feet, and I wound up on all fours, trying to suck in a breath.
Phin was already in motion before I landed. Doing his Sammy Sosa impression, he smashed Bluto across the back of the head with the heavy end of his cue, getting for his efforts a cue in two pieces.
The big man turned on Phin, throwing a hard roundhouse that hung in the air forever. Phin ducked it and gave him a smack to the jaw that didn't even make the giant blink.
I shook away a few stars and got to my feet, knees wobbling under me. A woman didn't get to be a Violent Crimes lieutenant in America's third largest city without being able to take a punch.
Or without knowing how to punch back.
I threw a hard right into the man's kidney, trying to drive my fist through him, putting every one of my hundred and thirty-five pounds behind it.
Bluto grunted, doubling over. Phin took the opportunity to kick him in the face. Something small bounced off me that I later found out was a tooth.
The giant hit the ground, and that would have been the end of it if the bastard hadn't had friends.
They were the type of guys an asshole like this was bound to hang out with. One had black hair, slicked back, and a grubby little goatee. I counted five earrings, all of them skulls, and a matching skull pinkie ring.
The other was shorter and stocky, his fair hair in a crew cut. He wore a tank top that revealed heavily muscled arms, slathered with tattoos of guns.
I had never noticed that my favorite bar boasted a rather shitty clientele.
Tattoo Boy moved in toward Phin quick and loose, like a trained fighter. He threw a right that was so quick, I thought for sure it would take Phin out.
But Phin was fast too, and he rolled into the punch, taking it on his shoulder. I saw Phin jam an elbow into the guy's chin and then I had to deal with my own problem.
He came at me low, goatee curved in a grin. I raised my fists and clenched my teeth.
'I'm a cop, you jackass.'
'I eat cops.' He ran his tongue over brownish teeth and charged at me.
I brought up my knee, smacking him in the center of his ugly face, and I couldn't resist grunting, 'Eat this.'
I could feel his nose go mushy, but he still had enough momentum behind him to lift me up and onto the pool table. He landed on top, bleeding all over my shirt and face, throwing wild windmill punches at my sides.
As he hammered away, I tried to roll over. No good -- I was pinned. I shoved, straining with all I had, but he was too heavy.
Then his hands found my throat.
I pulled at his fingers, but couldn't pry them off. To my left, on the table, several balls were jostled by our struggle. I wrapped a hand around the eight ball and smashed it into the side of his skull.
His eyes rolled up and he crumpled onto the edge of the pool table. Odd ball, corner pocket.
I sought out Phin, who was having difficulties of his own. Bluto had gotten back up, and he gripped Phin around the neck while Tattoo Boy circled, looking to land a jab through Phin's swinging fists.
'Police! Don't move!' I yelled.
They kept moving. Some guys had no respect for authority.
I weighed the eight ball in my hand, planning on pitching a slider at Bluto's back. My baseball days were long behind me, but I figured he was so big a target I couldn't miss.
I missed.
Luckily, Phin didn't need to be rescued. He pivoted on his hip and judo-threw the big man onto his back.
Tattoo Boy moved in, but Phin swiveled around and caught him on the chin with the heel of his foot.
Tattoo Boy ate the floor. But Bluto, who seemed extremely angry at having been thrown, got to his feet and picked Phin up. Not in a bear hug, but as if Phin were a sack of potatoes. He hoisted my friend up over his head, ready for a slam dunk.
I launched myself at the giant, tackling his midsection, my head and hands sinking into doughy flab. He umphed, and dropped Phin on top of me, then began a kicking frenzy on our prostrate forms.
I caught one particularly vicious boot to the head that made my vision swim. While I scrambled to get away from the flying feet, I noticed Tattoo Boy had gotten back up, and he was approaching with a look on his face that was anything but pleasant.
This is what I get for trying to have a social life.
Phin untangled himself from me and rolled gracefully to his feet, diving at Bluto, hooking a forearm into the giant's throat.
Tattoo Boy flexed his pecs, making the machine guns dance. I got up slowly and blinked away the tiny motes dancing before my eyes.
'You're under arrest,' I tried.
He laughed at me, flexing again. Must have spent a lot of the time in the gym to have definition like that.
I put up my fists and feinted with a left, bringing the right cross into his jaw. It didn't seem to bother him much. I followed up with a right-left combination, working the body. He shot out with a jab of his own, catching me above the eye.
