“My hand is here.”
Loppa stood behind him and brought out a very real, very wicked-looking cord.
“Is that real?”
“Eh, anything is a garrote, but wire is best. It hurts more. Perhaps I should change this… Firenze?”
“Don’t bother. This is a child’s technique.”
The sinister way Loppa grinned wasn’t reassuring. He explained his move. “A professional would see his hand ready and pull their knife. One quick thrust through the ribs here—does the trick easily. But let’s say we are not dealing with professionals. I come over his head like this.” He had the wire in front of Firenze almost immediately. The edge dug into his raised wrist.
Firenze picked up the commentary. “In the movie, he catches the attempt with his arm. Good, but…” He turned his head to the side and braced his fist against his cheek. “You brace your head on the attacker’s shoulder so he can’t pull you off balance. As you do this, pull down on the wire. Turn your body so it is facing your attacker. See? Your arm is still trapped and using your weight against their arm, but your other arm is free. Strike.”
He swung his free arm and stopped short of Loppa’s nuts.
“Here. Hard. Hit harder than you think you can, as many times as you can. Understand? Five times harder. Strike fast. You cannot hit hard enough.” He swung his arm. Loppa turned to avoid a direct hit.
“This is practice, my friend.”
Firenze grinned. “Loppa turned, but you see, he is now paying attention to where you are striking and it added slack on the cord. You can breathe.” He angled his arm and pulled the garrote taut, then ducked his head through the opening to escape the noose. “You escape.”
“Again.”
Firenze went back to his initial position.
Loppa came up behind him. “This will be the professional attack, if they have no knife, or need the kill to be very quiet. I will loop the cord, cross my hands, turn to pull him off his feet.”
Similar to before, Loppa swept his arms over Firenze’s head but he crossed his right hand over his left, making the noose tighter than before. “A professional crosses the wire, see? Then twists, so.”
Firenze turned, slapped Loppa’s leg, then tapped his fists into Loppa’s chest, chin, and ended with a strike to the jaw with his open palm. “The trick is to always turn to face the attacker as quickly as possible, and keep your feet under you. You cannot lose your balance. If you do, get as close to the attacker as possible for the turn. Let’s show her without the hand up.”
Loppa moved behind him again, and this time Firenze didn’t have his hand up.
“A moment.” Loppa undid his belt and slipped the garrote into a sleeve. “I’ll hurt him less this way,” he told me.
This time their moves were so fast I could barely see what happened. Loppa twisted and they scrambled several steps as Firenze turned toward him, keeping one hand on the belt and his feet scrambling with the motion of the pull. He hit Loppa and they went down to the ground. A vase on a nearby table became unbalanced and tilted sharply to the edge. I jumped up and caught it in time to save it.
Loppa and Firenze were on the carpet grinning up at me.
“See?” Loppa said. “Amateurs would use something so obvious.” He pointed at the movie.
“Your turn.” Firenze suggested.
“Oh, no.”
“You need to know this. Like he said, it is a child’s lesson.” Loppa pointed at the spot where Firenze stood before.
“Go easy on me.”
“I will.”
After the third instruction, he quickened the pace, and I misread his attack, fell backward into Loppa, lost my footing, and practically choked myself on the belt he used.
“That’ll leave a bruise,” Firenze commented. “You need to be more careful with your nephew’s bride.”
“Do you think her attackers will be careful?”
Before they could argue more, Mario stepped into the room. “What are you doing?!”
