41
Fake Plastic Guitars
I emerged from my hiding spot and stood in the long, tall shadow of Vin Diesel. He held the gun on me and spoke into a hidden radio mic on the lapel of his jacket, wincing at the pain from his shoulder, oozing blood down his right arm.
“Got her, sir,” he said. “Ground-floor restaurant. In the kitchens.”
“On my way,” Nathan said, his tinny voice crackling through the radio mic.
“Okay,” Vin Diesel said to me. “Don’t move a—”
I didn’t have long before Nathan caught up. So I went for it, pushing the muzzle of the gun away with one hand and smashing him in the nose and eyes with a handful of fresh, red-hot chilli peppers. Before he had chance to get his bearings I’d rubbed the chillies in his eyes, staining his entire face red. He screamed and shot blind, hitting a
