So I stopped, sniffed the air ostentatiously, then turned around.
It was him.
Black hair, pudgy face, and a gut under his expensive black suit.
“IthoughtI smelled a cigarette,” I said cheerfully. “Hey, man, could I bum one of those off you?”
“Get lost, asshole,” he growled.
“Aw, come on, don’t be like that. I quit yesterday, but GodDAMN,I could use a smoke.”
Maurizio pulled back his jacket so I could see the gun in his shoulder harness, obviously meant to intimidate me. “I saidget LOST, you piece of shit.”
“Okay, okay, sorry,” I said, acting frightened –
Right before I dropped my jacket and lunged at him.
His eyes widened comically.
About the time he realized he should probably pull his gun, I swung the bottom of my Glock’s handle down into his face, breaking his nose.
He howled in pain, and his cigarette fell out of his open mouth.
I knew he was seeing stars right about now, if he was seeing anything at all.
He’d drawn his gun, but it was barely out of its holster.
I reached down, grabbed the gun with my left hand, and twistedhard.
I made sure the barrel was pointed away from me so that if it went off, it wouldn’t hit me.
The gun didn’t fire –
But Maurizio’s finger was caught in the trigger guard.
Snap!
He screamed in agony.
I ripped the gun out of his hand, stripping the skin off his finger, and tossed it out of reach.
Then I shoved him backwards onto the ground –
And kicked him in the ribs as hard as I could.
Crack!
He shrieked and tried to scramble away.
Tried,that is.
I followed him, kicking his side again and again, driving him deeper into the alleyway –
Until I was sure the shadows hid us.
Then I stood over him and pointed my gun at his face.
His mouth and chin were covered with blood from his gushing nose.
