Death of the Ayn Rand Scholar Gray Cavender (motivational novels for students .TXT) 📖

some stuff. According to her calculations—OK maybe that was too strong of a word, but this certainly was more than a hunch—the next robbery would occur on Friday night, and at one of three locations.

Again, what to do? Unlike Ersula Tenney, Jillian was not a ‘thrill of the chase’ kind of person. She was mad, though, about how Sgt. Gruber had dissed her and the team, and that he’d called her ‘girlie.’ Still, she didn’t see her next move as a ‘stake-out’ so much as that she was just going to a movie.

One of the three locations on her predicted ‘hit list’ was in a strip mall that also contained a second-run movie theatre. The mall was in a quiet middle-class neighborhood—part residential, part commercial—in south Tempe. Jillian checked the movie times on line and decided to go to a 9:00 movie…tomorrow was Saturday, so what the hey? She’d sit in her car till time for the movie and if nothing happened, then this was just data collection. But, if something did happen, if her predictions were validated, she’d call 9-11...no harm, no foul. Sure, she parked her car at 8:15pm and closer to the possible location than to the theater. The parking spaces were parallel to the mall, and Jillian was in the first row nearest the mall so her view out the driver’s side window was unobstructed…maybe 40 yards away.

Her prediction was correct, and she either was lucky or unlucky…depending on how you looked at it, because he chose the location across from where she sat in her car. At about 8:40pm, Clay Neely appeared. He immediately caught Jillian’s attention because, as he approached the door to the store, he looked around furtively, but his looks were left to right, and not the 40 yards or so behind him to the parking lot where Jillian watched from her car.

As Neely entered the shop, in quick, successive motions he pulled a ski mask over his head and drew a pistol. He immediately brandished it in a threatening manner to the clerk, whose hands went up, either automatically or because Neely ordered it. The clerk then lowered his hands, opened the cash drawer and took out a wad of cash. He handed the money to Neely and then disappeared behind the counter…she figured Neely had ordered him down to the floor.

Neely turned and headed for the front door. As he exited the shop, he first tucked the pistol back into his belt…behind his back so that it wasn’t visible. He was removing the ski mask when he spotted Jillian, now standing about 10 yards away…directly in front of him.

Jillian hadn’t consciously left her car…everything had just happened so fast (twenty seconds at most), too fast to think, much less call 9-11, and the robber was threatening the clerk…and she literally found herself facing Clay Neely, as much to her surprise as to his. He was fairly big—five eight and 180 pounds. For some reason…maybe because his gun was in his rear waist-band, instead of reaching for it, he charged her.

Jillian didn’t think. She became very still, physically and mentally, like you’re supposed to, like she’d practiced repeatedly in class. She employed the ogoshi move…the hip throw. When Neely was almost on her, with her left arm she grabbed under his right forearm getting more sleeve than flesh, like you’re supposed to, shifted her right arm to his rear waist, and, lifted him onto and over her right rear hip, and threw him to the ground…all in one fluid motion, and generated by his own momentum. In class, students are taught how to fall so that they are not injured when thrown. Not so with Neely; he landed hard on his back and hip with a loud oomph.

Jillian hoped he’d stay down, but he didn’t. Neely looked up at her and said, “Fucking bitch…I’ll kill you.” He started to rise and, at the same time, remove the gun from his rear waistband. These movements were awkward, and he was also addled from the throw and the jarring landing. As he stood but before he could fully regain his balance or level the gun, Jillian grabbed Neely’s right arm with her left hand—again, more sleeve than flesh—and jerked him even more off balance. As her right arm grasped the back of his neck, she angled her body slightly backward, lifting her right leg back and up and between both of his legs all the way to his rear. He was off balance from the jerk, and she used both hands and her right leg to throw him even more off kilter, and to leverage another over-the-hip throw—uchi mata, inner thigh throw—this one maybe even harder than the first throw, driving him to the sidewalk. As a part of her follow-through with her right arm, Jillian grabbed the now loosely held gun with her right hand. This time he didn’t arise, either because of the force of his fall or because she had a gun pointed at him. Jillian had never held a gun before and didn’t like pointing it at Clay Neely…but, she did.

With her left hand, Jillian took her cell phone from her back pocket and dialed 9-11. She did it quickly, trying not to take her eyes from Neely. Mostly, he laid there, groaning.

Jillian lucked-out…she knew the 9-11 operator: Charnell Tate. She and Charnell had started with Tempe PD at the same time and had been in several orientation/personnel sessions together. Charnell had a serious New York City accent, so Jillian recognized her immediately, identified herself, and said that she needed help. After she’d briefly described what had happened, Charnell said, “OMG, what are you doing, Jillian? Law & Order is off the air now…you’re supposed to be over at your office thinking ‘bout crime data. Hold a sec,” and there was dead air.

Then, she was back. ”OK, I got Officer Terrell Benn dispatched over to you. I told him you were PD and that you’ve drawn down on a