Predator Cold War 8

The man turned over in Schaefer's grip, though, and locked his hands around the detective's throat.

"Die, motherfucker!" he said. He squeezed.
Those shoulders weren't just for looks, Schaefer realized.

"Potty-mouth," he grunted, forcing the words out in a harsh whisper. "And speaking of pots..." He picked up a heavy-duty frying pan from the store's scattered stock and slammed it down on his opponent's head. The grip on his neck suddenly loosened.

"Take a look," Schaefer said as he pulled free. He held the pan. "Drugs," he said. Then he slammed it down on the other man's head again, just to be sure. "That's drugs on your brain. Your brain on drugs. Whatever."

He climbed to his feet, tossed the pan aside, then asked his unconscious foe,

"Any questions?"-pg.320 chpt.9