46
The clock rang out for a twelfth time, Mr Box drew fast and smooth and pulled the trigger.
Ronsen dropped to the ground, a puff of blood from his chest.
Ronsen had drawn his weapon, but he hadn't let off a shot.
Mr Box paused as the sound of his Smith & Wesson echoed off the buildings. He checked over both shoulders for witnesses.
No, the street was quiet. As if everyone knew a stand-off was coming. Even the traffic through town was non-existent.
Ronsen had taken a bullet in his right pectoral. Not a kill shot. Mr Box wanted him alive.
For now.
He holstered his pistol and walked forward.
But Ronsen's feet kicked out. His body twitched. He sat upright.
Mr Box stopped, hesitated, taken by surprise. Ronsen pulled himself up off the floor. He ran low to the right. Mr Box drew his
