To Be Mugged, Or Not To Be

Editor’s Note: Combat Handguns pays $100 for each “It Happened…

Editor’s Note: Combat Handguns pays $100 for each “It Happened To Me!” letter that we print. Send yours to Combat Handguns, 1115 Broadway, New York, NY 10010. Attention: “It Happened To Me!” or e-mail to tactical-life@harris-pub.com

It was the spring of 2002, my at-the-time fiancee and I were enjoying a romantic evening at this little Greek restaurant in the downtown area. I was 22 years old and had only been carrying concealed for about a year. My father had carried concealed for as long as I could remember. I was raised around firearms, was taught firearms safety and to respect firearms as a valuable tool. That evening I was carrying my father’s 9mm Sig Sauer P225. My father had given me his P225 as a gift after I obtained my CCW permit. I had shot, cleaned and maintained the P225 ever since I was 9 years old and the handgun was so familiar to me it was as if it were an extension of my own hand.

When we had finished dinner, I told my fiancee that I would go get the car and bring it around so that she did not have to walk. I exited the restaurant and proceeded north towards my car that was located about two blocks away. Remembering my talks with my father about situational and environmental awareness I queued on to an obnoxious group of five individuals, 3 males and 2 females, walking in the same direction as myself, but on the other side of the street.

I had not gotten more then a third of a block when I noticed that that group fell silent. My father’s words of wisdom came to me “Trust your instincts, son,” so I looked back using the periphery of my vision to see where and what the group was up too. I took notice to one male (subject A) making a gesture to another male (subject B) and then discreetly pointing in my direction. Suddenly subject A ran towards my direction and behind me as subject B hastened his pace towards the next block in an apparent attempt to cut me off. I knew instantly what was about to go down as they attempted to box me in. I subtly began to put my right hand underneath my black suit jacket. I could feel the rubber grips on the tips of my fingers. Subject A was now two-thirds across the street and his companion about 25 feet ahead of me, but still on the other side of the street. I causally looked back at the grim-smiling subject A, his hands were stuffed deep into his low riding baggy jeans as he shuffled his way towards me. I understood that I was involved in a “disparity of force” situation. It was two against one and possibly five against one if the rest of the group got involved.

I prepared to make my stand. I started to blade myself to subject A’s position, my hand cupping the top of the P225. I honestly was not prepared to take a life, however I figured simply displaying my firearm may discourage a violent encounter. Subject A then stopped short of the curb he was less then 18 feet away when one of the girls in the group yelped “Pst, 5-0 let’s go.” in a quick sharp tone. To my utter surprise and relief our city’s finest had slowly rolled up at the intersection and stopped. I could see the officer peering curiously out of the cruiser’s window. Immediately, both subject A and B retreated back to the main group and started to walk briskly south in the opposite direction.

—MM, OR

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