47
I shoot first.
Into the air.
The workers cry out in fear. They duck low to their tables. Before the lanky, ginger guard can take aim, I level my pistol and put a bullet between his eyes.
More screams as his body hits the deck. I'm moving low and fast across the gym hall. The whole place lighting up with machine gun fire. I dive behind the stacks of pills and powders.
I stay low as bullets puncture each pack, spitting out small white clouds of dust. I hold my fire a few seconds, letting the clouds rise and thicken into one. I can't see the guards, but they can't see me, either.
The gunfire drops off, the echoes die down.
I crouch and turn on the balls of my feet. I listen to the guards calling out to each other in their own language.
It gives me a fix on their position. Both stil
