“Your Chiefs Special Ace in the Hole”

My first submission to COMBAT HANDGUNS was the only time I made the cover.

“It Happened to Me

A Coked-up Biker with a Knife

Your Chiefs Special Ace in the Hole”

(Harry Kane wrote all of this lurid stuff)


This happened in ’75 or ’76, when I was a valet parking attendant at a very nice prime rib dinner house in the Naples section of Long Beach, California.  Sometimes I had 3 Ferraris, a ’57 Mercedes 300 SL roadster, a fire-engine-red Rolls Royce, and a ’73 Lamborghini ESPADA in my lot, all at the same time.  I started packing a gun, in January, 1972, when some asshole tried to stab me in the belly with a 6″ hunting knife.  It was a Smith & Wesson Model 60, Stainless Steel Chiefs Special, loaded with 125 grain jacketed soft point .38 Special +Ps.  I had it in an IWB holster, at the 12 o’clock position, pointing at my “junk.”  I was 100% legal, as a person, in California, doesn’t need a permit, if you’re carrying it on your  Business Property.  I practiced pulling that baby thousands of times, and could draw, aim, and fire it in about 1/4 of a second.

One beautiful summer evening, 3 yuppie bikers, now known as RUBS, or Rich Urban Bikers, rolled in on their Harleys.  They were riding around in circles, in the middle of my lot, and I walked up to them and politely told them they couldn’t park in the lot.  One of them said, “What the fuck do you mean, I can’t park here, I live in Belmont Shore.”  That’s when I said, “I don’t give a fuck if you live at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, in the White House, get the fuck out of my parking lot.”  They left and I thought the incident was over. About 2 minutes later, the smart-ass one returned with 6 friends, who had been in cars. There were 3 guys and 3 women, and I’m talking nurses, school teachers, and stock brokers, the usual yuppie scum.  The 6 friends remained on the sidewalk, while shit-for-brains stood a couple of feet inside my lot.  When he was still on his bike, I saw that he had a Buck 110 on his belt.  He started speaking to me thusly, I’m going to take my knife (helpfully pointing his finger at the sheath), and carve my initials in your fucking forehead.  Then, I’m going to cut your fucking heart out, and stomp it in the fucking ground.”  About 1 second later, I had worked out what I was going to do, if he did 3 things;   1.  take the knife out of the sheath.  2. Open the blade.  3.  Take one step towards me.  3b.  I blow his fucking brains out.  He took the knife out of the sheath and partially opened the blade.  Meanwhile, his friends were saying, “Come on, Kevin, let’s go get a beer,” and touching him on the arm or shoulder.  He screamed, “Leave me alone, don’t touch me, I’m going to kill this motherfucker.”  He said that about 3 times.  Meanwhile, I’m standing there, with a smile on my face, in a state of Zen meditation, I was so calm.  Just before he completely opened the blade, 2 or 3 of his friends grabbed him and dragged him out of my lot.  What a dumb motherfucker that guy was.  Either I’m the dumbest person on earth, or I know something that might be of interest to him.  I had not said a single word to him or his friends, because anything I might say could be twisted by his friends, if I had to shoot the goof.  The asshole never understood how close he came to seeing the ‘promised land.’



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