Clearwater Journals HTML version

My windshield disintegrated a nanosecond after the shotgun blast. I spilled from the
driver’s seat looking for the targets. The first responding uniforms were down and out. Their
cruiser had blocked off the escape route of a shiny “pimped up” red Mustang. They had done
something right. The two guys who had clipped the convenience store didn’t want to leave their
ride - idiots. The Seven-Eleven hit was not a new act for them. They had hit five places in the
last three weeks. I was looking for two of them – maybe more – one with a cut down semi-
automatic 22 - the other a sawed off sixteen gauge shotgun.
They had split up to close on me when the smart thing would have been to run like hell. I
caught the guy with the 22 as he rounded the rear of my car. He got three slugs into me before
punching out. This didn’t look good. I had to move. The guy with the shotgun pressed for time
but aware that his buddy was out of it slowed the action. Wrong move - I popped up between the
fence and store and caught him under his eye as he swung around. The blast from his shotgun
was deafening. I slumped against the wall and waited - my Glock held loosely in my lap.
Elapsed time five seconds – two bad guys dead – one cop – dead – two cops almost.