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Don Williams glimpsed movement in his peripheral vision, off to his right, towards the end of the long veranda. “What the f**k…?” he cried. A man sprinted from behind the end of the house towards the shed. He raised the g*n and fired at the running man. The shot went wide and then the runner was gone, disappeared behind the far end of the shed.
Bill Kirkwood flinched as the g*n fired in front of his face. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” he yelled. He clasped his ear and staggered backwards as the roar of the weapon temporarily deafened him.
“What was it?” Luke Boyd asked.
“Someone ran behind the shed,” Williams answered.
“From where?”
“From the end of the fuckin’ house.”
“Who ees it?” Rodolfo Herrera asked.
“I don’t fuckin’ know,” Williams said with undisguised contempt. “He didn’t stop
