Grunt, Sure. “I got you. Di di!” go.
He dropped to one knee, turned around the pillar and fired once, twice, while I tried my damnedest to burn the soles off my Rockports, sprinting down the walk, across the drive and into the parking area. Ducked below the vehicles' rooflines, trying to maintain a good speed, a Silverado and Camry taking shots from Phong and his lieutenants. Shoppers squealed and yelled caution from huddled positions in the stores. Three sets of saucer plate eyes followed me as I passed a family hiding in a Tahoe.
Broncostein's tires came up to just below my chest. I slid to a stop behind the monster truck. An ABC Auto Salvage sticker on the rear bumper suddenly dented, ricocheting a round that whined off towards Pass Road traffic. Scrambling under the jacked up Ford, I
