"Ah, but I do," he said. "I've gone too far. Every cop in Trenton is looking for me. And do you know what will happen to me when I'm locked up? No one will be gentle. I'm better off on death row. You get your own room on death row. I hear they let you have a television."

"Yes, but eventually they kill you!"

More tears streaked down his cheek, but his eyeliner didn't smudge. The man knew makeup.

"No more talking," he said, pulling the hammer back on the revolver. "Outside. Now. Or I'll shoot you here. I swear I will."

I opened the door and looked out. There was a small employee parking lot to the right and two Dumpsters to the left. A single overhead bulb lit the area. Beyond the Dumpsters was a blacktopped driveway. Then a grassy lawn and the seniors' building. It was a really good place for him to shoot me. It was private and sound wouldn't carry. And he had several exits. He could even choose to go back into the building.

My heart was going ka-thunk, ka-thunk, and my head felt spongy. "Wait a minute," I said. "I need to go back inside. I forgot my shoulder bag."

He closed the door behind him. "You don't need your shoulder bag where you're going."

"Where's that?"

"Well, I don't know exactly. Wherever you go when you're dead. Climb into the Dumpster so I can shoot you."

"What are you nuts? I'm not climbing into the Dumpster. That thing is disgusting."

"Okay, fine, then I'll just shoot you here." He pulled the trigger and click.

No bullet in the chamber. Standard safety procedure.

"Darn," he said. "I can't do anything right."

"You ever shoot a gun before?"

"No. But it didn't seem like it'd be all that complicated." He looked at the gun. "Ah, I see the problem. The guy I borrowed the gun from left one of the bullets out."

He sighted the gun at me, and before he had time to pull the trigger, I jumped behind one of the Dumpsters. Bang, zing. A bullet hit the Dumpster. Bang, zing again. We were both so panicked we were acting unreasonably. I was running between Dumpsters like a tin duck in a shooting gallery, and Sugar was firing at shadows.

He got off five rounds, and then there was the telltale click again. He was out of bullets. I peeked out from my hiding place.

"Shit," he said. "I'm such a loser I can't even shoot somebody. Damn." He plunged his hand into his red purse and came out with a knife.

He was between me and the back door. My only real option was to run like hell around the building or across the grass to the seniors' building. He looked more athletic than me, but he was in heels and a skirt, and I was wearing shorts and sneakers.