True-Life Adventure

yelled, “EEEEEEEyah!”
    Instantly Joe quit dialing. I was beginning to think there was something to this genetic superiority after all.
    But then Joe stood up, bent his knees, and arranged his arms in a karate pose that didn’t look ersatz worth a damn.
    I backed up a step and he came forward one. I figured backing up was very poor policy if I was planning to instill fear in this runt, but going forward seemed an even worse idea. Joe moved his arms in an entirely menacing manner while I tried to think what to do next.
    And then the door opened very suddenly indeed. The first librarian, still clutching the file, came through as if pursued by killer bees. Booker came through right after him.
    They ran between Joe and me and I started chasing them, hoping Joe would forget about the phone in the thrill of the moment. He did. It was probably the triumph of his life, terrifying a man-mountain such as myself. He joined the parade, hollering a bunch of karate-sounding stuff.
    For the moment I wasn’t being torn limb from limb by some kid half my size, nor was I being reported to the authorities, so I should have been happy. But it occurred to me there was something wrong with this picture— how was I ever going to get the file and get out of there if I was being chased? I pondered the problem as I ran down one row of stacks and up the next. Something had to break soon.
    It did, of course. The first librarian and Booker got so far ahead that they were in a separate row when the librarian banged into one of the stacks and knocked it over backward— right onto my Atlas-like shoulders. If it had been full of books I’d have been buried alive. But manila folders were nothing much. Most of them slid onto the floor and the ones that were left were nothing I couldn’t handle, but I couldn’t seem to get the thing righted. So there I was with a bookcase on my back. Being smaller, Joe escaped scot-free from the avalanche, but was he grateful that I’d probably saved his life by taking the blow? Hah! He punched me in the stomach.
    Then there was an awful crash from the next row over, an oof noise and a beleaguered, librarian-sounding squeal. I figured Booker had finally caught the other guy. So did Joe. He landed another one in my stomach, then squeezed past me, to lend his expertise in the martial arts.
    I had to get the damn bookcase off my back; there were no two ways about it. I gave a mighty heave, backward. It worked. Unfortunately, I underestimated my heaving ability.
    The bookcase went as far as it could, crashing into the next bookcase and starting a chain reaction that brought down the next three stacks as well. Booker and the librarians were buried alive.
    But fortunately they were buried under only one bookcase, and an empty one at that. All I had to do was pick it up and they’d be rescued.
    “Partner,” I said (not wanting to use Booker’s name), “you okay?”
    “I’ve got him,” said Booker.
    “How about you, Joe?”
    No answer.
    “Okay, Joe, listen. I’ve got a gun. I’m going to hold it in my hand while I lift the bookcase. It’s going to be kind of awkward, and if I’m not careful, the gun might go off and you never know who might get hurt. So I’m not going to need any distractions, okay?”
    No answer. I figured I hadn’t fooled Joe for a second. But I couldn’t stand there all night with Booker buried under the bookcase. I lifted it off.
    And sure enough, Joe lunged the instant he was free. I turned to face him— God, he was coming right at me— and not knowing what else to do, I ducked.
    Since I didn’t know karate and had no idea what Joe was up to, I couldn’t have predicted the result and I’m still not sure exactly how it happened. But I think Joe simply zigged where I expected him to zag and that’s how my head, coming down fast and scared, happened to catch him full in the chest and knock the wind out of him. Maybe he didn’t really know karate after all.
    Anyway, now I had committed assault, whether I meant to or not. I didn’t know much about assault etiquette, so I had to make do with a combination of common decency and tough-guyness— meaning I asked him if he was all right and helped him get up, just like anyone would, only I had to hold both his wrists while doing it, to make sure he didn’t try something fancy.
    Booker was holding the other guy’s wrists behind his back. “Where’s the file?” I said.
    “I’ve got it. I mean, I think I can find it. Skinny