Once the two newcomers were in the market, Court stood there an instant holding the door, then he stepped back into the store, walking a couple of steps to a magazine rack.

He picked up a copy of Car and Driver, but he didn’t really look at it. Instead he remained tuned in to his surroundings.

That last guy’s vibe was not good.

Not good at all.

Dammit, Court thought. I don’t need this shit.

Court knew how to identify pre-assault indicators, and he’d seen clear examples of this phenomenon on the last man through the door. And, although he’d detected nothing out of the ordinary in the behavior of the nervous guy’s partner, they were obviously together.

Now Court glanced up to the first young Hispanic to enter the market, wondering if he might also be with the other two, even though he had not arrived in the same car. The man in the gray hoodie was in the back corner, in the exact opposite end of the room as Court. But the man wasn’t shopping. Instead he stood there, facing the entire room, looking over the shelves, his head moving back and forth.

Scanning. Another pre-assault indicator. Court now knew all three of these assholes were a team, and he was pretty sure they were not here for him. No, they were about to rob the convenience store.

Although he had an accurate headcount of the bad guys inside the Easy Market, Court knew there easily could be a driver, or a spotter, or both, outside in the parking lot. He glanced out to the Monte Carlo but couldn’t see anyone else through the tinted back windows. Nor did he see any other movement in the rain-swept parking lot.

Court scanned again over the top of his magazine, up to the counter. The heavyset African American clerk was oblivious to everything happening around her. She had been chatting happily with the black couple, but they had moved away to choose some soft drinks from the cooler, not far from the gray-hooded man in the back corner. LaShondra had her good eye back on her little TV, and the two new men stood at her counter, pretending to look over some small shots of energy drinks on a rack. Casually LaShondra asked the men if it was still raining outside. She was just making conversation; she could see the rain through the glass if she just glanced back over her shoulder.

“Yeah,” the white guy muttered, the one whose jaw didn’t look like it was wired so shut he would need bolt cutters to speak. While Court focused on him this same man moved his right leg back behind him a little, and he turned his body at an angle to the cash register.

This was called blading, and Court knew it meant he probably had a gun on his hip and was about to go for it.

Fuck.