think he must have run into these guys maybe in the parking lot.

 

Maybe he tried to stop them.” “Wrong place, wrong time,” commented Davis.

 

Rogers looked at her. “Where’d you learn to shoot?” “Same place you learned to

fight, school of hard knocks.” Rogers nodded, his eyes once more looking over

Puller’s shoulder, in the direction of the sirens.

 

Puller slowly lowered his weapon. “So you took out…six armed men with just your

hands?” he asked Rogers. “I got lucky.” Puller looked at Rogers’s arm. “You’re

bleeding.” Rogers didn’t even look at the wound. “It’s fine.” The door from the

upstairs room opened and Josh Quentin cautiously peered out, his face ashen. “Is

it…is it over?” Puller looked up at him and then saw the women crowding in

behind, all looking disoriented. “Who are you?” asked Puller, though he knew the

answer.

 

Myers answered. “That’s Josh Quentin, a customer.” “You better get down here,”

said Puller. “The police will want to talk to all of you.” “Oh, shit, the

police?” said Quentin.

 

Rogers looked over at Davis in time to see her do an eye roll at Quentin’s

comment.

 

Outside, Puller heard the racking of automatic weapons, and the thick pounding

of combat boots on pavement. He put his gun away before the cops accidentally