawyer approves.

After they’ve gone, she blows out a long breath and pads into the kitchen. “You want a soda or some vodka or a whiskey or something?”

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