My windshield disintegrated a nanosecond after the shotgun blast. I spilled from the driver‟s seat
looking for the targets. The first responding uniforms were down and out. Their cruiser had blocked off the
escape route of a shiny “pimped up” red Mustang. They had done
something right. The two guys who had clipped the convenience store didn’t want to leave their ride – idiots. The Seven-Eleven hit was not a new activity for them. They had hit five places in the last three weeks. I was looking for two of them – may be more – one with a cut down semi-automatic 22 – the other a sawed-off sixteen-gauge shotgun.
They had split up to close on me when the smart thing would have been to run like hell. I caught the guy with the 22 as he rounded the rear of my car. He got three slugs into me before punching out. This didn’t‟t look good. I had to move. The guy with the shotgun pressed for time but aware that his buddy was out of it slowed the action. Wrong move – I popped up between the fence and store and caught him under his eye as he swung around. The blast from his shotgun was deafening. I slumped against the wall and waited – my Glock held loosely in my lap. Elapsed time five seconds – two bad guys dead – one cop – dead – two cops almost.