Which story is better?
“Everyone was very dirty, and did every stupid Chinese joke. After the show we’re drinking in the lobby with Bobby W. ‘Rrrr, we were fucking great tonight. We fucking killed. …’
“A little man comes over and goes, ‘Aw, listen, you big mouth. You do your thing in that room, and that’s fine. You now in lobby. OK? Watch your language, big mouth. OK? Chinese people don’t like that stuff. OK? Show some respect!’
“Byron said, ‘OK, pal. Take it easy. Didn’t mean to offend anybody. Alright? OK, that’s better.’ They shake hands.
“I turn around, and Bobby goes, “Fucking Chinks!’
“The guy turned around, ‘You! You think you’re tough guy!’
“‘Take it easy, Small Fry!’ says Bobby.
“I said, ‘Oh, Bobby. Let’s get out of here.’
“‘Why? What are you afraid of?’
“I said, ‘Let’s get out of here.’ We walked to the car. then we hear, ‘Woo woo woo!’ And there’s fourteen of them with knives and cleavers, running at us. We got in the car, locked the door and took off. I literally wet my pants that night. They were banging on the roof of the car. It was very scary.”
A woman answered the door. “Oh hi. You came.”
“What’s the problem?”
“It’s my husband. He’s been drinking. He didn’t go to work this morning.”
I get her name, her age, the name of her husband. “Has he got any guns in the house?”
“No.”
“Knives of any sort? Swords?”
“No.”
“Where’s he at?”
She says, “Oh, take it easy on him. He obeys the law. It’s just when he’s drinking.”
“OK. Sounds good. You wait here.” Now I start walking down this long hallway. And as I’m walking down the hallway, my gun’s unsnapped, still in the holster. I see an alcove built into the wall. I remember looking into this room, then to the alcove. He’s standing there with a gun.
Mid-step it was, bonk! I said, “Oh, how you doing, man?” We are within a foot or two of each other. I remember looking at him and thinking, “Oh fuck!” Everything is slowed down. I remember looking at the gun barrel, thinking, I don’t know how he’s able to hold that with one hand. That’s a huge gun. The bullet is going to smash me. I felt every breath I took I could feel every molecule of air. I started to perspire. It felt like every drop was an ice cube.
I said, “Man, why don’t you put the gun down. You haven’t got problems now. Why don’t you just put the gun down?”
He said, “Fuck you! I’ll kill you and her.”
“Oh boy,” I says. “Buddy, you don’t want to do that. Put the gun down, and let’s end it right here. Because if you don’t, you’re going to die.”
He says, “I’ll kill you!”
Suddenly the gun went down in size and I remember calculating, “That’s a .22 or a .25. If he doesn’t get me in the head, it’s going to take some time for me to die. Well, I’ll be able to kill him because I carry a .38 special.” My gun was half way up, still in the holster.
I says, “I’ll tell you what buddy. You’ve got your chance. Put it down, because I’m going to count to four. When I reach four, you may as well goddam shoot, because I drawing and I’m killing you. I’m not going to die right way. OK? One… .”
And he put the gun down. I was going to draw on two.
He goes, “Aw fuck!” All I remember is his arm reaching all the way to the floor. He must have bent over, but I didn’t notice.
“OK,” I says, “let’s grab the wall.” I put the gun in the waste can, handcuffed him.
The wife said, “Oh, my god! I didn’t know he had that!”