The man was already dead, holed through the neck and chest. The pedicab came to a lurching halt, pitching forward, crashing into a gent on a bicycle and sending him cartwheeling into the air. Gabriel and Qi dived out and flattened in opposite directions, hugging cobblestones slicked with night mist. Rolling on his back, Gabriel groped for his newly acquired Colt, still wrapped in cheesecloth and now sitting in the middle of the street as citizens, heedless to the silenced gunfire, crowded around and stumbled over him. Then he had to claw the big .45 cartridges from his pocket. Conventional wisdom with guns like this held that one should load five shells and leave the hammer down on an empty chamber, since the gun had nothing that could remotely be interpreted as a safety. Gabriel always—always—loaded six. Qi had already whipped out a sleek automatic from a spine scabbard and was seeking targets. Several gunners in black, with hoods, materialized out of the throng to rake the pedicab with machine-gun fire.
What do You think about Hunt Among The Killers Of Men?
