8.BLACK RAISED HIS hands, exhaling sharply.
“You have ten seconds to convince me not to pull this trigger,” a woman’s voice informed him.
Black looked over his shoulder. Johana had her g*n trained on him. “You shouldn’t point a g*n at someone unless you’re ready to shoot them,” he said.
“Eight!” Johana counted.
“I’m here on business.”
“Seven!”
“I’m a client of yours.”
“Five!”
“The guns we bought from you are faulty!”
“Fou—” Johanna stopped counting.
“Let me show you. I’m going to lift up my shirt.” At that Black carefully grabbed a fist full of his shirt near the back collar, pulling upward. He felt the shirt lifting over the butt of the g*n. “See. That is one of your guns, right?”
Johana said nothing.
Black kept his hands up as he turned to face her.
“Turn around!”
Black tur
