Josh makes a low noise of frustration as Big Red--and yes, that's apparently what his brain's decided to call the man, which is at least better than Red Hot, which had been in contention--shoves his arm down and away, foiling his attempt to get the gun. Which leaves him with nothing but his Swiss Army knife and a body that's still not cooperating as he gasps for breath. It's frustrating, if it had just been pain he could have muscled through, but he is legitimately just short of crippled still and he can't even get the angle and leverage required to take the guy's legs out from under him... which might be just as well, given Fat Sleezebag's bodyguards would probably curb stomp him the second he hit the floor.

Still, he's got to do something, and he shifts his grip on the little knife now that he's at least sure he won't drop it in the process, and prepares to bury what little length he has in Big Red's kidney. It won't be enough to kill the guy, but it'll sure as hell shut him down for the foreseeable future, so he tightens his grip around the guy's waist and--drops the knife with another grunt of pain, legs almost giving out under him as a meaty fist makes solid contact with his left kidney.

There's a reason he'd been aiming his own attack for the kidney, and so much for being able to power through pain. Kidney shots are a bitch and a half, and his vision's swimming as he tries to recover from both that and the shot to the solar plexus. "Fuck... you," he manages to gasp, and tries to keep his hold on Big Red's waist while reaching with his free hand for about the only attack he thinks he has the strength and coordination to manage. Under the circumstances he's not going to hesitate for even a fraction of a second about going for the bastards balls, though he can't put anywhere near the power behind the punch as he normally would.