I jumped over the counter as a few other rugged men entered the bar. They, too, were shooting.
“We got to stop meeting like this, chico!” the musician yelled over the gunfire. A few bottles of alcohol landed near our feet. I recognized him from the church, but I still didn’t know his name.
“People are starting to talk, Jack,” the musician said. Wow, he’d gotten my name right.
“Well, this isn’t doing wonders for my reputation either, amigo.” I popped up from behind the bar and took a few shots. “I didn’t know you played,” I said, referring to the guitar case he had brought with him.
He furrowed a brow over at me. “I play a lot better than I shoot.” He gave me a friendly smile. That wasn’t reassuring, but I seriously thought he was lying.
“I find that hard to believe, amigo.” The way he
