SEVENTY

It wasn't difficult to cripple a stranger. Ezra quickly nudged his ribs with his sharp elbows, then dropped the switchblade which had scraped the skin of his neck while parrying the stranger's attack to his face. The foreign man groaned in pain. He tried to reach his penknife which was thrown five yards from where he stood. But Ezra kicked his hand, then stamped his palm so hard that the man whimpered in pain and took off his hat.

"Damn you! Get your damn feet out of my hands.”

“You still can't beat me, Meyer. You think pretending to be a badass in an elevator can trick me, huh?"'

"Don't you want me to keep an eye on your lover's apartment?"

"Your disguise actually makes others misunderstand."

“Arrghhh you are going to break my precious hand.”

Meyer pounded Ezra's leg with his free hand, trying hard to brush Ezra's sole away from his almost flattened palm.

"And you suck so badly. You lost your precision and accuracy in attacking your opponent because you played around with your bitch