Chapter Eight
At first I could only stand there, gaping at him. From the way he held the gun, a small .22, I could tell he didn’t have much experience. One part of my mind began to coolly calculate whether I was fast enough to get that Glock out of my waistband before he fired on me. My father had taken me to the indoor range many times, and shooting up in the hills around town even more, and he’d made me practice pulling the gun from a holster as well as the waistband of my pants. I knew I had far more experience than the man who faced me. But…was it enough?
Stalling for time, I stammered, “W-what?”
“You heard me.” He waved the pistol in what he probably thought was a threatening manner. “I don’t want to hurt you. I just want the car.”
“But — ” I kept my hands out where he could see t
