Hipoint pistol

>"Didya see the look on his face?" She laughs raucously, reliving the moment.
>You sure did. You'll be seeing it for a while: dull surprise lit white for a second in the flash, then sharp, incongruous alertness, far too late for what just happened to him.
>"He won't fuck with us again, that's for sure!"
Yeah.
>It's all you can manage, you're still catching your breath from the run.
>The money's burning a hole in your pocket. It literally feels hot against your leg, hotter than your face, hotter than the burning gasps you're dragging down your throat.
>What is it? A couple hundred, maybe?
>Had he been trying to stop you? Had he just been in the way?
>His arm was outstretched, blocking the door to the convenience store against you. He was trying to push you away, but was that reflex, prompted by you rushing at him?
>You reacted with the same surprise and she hit him just left of the sternum. Immediate red splat on his grungy wife-beater shirt.
>He'd sagged, gone boneless. You didn't stop to see more, out of the parking lot and down the street.
>"Hey, you alright? He didn't touch you did he?"
>Her face peers into yours with obvious concern. >It's getting dark, but she's illuminated for a moment by flashing blue lights as a cop car rockets past your hiding place, sirens blasting.
>She's blocky, homely even. Her long, gangly legs are tucked up under her where you're crouched behind the fence.
>Someone's back yard. You can't stay here.
I'm fine, fine. He didn't do anything.
>"Fuck 'im anyway," she retorts, "he got in our way. I got 8 more where that came from."
We gotta get out of here, lay low.
>She nods at the reminder and clings to your arm. She's surprisingly heavy and never more so than right now.
>"You're calling the shots, senpai."