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Bang! Bang! Bang!
The shooter fired three rounds, but none found their mark thanks to Hank's training—he hit the deck behind the car seat just in time. Without exposing himself, Hank smoothly threw the car into reverse and floored it without even looking back.
The engine roared as the vehicle shot backward. The gunman rolled aside to avoid being flattened, but Hank's car slammed hard into the vehicle behind him with a thunderous crash.
The shooter got to his feet, brushed himself off, and raised his weapon again, pumping several rounds into Hank's car door. If Hank had been carrying his service weapon, he could have returned fire instead of being trapped like a sitting duck.
Just as the gunman was pressing his advantage, a sleek Chevrolet Camaro came screaming into the parking lot at full speed, showing no signs of braking as it plowed directly into the bald shooter who was firing at Hank.
BOOM!
The bald gunman was caught head-on by Ron's Camaro, finally coming to a stop only after being crushed between Ron's front bumper and another SUV. Everything happened so fast that he didn't even have time to turn and fire at Ron before finding himself pinned like a bug.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Before Ron could finish off the nearly-dead gunman, the other side of his car took a hail of bullets. From the far corner of the parking lot, another bald man appeared—looked like a twin brother of the one he'd just pancaked.
Ron kicked open his door, drew his Glock from his shoulder holster, and rolled for cover. With a metallic click, the gunman's magazine ran dry. Ron popped up from behind the car and unleashed a full magazine at the bald shooter.
"Bang, bang, bang..."
Ron's Glock emptied in one sustained burst, but the bald gunman just staggered back without a drop of blood showing.
"Son of a bitch! He's wearing Kevlar! Damn nine-millimeter rounds!"
The bald shooter grinned and swung his weapon toward Ron. Ron desperately swung his empty Glock at the man's chrome dome.
"Screw this!"
He cursed himself for not bringing his .357 Magnum today—that would've punched right through this bastard's skull!
But it was too late for regrets. The gunman squeezed the trigger, and Ron dove again, scrambling behind a car to avoid the spray of bullets.
The rounds sparked off Ron's new Camaro, making him wince in pain.
"That's my new ride, you piece of trash!"
To keep his new car from getting ventilated, Ron dodged the gunman's fire and took cover behind a massive Ford F-350. Hank, finally catching his breath, climbed out of his car and grabbed the gun from the shooter Ron had flattened, ready to back up his partner.
After pinpointing Ron's location, the bald gunman stopped firing and calmly walked toward the big pickup. But when he rounded the truck, he found nothing—Ron had vanished like smoke.
"Where the hell did he go?" the shooter muttered, but before he could figure it out, he felt a sharp pain in his side. That was Hank, firing from a different angle. Even though the bullet was stopped by his body armor, the impact still drove into the muscle underneath. The gunman spun around and returned fire.
Hank ducked his head just as the bullet creased his scalp.
Now you might wonder why neither of them went for headshots from the start.
It's like Call of Duty—when the shooting starts, your first instinct is just to hit something, anything, as long as you connect with the target.
This is even more true in real life. Unlike video games, people can't take multiple rounds, pop a health pack, and keep going like nothing happened.
So generally speaking, center mass was the way to go. All tactical shooting courses taught you to aim for the body on your first shot.
Especially in close-quarters combat like this, where even a pistol's accuracy wasn't exactly point-and-click.
Just as the bald gunman was busy keeping Hank pinned down, Ron appeared like Houdini from underneath the F-350. Before the shooter could react, a cloud of red powder hit him square in the face.
"Gah! Cough cough!"
There are three essentials for any street fight: a baseball bat, a brick, and pepper spray.
Ron's version was the deluxe edition—a custom blend of pepper spray, cayenne powder, and several other eye-watering ingredients.
The bald gunman coughed violently, his eyes streaming with tears. Snot mixed with tears ran into his mouth, making him gag and choke. He instantly lost his fighting ability and could only fire blindly in Ron's general direction.
But Ron, having already doused the guy with his special blend, had circled behind him, staying out of the line of fire as the gunman sprayed bullets uselessly into the air.
Click! The crisp sound of an empty chamber. Finally, Ron's turn. The bald shooter, back turned and still coughing, fumbled for a fresh magazine. Like hell Ron was going to give him that chance.
A wicked grin spread across Ron's face. He raised his right leg high and stepped forward, delivering a perfect soccer kick straight to the gunman's family jewels.
"AHHHHH!" the shooter screamed, his voice jumping from baritone to soprano!
Ron wasn't done yet. He pulled his tactical knife from his belt. As the gunman doubled over, clutching his groin, Ron drove the blade home. Hank, who had been moving to assist, felt his own legs cross involuntarily.
"Show off this!"
Suddenly, red and other unmentionable fluids began flowing from the wound. Ron quickly released the knife handle, disgusted—he didn't want any of that nastiness on his hands.
But if you think Ron was going to let the gunman off that easy, you're dead wrong.
After letting go of the knife, and before Hank could reach them, Ron raised his right foot again and kicked the exposed knife handle deeper into the shooter's backside.
Squelch! Blood sprayed as the blade penetrated further.
This time the gunman didn't even have the strength to scream—he passed out from the pain.
"Ugh, that's nasty." Ron looked at the unknown substances splattered on his leather boots, made a face, and used the unconscious gunman's expensive suit as a shoe rag, polishing them until they shone again.
Ron nodded with satisfaction and looked at Hank, who had finally arrived.
"I'll leave this survivor to you—see if you can get anything useful out of him during interrogation. As for that other one, check if he's still breathing. If not, just put him out of his misery."
(End of Chapter)
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