Shooting at the UNO Grill

This story is partly autobiographical. I'll let you guess which parts.

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"That was a good pizza," said Linda. "Do you feel like desert?" I shook my head. "Nope. Let's hit the store, pick up some Lotto tickets and go home." "OK, but I have to use the restroom. I'll meet you out front."

I signed the check and walked out the front door of the UNO restaurant in Viera, Florida. As I stood outside, I noticed a crappy looking car parked at the west end of the lot. It seemed like a funny place to park. There were plenty of closer spaces. Maybe it was an employee's car, but there were no other cars near it. Then I saw the two guys in the front seat. They were looking my way. The driver pointed at me. He started the car and a puff of brown smoke came out of the tailpipe. My alert level rose a notch or two.

A minute later, Linda came out and we started toward our car. "Keep an eye on those guys in the Buick over there," I said. "They seemed to react when they saw me."

She nodded and looked around as we kept walking.

I had the keys in my left hand and hit the unlock button on the remote. The Buick started to move in our direction. I opened the passenger door and stepped away from the car. Linda and I both turned as the Buick pulled up behind us.

The passenger door opened and a short, skinny guy in a basketball jersey and jeans jumped out with a large folding knife in his hand.. "Gimme your ...," he yelled. That was as far as he got.

Linda was a quarter second quicker on the draw than I was, a fact that was totally lost on the mugger. He was hit with four high-velocity 9mm hollowpoints in the "magic triangle" formed by his nipples and Adams apple. He took a stumbling step to the right and went down hard, smacking his face into the blacktop. He kicked a few times and lay still.

The driver froze, looking at us with an astonished expression that would have been funny under other circumstances. Then his head snapped around and he floored the gas, made a sharp right and nearly hit a minivan as he slid into the street, heading west. I got the license number.

Linda and I checked for other attackers and, seeing no one in the parking lot at all, we holstered our guns. I pulled out my cell phone and punched 911.

"911, what is your emergency?" I was taking deep breaths and remembered to speak slowly and keep my voice low.

"I need to report a shooting," I said.

"Please hold." I heard a beep or two and another female voice came on.

"Sheriff's Department dispatch, what is your emergency?" "I need to report a shooting," I said again.

"What is your location?" she asked.

"I'm in the parking lot of the Uno Grill on North Wickham, just east of the Interstate." I could hear rapid typing in the background.

"Is anyone injured?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm pretty sure the mugger's dead." More typing.

"I have deputies and paramedics on the way. Please stay on the line and wait where you are."

"Roger, dispatch, please inform responding officers that the intended victims are a couple in their mid 60s. I'm a white male, 5'10", 160 lbs with gray hair, wearing a blue Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts." I paused to let her typing catch up with my monologue. "My wife is a white female, 5'3", 100 lbs with dark hair, wearing a red top and black shorts."

It's always a good idea to make sure the cops can identify the good guys when they get to the scene.

"Also, the mugger's partner left in a mid-90s maroon Buick four-door." I gave her the plate number. "He was last seen turning onto I-95 North."

"Thank you, sir; I've passed that information along."

We could hear sirens and a few seconds later emergency vehicles arrived. Fire station 47 was less than a half-mile away. Two paramedics jumped out. One trotted over to us and the other opened a panel in the side of the truck and pulled out a large case. The first guy had the look of a serious iron-pumper. "Are you two OK?" I put my arm around Linda. "We're fine. Can't say the same for him."

The mugger's shirt had a fair-sized red stain on the back. I hoped the back windows had been up on the Buick. There was nothing except 200 yards of empty sidewalk in the direction we were shooting. I doubted any of our bullets that made it through the mugger would have retained enough velocity to break two car windows, but we certainly didn't want anyone hurt by stray bullets.

More sirens, getting louder. I got out my wallet and extracted my driver's license, my retired-military ID and my concealed weapon permit. Linda opened her purse and got her IDs. Our hands were shaking. Between the two of us, we were packing enough adrenaline to launch a Space Shuttle.

The first paramedic checked for a pulse. He didn't find one. They were going through their routine when the first deputy rolled up. When he got out of his car, Linda and I breathed sighs of relief.

"Hey, Tommy," I said.

"Jack, Linda? What the hell happened?"

"Attempted armed robbery. This guy and his partner, the driver, tried to take us." I gestured at the dead man. "He pulled a knife and threatened us. Fearing for our lives, we defended ourselves."

"OK, good. You folks just keep telling that story and you won't have any trouble." Tommy shook his head. "Man, of all the couples in this county to pick for a mugging, he had to go after you two. Talk about a critical failure of the victim-selection process!" I handed him our IDs. He shuffled through them and smiled.

The paramedics were packing their equipment. "Nothing we can do for this guy, Deputy," said the big one. "CPR's a waste of time. From the looks of things, his heart and aorta are shredded. He probably died on his way to the ground. We'll pull the bus over there and wait for you to finish."

Another car came up and parked. The Sheriff got out and walked over. "What's the situation, Deputy?"

Tommy handed our IDs to the sheriff. "Jack and Linda are friends of mine. We've shot on the same squads in USPSA and IDPA matches at the Malabar, Titusville and Orlando ranges. They're both Master-class shooters." He pointed to the IDs. "Jack's a retired Lieutenant Colonel. They both have carry permits." He cocked his head toward the dead man. "This moron pulled a knife on them and paid the price."

The Sheriff looked at us. "Are you two still armed?" We nodded. He raised an eyebrow at Tommy and his expression said, "Are you abso-fucking-lutely sure about this?"

Tommy smiled. "These folks are what the concealed carry law is all about. They're good people. I trust them."

"OK," said the sheriff. He turned back to us. "If you'll just stand over there in the shade 'till we're through, I'd appreciate it."

The Crime Scene van arrived and we stood out of the way, talking quietly and holding each other, while the techs marked our empty cases, took pictures and video and collected what little evidence there was. Under the sheriff's direction, they got at least a dozen pics of the knife, lying 6" from the mugger's hand.

Outside the restaurant, a crowd had gathered. I could see people taking pictures and video with their phones. At least no TV news trucks had shown up. When we got home, I'd have to remember to put a "No Comment, No Trespassing" sign on the screen door and lock it. We had no intention of granting interviews.

Tommy and the sheriff walked over. "We got the driver," said Tommy . "Seventeen year old kid, driving his mom's car. We ran the plate, got the address and beat him home." Tommy grinned and shook his head. "He actually pulled into the driveway with deputies standing in the yard. Tried to tell them he was out, just driving around. I guess he didn't notice the bullet holes in the back window, not to mention the blood splatter."

"On a more serious note, the guy you shot was the 28 year old cousin of the driver. He had a long record. Just got out of Starke on an armed robbery conviction. Big suprise there. Career criminal. Never had a real job in his life."

We watched the EMTs load the dead mugger into the ambulance. There was a large pool of blood on the pavement. I wondered who would clean that up.

The sheriff handed our IDs to us. "I've got considerable discretion in these matters. As far as I'm concerned, this was a straight-up self defense shooting and that's how it'll be documented. The DA will want your statements, but we won't worry about that tonight. We've got a ton of physical evidence. He'll want you for a lineup if the kid doesn't confess right away. We can charge him as an adult with felony murder and he'll probably plead to manslaughter. He'll get ten years and do maybe three. If we need you, we know where to find you."

"And, as I'm sure you know," he continued, "under Florida law, you can't be charged with anything in connection with this incident. And the family can't bring a BS 'wrongful death' suit against you. You're in the clear."

He shook our hands. "Sorry this had to happen to you, but you couldn't have done anything else. Those two came here to commit armed robbery and figured an older couple would be an easy target. If they'd attacked anyone else, I might be investigating a double murder right now."

He handed me his card. "If there's anything you need or anything I can do for you, give me a call." He turned and walked to his car.

Tommy shook our hands. "Same goes for me. Go home, decompress, have a drink or nine. You already know what to expect. You probably won't sleep too well for a while. If you want counseling, we can recommend someone. Will you be at the match on Sunday?"

Linda smiled at him. "Sure, we were planning on it. We won't let this stop us." She hugged Tommy. "Thanks for your help on this. The fact that you didn't disarm us and the Sheriff backed you up made us feel a lot better."

"No problem. You take it easy now." He stepped around the blood and got into his car. I opened the car door for Linda and she got in.

As we drove away, Linda took my hand. "Let's forget the store and the Lotto tickets. I just want to go home, take a shower and have a drink."

"Me too. I was thinking about red wine with rum in it. Lots of rum."

She smiled. "We'll clean the guns in the morning."