I didn’t give him an answer in words.

I caught his right wrist in a short escort hold, turned my left hip into his center of balance, and levered his forearm upward into an arm lock.

Bradley gasped as his feet slid on the runner rug, and his heavy fountain pen slipped out of his fingers and went bouncing across the floorboards.

I steered his weight forward in one quick, controlled arc and held his chest and cheek flat against the mahogany defense table.

A thick pile of white legal briefs in blue covers skidded three feet across the polished wood, scattering yellow legal pads and brass paper clips into the aisle.