Through it all, Ziggy had kept a stranglehold on the arm holding the knife. As the guy dropped, Ziggy grabbed his wrist with both hands, spun around and snapped the arm downwards. There was a crack as the man’s elbow met Ziggy’s shoulder and was forced into bending in the wrong direction. The knife clattered to the ground. Within a flash, Ziggy was on him. Now the guy’s wrist was bent in another way again, locked in between Ziggy’s legs and twisted around and down in an ugly manner. Ziggy pulled the hand inward and upward, making the guy’s full weight all hang from the back of his wrist. He screamed.

Ziggy nodded and relaxed his grip. “Sit,” he growled. “And if you ever want to use this wrist again in your lifetime, do not move so much as an inch.”

The man just moaned, curling on himself, his free hand trying to reach down to his damaged balls. It was over. Holy cow.

Meanwhile, I felt cold and weird for some reason. My heart hammered inside my chest and my knees turned to water. From the violence, maybe? Whatever. I didn’t have time for this. I had to do something to help. Paparazzi over at the gates shouted out questions and pushed and strained to get the best shot, but we all just ignored them. The whole situation seemed surreal. Like something out of a bad movie.

“Mae,” said Ziggy, looking up at me from his weird position atop the stalker. He actually looked weirdly relaxed, like he could sit there all day like that. “You did good, figuring it out. It’s okay now. Situation’s under control. Can you hear me?”

“Ah. Y-yes.”

“I need you.”

“You do? All right. What do I do?”

“You have to make some phone calls, okay? Can you do that for me, please, while I keep an eye on this piece of shit?”

“Sure.” I set my handbag on the ground, kneeling beside it. So much stuff. But my cell was definitely in here somewhere. “Right.”

Ziggy scowled. He took one hand off the wrist lock he had the guy in, and wiped it on his jacket in annoyance. It was slick with blood. Dripping with it. No sooner had he wiped his fingers off than thick red streams of blood coursed back down it.

My jaw fell open. “You’re bleeding. He cut you.”

“First rule of a knife fight. Someone’s gonna bleed.” Resigning himself to the fact that the hand wasn’t going to miraculously stop with the blood, he raised the arm up and pinned it between his neck and shoulder. Compression and elevation, I guess. His gaze returned to the moaning man beneath him. “I’m fine. Find your cell. Knowing your bag, if you start looking now it should only take an hour or two.”