"I'm tired and it's late. Let's go home. She needs help."

Wrong move. Marty seemed to rouse herself, focusing on him. She didn't represent any kind of threat at this point, but he was teetering on the brink, maybe testing, as I had, the odd new sensation that death-dealing brought.

"Shoot the bitch," she gasped at him. "Shoot!"

I used every last ounce of strength I had, pulling myself together. He fired at me as I moved forward, but by then I was carried along by my own momentum. I yelled, "No!" and kicked him in the kneecap so hard I heard it crack. He dropped, warbling with pain like some kind of weird songbird. The gun skittered off across the floor. I thought Marty would try for it, but she only stared, making no move at all as I bent to retrieve it. I released the cylinder and popped it out. There were four more live rounds in the chamber. I snapped it back and made sure the safety was off, turning so that I could keep them both in my line of fire. Leonard was sitting up now, rocking back and forth. He looked at me with momentary venom.

I extended the gun, aiming at his face. "I'll kill your ass if you move, Leonard. I've had a lot of practice of late and I'll drill you right between the eyes."

Marty started to cry. It was an odd sound, like an infant with colic. Leonard leaned over and put his arm around her protectively.

In that moment, I wished there was someone to comfort me. My left arm was hanging like a piece of wood with a loose connecting pin. I glanced down and saw blood spreading out across my sleeve from a rip the size of a pea. The sucker shot me, I thought with astonishment. I steadied the gun in my good hand and started yelling for help. It was May Snyder who finally heard me and called the cops.

Epilogue

Epilogue