Kane heard Reeth and his strong-arm shrieking, and the third man in the room yelled. From behind him came the faint triple crack of Grant’s Copperhead.
Kane caught only fragments of one-color images. At the same time he heard the suppressed sounds of the Copperhead, something struck him high on the left shoulder. He heard an explosive report and saw a spurt of flame.
Staggering from the impact, the air kicked from his lungs and out his nostrils and mouth, Kane flailed to one side, feet scrabbling for purchase on the stone floor. Though his armor had absorbed and distributed most of the high-caliber bullet’s kinetic energy, he was numbed by the shock.
He glimpsed Reeth’s strong-arm rushing in his direction, gripping an Astra .45-caliber revolver in her right hand. It was a big gun, with a heavy six-inch barrel. It was far too big, far too powerful a pistol to fire accurately with only one hand, no matter how well muscled she was. She fired again. The gun kicked in her hand, pulling up toward the ceiling as the shot boomed and echoed in the enclosed room. The bullet cleaved air a foot over Kane’s head, and he heard it clang against the metaf framework of the scaffolding.
Reeth screamed a few unintelligible words at her and turned to flee. The other man in the room started to run after him, leaving the female to cover their retreat. Kane was still a little stunned by taking the .45-caliber round on the shoulder, and all actions seemed to slow down, as though he were stuck in a slo-mo vid loop.
His peripheral vision showed him Grant, centering his Copperhead on the strong-arm, his aim spoiled because he was trying to keep out of the sights of the Astra. He glimpsed Reeth and his subordinate dashing madly toward the open dark doorway.
The Astra revolver vomited thunder and fire for a third time, a wad of lead tearing through the air toward Grant. The bullet missed, punching a hole in a sheet-metal-covered wall.
Kane tossed his Copperhead into his left hand. Before his fingers closed around it, he tensed the tendons in his right wrist. The Sin Eater filled his hand, rounds blasting from the bore immediately.
The stream of slugs plugged a series of dark periods in the back of the man dogging Reeth’s heels. His arms flung wide, his back arched in a grotesquely graceful posture and he hurtled forward into Reeth. Both men went down in a tangle of arms and legs.
The strong-arm’s thick lips writhed, peeling back from broken, discolored teeth. She adjusted her aim with the Astra revolver, wrapping both hands around the butt, swinging the bore back toward Kane, shrieking, “Fuckin’ sec men!”
Grant’s Copperhead snapped. The three bullets caught the strong-arm dead center. She didn’t cry out. She just left her feet, flying backward into the worktable behind her, bouncing off it, then slumping forward over a packing crate. The rounds crushed the stickie’s chest, smashing ribs and clavicle, ripping both lungs apart and probably perforating her heart. As her body settled, a thin, aspirated scream of anger and hatred floated from her lips.
Kane’s and Grant’s fingers relaxed on the triggers of their blasters. Taking a shuddery breath, wincing at the ache in his shoulder, Kane stepped forward. He felt a remote surprise that he was moving at normal speed again. Pins and needles burned up and down his left arm. He knew he had gotten off luckythe strong-arm could have fired armor-piercing rounds, and his arm would do more than burn.
The entire firefight, from the moment Neal had drawn his blaster, had lasted less than fifteen seconds. The peculiar time-distortion of combat never failed to surprise Kane.
Reeth elbowed aside the corpse of the man sprawled over him and tried to climb to his knees. Grant reached him first, gathering a handful of greasy dreadlocks in his left fist and yanking the slagger to his feet.
Howling, Reeth clawed at Grant’s fingers. Terror and rage battled for dominance in his eyes. “You stupid bastard! You don’t know what you’re doing!”
Spittle sprayed from his lips onto Grant’s visor. Grant jammed the bore of the Copperhead’s noise suppressor against the hinge of Reeth’s jaw. Flesh sizzled as the heated metal raised a perfectly round, leaking blister on the flesh. Reeth howled again, the sound trailing off to a despairing croak.
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