He pulled harder, trying to jerk me off balance. I picked up my right foot again, angling the heel down as hard as I could into his shin. I felt the heel scrape against bone.

This time it hurt him. He said, “Fuck goddamnit,” and nearly let go of me.

I managed to wrench my right hand free and rummaged wildly in my purse for a little can of mace I keep with me.

“Why are you following me? What’s in there?” he asked, shaking me and grabbing for the purse.

“You followed me first! Want me to scream?” My arm burned where he was holding it, and I tried again to pull away from him. I thought by this time some of the people in the houses would come out to see what was happening. The porch light went off at the house we were standing in front of.

“Tell me why you’re following me,” he repeated, shaking me harder, his nails starting to dig into me.

“No! You tell me.” I had to keep the purse away from him and twisted to try to keep it out of his grasp.

“You know where Cathy is.” He tried to slap me, but I was twisting away from him and the blow hit me in the shoulder.

I bent forward suddenly, then back, throwing my right shoulder against him as hard as I could. I felt a surge of power like I feel when I’m lifting weights. He stumbled sideways as I pulled away from his arms. I fought for the purse. In the bottom of it I felt the can of mace and got my hand around it. He stuck a foot between my legs, and I fell on top of him. I was straddling him awkwardly, my skirt hiked up.

With a quick motion he tried to rise up and grab for my throat to pull me down. He smelled like garlic.

“I got mace!” I squirted the air to the side of his face. Acid fumes exploded.

Clutching his face, he let go of me. “I can’t see!” he cried.

“Why’d you follow me?”

He coughed and couldn’t stop. I felt him shaking under me.

“I’ll spray you good unless you answer my questions. Now, you going to talk, or you want to go blind?” I jiggled the can in my hand. It sounded like it had ball bearings in it.

“Been looking for Cathy... saw you comin’ outta her... could find her if I followed you....”

I’d gotten the mace illegally, without taking the special three-hour training program. “You’re Pete Manzo, right?”

“How’d you know?” he sputtered.

“I’m psychic.”

“Why do you want to know about Cathy?” He had stopped thrashing around, but he kept grinding his fists into his eyes and was still breathing with difficulty.