Simultaneously to this his legs spread a few inches wider and his knees softened, and he dropped to the floor in a kneeling position. As his pistol rose in front of him he lowered his body behind the gun.

The shotgun thundered, spitting fire and smoke across the front aisle of the market, over the backs of the prostrate couple. It sprayed hot lead the length of the room at a speed of 1,200 feet per second. The shot pattern expanded one and a half inches for each yard along its flight path, so when the buckshot reached Court’s position they passed inches over his head in a pattern the size of a large pizza. The lead then exploded through the glass door just above and behind him.

Gentry knew gray hoodie would have to rack a new shell before he fired again, so he shifted his sights to the men with pistols. Both were swiveling their arms to get a bead on the armed man in the raincoat on his knees in front of the door.

Just as LaShondra hit one man in the shoulder with her aluminum bat, Court fired two rounds without pausing, one into the upper torso of each man, left to right. Then he swept further right to gray hoodie, and pressed off another round. His pistol rose in recoil and arced back to the counter in a blur and he fired two more shots, hitting the first man in the left temple as he dropped and spun and the second man dead center in his throat.

Court returned his aim to gray hoodie, who was stumbling backwards into the stockroom of the market with a nine-millimeter hollow point bullet lodged in his heart.

Court shot him again, this time high in the stomach as he tumbled back.

All three men lay still, but the six spent shell casings from the Smith were still moving, either in flight or rolling, spinning, and bouncing on the linoleum. The tinkling sound of brass was the only sound in the market for several seconds. Then the casings stilled and quieted, and their sound was replaced by an audible prayer from LaShondra, who had stood her ground by the cash register, her bat still high as if she were standing at the plate at Nationals Park.

Slowly the panicked sobs from the lady facedown on the floor grew, and then the sobs morphed into the same prayer LaShondra was reciting.

Court’s ears rang. The couple on the ground climbed slowly to their knees. She wept openly now as she prayed, and he tried to comfort her. LaShondra lowered the bat and she turned, just stared at the man with the gun by the door. Blood and brain and bits of bone dripped off the rack of pastries next to her.

And Court just stood there. Taking it all in.

Loud and messy.