journeyjjbluebelt

As we worked on a gun disarming technique where an attacker pressed a gun into the abdomen of the victim, I had a flash back. I remembered having a gun thrusted into my gut. It wasn’t a robbery but a case of mistaken identity. I didn’t know any Jiu Jitsu back then.

Back in 1998, I was living at Morton Towers on Miami Beach, Florida. I like 50% of everyone here was from somewhere else. I was escaping from bad winters. I made a friend at work that lived in the building. On the weekends and after business hours, he was working towards getting his private detective license. To get the hours he needed, he was given Private Investigation work of medical disability fraud. He said that the work was in Homestead, which was far from Miami Beach., in poor neighborhoods. He had to get video of the person doing work or play that their disability would not be able to do, like mowing the lawn or working out at a gym. He would have to sit in his car with tinted window with a video camera that could get video from a far distance. At his day job at lunch time, he said that it was a dangerous work.

After work as I drove to my parking spot at Morton Towers, I noticed his car was parked there. On occasion, I would drop by his apartment for a drink.  There were a few things I liked about his place. He lived on the 12th floor, a spectacular view of Bay, fully stocked bar, and cable television with every channel. I was barely surviving on my pay and it was a stressful job. I hadn’t know him very long. It was relaxing and fun to have a few drinks, watch tv, talk, and order a pizza. So, being bored at home, I headed to the elevators to drop in on my neighbor, unannounced.    

As I stood in front of the door to his apartment, I knocked on the door. I was absolutely clueless for what was about to happen. I waited a minute, then the door opened. I felt a cold metal object pressed deep into my stomach. It all happened in a second. I looked down. There was a gun barrel pushed into my gut. I looked up. I was shocked. It was my friend from work. He looked crazy. Unshaven. rapid breathing. His eyes were dilated, blinking fast. I thought he may have been on something.  It took a second to realize what was going on. I slowly raised my hands. I calmly spoke, ” It’s me. Your friend from work. Don’t shoot me. Your friend, I live on the fourth floor! ” Without removing the gun from my gut, he looked past me down the corridor. He then removed the gun and said to come in. He then said that his cover was blown. He was discovered while filming and that he was shot at. He looked nervous and scared. He thought that he was followed home. He was telling me this as we walked to the living room. He dropped the gun on the coffee table and that was when a bullet fell out of the chamber. At that point, I realized how close I was to being shot.

From the floor, I picked up the bullet and sat on the couch. Until five minutes earlier, I hadn’t ever seen a real hand gun.  I didn’t know anything about bullets but the bullet on floor didn’t look like a normal bullet. I asked him what kind of bullet was this?  He said it was a special bullet. He called the bullet a cop killer bullet. I thought that was an illegal bullet.  This bullet was meant for a body shot. Once it entered the body, it would bounce around inside the rib cage causing more damage. 

The way we were practicing the technique was different from reality. The gun was aggressively thrusted into my abdomen, almost pinned in place.  With distracting talk, it would give a chance to execute the technique. Could I slap the hand away before he pulled the trigger?