I rub my eyes to make sure that I'm not seeing things. Nope. He's still standing a few feet away with a gun pointed right at us. He's a tall, thin, mean old man, wearing jeans and a plaid shirt. He has gray steely eyes, which are open in a permanent squint, as if he's trying to figure out how to screw over everyone around him.
I hate him.
I try to push Ronin out of my way so I can confront Sullivan, but Ronin keeps me behind him with one strong arm.
"May I help you, sir?" Ronin asks him in his best Boy Scout voice.
"One move, and I'll shoot your head clean off," he says. He's like a gristled old man version of the Wicked Witch of the West.
I want to melt him.
I keep trying to push Ronin out of my way, but he's got a good grip on me, and he's very strong.
"We were just driving by,
