I roll my body under the cart and, emerging out the opposite side, get back up onto my feet at the very same moment Pony-Tail starts shooting at me from out of the shattered storefront. People scream, scatter about in every direction. It’s the kind of confusion and cover I need as I make an all-out sprint for the center of the market. I don’t get far before I make out another shot and sense a round shooting past my right ear. I duck into a shop that sells rugs, take a quick glance over my shoulder. Pony-Tail is coming at me down the center of the narrow road, the Arabs moving out of his way, like he owns the place. Thumbing the clip release, I allow the metal clip to drop to the store floor. I reach into my jacket pocket, pull out a fresh one, slap it home. The store owner is jabbing at my back. He wants me to leave his store. He doesn’t care that I’m holding a loaded gun. I reach into my left-hand pocket, pull out some Egyptian pounds, toss them at him.
