shoots Binder goons

I took a few more steps and ran smack into a curtain of nauseating energy so thick and heavy that it made my hair stand on end-a dead giveaway of a hostile supernatural presence. I twitched my head in a quick shake, as the two men in grey suits spun around at precisely the same time at precisely the same speed to face me. Both of them opened their mouths.
Before any sound could come out, Murphy produced her sidearm and shot them both in the head.
Twice.
Double-tapping the target like that is a professional killer's policy. There's a small chance that a bullet to the head might strike a target at an oblique angle and carom off of the skull. It isn't a huge possibility-but a double tap drops the odds from "very unlikely" to "virtually impossible."
Murphy was a cop and a competition shooter, and less than five feet away from her targets. She did the whole thing in one smooth move, the shots coming as a single pulsing hammer of sound.
The men in grey suits didn't have time to so much as register her presence, much less do anything to avoid their fate. Clear liquid exploded from the backs of their skulls, and both men dropped to the sidewalk like rag dolls, their bodies and outfits deforming like a snowman in the spring, leaving behind nothing but ectoplasm, the translucent, gooey gel that was the matter of the Nevernever.
"Hell's bells," I choked, as my adrenaline spiked after the fact.
Murphy kept the gun on the two until it was obvious that they weren't going to take up a second career as headless horsemen. Then she looked up and down the street, her cold blue eyes scanning for more threats as she popped the almost-full clip from the SIG and slapped a fully loaded one back in.
She may look like somebody's favorite aunt, but Murph can play hardball.


Turn Coat Chapter 18, Page 158-159