Normally I would have put a .45 automatic pistol in the waistband of my jeans, but I had allowed an associate, Johnny, to borrow it a few days earlier and, strangely, I hadn’t heard anything from him despite me having left messages for him around town. Instead, I slipped a 2-shot .38 derringer in my back pocket for protection.
As Claudette & I left the apartment and I turned to lock the gate behind me I, briefly, noted a man sitting out by the pool that I hadn’t seen before. Not that I knew everyone in that area of the complex but most of the people there were, like me, from out-of-state and weren’t in the habit of dressing like the “local yokels” of Houston, Texas with their cowboy hats & boots, checkered shirts, tight fitting jeans & big silver belt buckles – this guy fit the “cowboy” profile to a t. I just figured he was a friend of someone in the complex and didn´t think any more about him.
As we were walking through the breezeway to the parking lot I heard the steps of someone running up behind us but before I could turn around to check who it was I was grabbed by my left arm, pushed against the wall & saw something silver flash in front of my face while I heard, “Hold it Williams! Move mother fucker and you’re a dead man!” being screamed in my face by that same “cowboy” I had noticed by the pool.
My mind flashed back to a few months earlier, when I had first arrived in Houston and another man – one dressed in a sport jacket & casual type slacks, had screamed similar words at me in his attempt to rob me. I had fought my way out of that situation (the .45 that I had begun carrying was one I had taken from him!) and I was just as determined to fight my way out of this one.
My eyes locked on to the silver object that was only inches from my face; a 9mm automatic pistol, and as I dropped the key fob/I.D. holder that I had in my right hand while telling this “cowboy”, “I ain´t got nothing with me!” I immediately reached up with my right hand, grabbed the barrel of the gun & twisted it away from my face as I also reached out with my left hand, grabbed some of the collar of his shirt & attempted to pull him closer to me. We soon ended up on the ground, both of us trying to get control of the 9mm, but neither of us could get a clear advantage – I had youth (being only 22 years old!) & fear on my side, but he had size (he was about 6’1’’ & 215 lbs. compared to my 5’11’’ & 180 lbs.) & fear – so I told Claudette to “go get help!” at which point she ran off into the apartment complex.
I found myself on the bottom of this guy when I heard a voice say, “What’s going on down there?” Before I could say anything the “cowboy” said, “Go call the police; this guy is trying to shoot me!”. It seemed a good way to get any potential “witness” against him out of the way and it made all the more determined to truly shoot him before he could shoot me.
Somehow I was able to fight my way on top of him; giving up on the idea of gaining control of the 9mm, I satisfied myself by just pinning the gun down on the sidewalk so that he couldn’t use it, reached into my back packet & I came out with the .38. I cocked it behind my back, but as I brought it around in order to shoot him in the lower half (it wasn’t my intention to kill him but to just hurt him enough to end the fight!) he managed to reach out and grab it just as I pulled the trigger stopping the hammer from hitting so it didn’t fire. I pulled my hand behind my back, recocked it and started to bring it around the second time when the guy released his hold on the 9mm so he could reach up with both hands to grab me around the neck & used his legs to lever me over his head. Releasing my hold on the 9mm as I felt myself go airborne, I used that hand to cushion the blow of hitting the sidewalk and protect my right hand still clutching the cocked derringer. I went into a roll on the sidewalk before spinning around with the .38 and seeing him standing over the 9mm. I couldn’t tell if he was just getting up from the ground with his arm hanging down or if he was reaching for the 9mm but I took no chances and pulled the trigger. The shot was deafening in the enclosed space of the complex breezeway but I barely noticed as I quickly recocked and shot again. Without any noticeable sign of having been hit by either shot (I was about seven feet away and derringers are not known for being accurate) he turned away from me and took off running into the parking lot.
It should be noted that it´s taken much longer for you to read about this confrontation then it took in real life. From the moment he first grabbed my arm to the moment when he ran into the parking lot took less than two minutes; no time to think – only to act!
At this point I reached down to pick up my eyeglasses, which had fell off during the fight, and as I put them on I saw the 9mm, an object I mistook for an extra clip of ammo (which turned out to be a pager!) and some sort of black leather piece on the ground that I turned over to see what it was; it was a badge! Even at seeing this badge I didn’t believe that the “cowboy” could really have been a policeman – he had never identified himself as a policeman, he sure didn’t look like any policeman nor had he acted like a policeman (especially when that voice had called out, “What’s going on down there?” and he had replied, “Go call the police; this guy is trying to shoot me!” Rather than saying, “Go call the police & tell them that an officer needs assistance!” or something like that to let the guy know he was a policeman!). It’s not unusual for someone to claim to be “police” – a badge could be bought for less than $ 20 in various “novelty shops” – in order to rob someone and nobody knew that better than I did, because the guy I took the .45 pistol from had tried to represent himself as F.B.I. while flashing some fake I.D. when he attempted to rob me.
