R2 Takes elephant gun

"Heh... Mann Co. bullets..." Saxton cracked his neck. "Accept no substitutes."

"Sure, sure, rah rah capitalism and all that. Let's try the rifle..."

The bulky barrel slipped back into the coffin, quickly replaced by a longer, thinner model. Something resembling an elephant gun.

"Bang."

Moriarty fired a single shot through Saxton's upraised hand and into his chest.

[...]

This was not a retreat. This was purely repositioning. Hale was repositioning himself away from the guy that was hurting him; whether it was cowardice to run through the empty streets with a slug in his gut and a gun-strapped Australian on his tail, no one could say but Hale himself. There were no other witnesses. Just Hale and the Australian, Moriarty, swinging the enormous wooden coffin overhead on a chain.

They both knew that bullet couldn't kill him. To pierce his heart, the round would have to cross a foot-thick slab of muscle behind his bulletproof skin. It would take more than that to keep ol' Saxton Hale down. And running didn't mean he couldn't fight. The shootout had gotten all the pedestrians to evacuate the road.

They'd left their cars behind. Perfect.

Hale grabbed the nearest truck and felt the metal crunch under his grip. He didn't hesitate. He just tossed it, one-handed. The next one was one of those two-seater mini-cars, he threw it like a crumpled note.