I throw my weight into the garbage can. It falls over and spills across the street. The flash grenade blends in with the rest of the trash.
I turn my back and hear the electric pop-whine as the grenade discharges. For a split-second, the alley lights up bright as the sun. I hear a chorus of surprised screams.
Still ducked low, I swing around the corner to take inventory of my pursuers. Of the big, trench-coated men, all four are holding pistols. Three are on their knees, stunned and temporarily blinded by the flash. But the fourth-who either anticipated the attack or is just lucky enough to have avoided direct eye contact-is still standing. His face lights up nastily as he sees me. He swings his pistol and fires.
There's an eruption of brick and mortar as the accelerated slug blows a ho
