Each one decked out in the gang’s unofficial uniform of Ray-Bans, football shirts and PP-2000s. To conserve ammo, Gardner restricted himself to single shots whenever a Messenger slid his head above one of the four brick parapets strewn about the street. Two guys, a few years older than the rest, yelled at each other. They suddenly leapt out from behind separate spots of cover. Mounted red-dot sights lasered the window. Gardner crouched, just as they pulled the triggers in tandem. Cooked air stroked the back of his head as the Luger rounds pelted the frame, slapping into a metre-high china statue of the Virgin Mary. Five seconds of fury, then Gardner detected a lull. Must be reloading, he thought, as the statue disintegrated into a dust cloud. The lull was only two seconds, but that was all he needed. He shot to his feet and saw the two guys feeding fresh clips into the housing receivers. One of them was a fraction ahead of his mate, tugging the bolt lever into the closed position at the rear of the barrel.
