Lucky tracked after his prey, heart pounding, a man on a mission. Laughter pealed out from somewhere ahead. They thought shooting Lucky’s partner funny, did they?
He’d show them.
He checked his watch. Ten more minutes and this whole thing would end. Easy to take out two armed suspects before then.
No problem. Though, if they’d put Bo out of the fight, he might have underestimated their cunning.
People underestimated him all the time. He’d not make the same mistake.
Obstacles appeared, hay bales and boxes to hide behind. His small stature let him get into and out of tight places—once upon a time when he’d been more limber.
Now, the force of running and jumping for the last twenty minutes caught up with him. When had he gotten so out of shape? Starting now, he’d run more, go to the gym more…
Lucky yanked his attention back to the job. Jesus, was his mind beginning to fade as he aged?
Soft scuffling sounded from behind. Lucky whirled and squeezed off a round. Nothing but a hat, lying on the floor. A decoy.
Footsteps came from the other direction. Lucky spun. A young man stood there, grinning, gun pointed at Lucky.
“You are so dead,” Lucky snarled.
The guy grinned wider. “And so are you.”
Two shots rang out.
Red and pain bloomed across Lucky’s chest.
The gunman grinned and high-fived his accomplice, oblivious to the huge blue splotch dead center of the oversized Aerosmith T-shirt he’d borrowed from Uncle Lucky.
“You owe us pizza,” Todd crowed, in a voice far too deep to belong to a kid who hadn’t matured past age five in Lucky’s memories.
Yeah, he’d shown his back to the enemy. How much deader could he get?
“Good game,” Bo said, joining in the high-fiving. Hanging out with two teenagers added to the illusion of him being younger than his years. While Lucky came across as the older uncle that he was, Bo somehow managed to be the really cool cousin.
The one who’d suggested killing a few hours playing paintball.
Paintball. Bah!
They exited the room, handed the guns to the attendant, and trudged over to where Loretta (my friends call me Rett) Johnson stood in her six-foot-plus glory in an immaculate white T-shirt, shorts, and tennis shoes, slurping a drink through a straw.
A heart-shaped pendant dangled between her breasts, a gaudy thing, totally unlike her. Oh well, no one ever accused him of understanding women’s tastes in jewelry.
Her son peeked out from behind her. Lucky trudged, the three “kids” with him darted ahead.
“We kicked his a…” At a quelling glare from Johnson, Todd managed a quick save with, “…butt.”
“Mama says ass when she thinks we can’t hear her. Why can’t we?” Ty challenged, glaring at his brother.
“That boy is entirely too much like you,” Bo groused, sidling up next to Lucky.
Ty quit laughing and glared. Teenagers. How many moods could he go through in five minutes’ time? “I’m nothing like him!” he spat.
Bo, Lucky, Rett, and Todd all looked at him. Even Johnson’s son left the safety of hiding behind her to emerge and stare.
No one said a word. They didn’t have to. With his light brown hair, bordering on dirty blonde, and five-foot-five-inch height, Tyler Watts made a slightly shorter version of Lucky, except for sharper cheekbones and chin. Other than his having his loser father’s last name, the kid was a dyed in the wool Lucklighter. Through and through.
If Lucky tried hard enough he could ignore the few extra pounds around both their middles.
