He dropped then, with a wet sucking noise as my fist came out. It took me one swipe to knock the gun out of his hand, another to bury my fist inside the gut, and his face took on that 'O' expression that I've seen on so many gutshot soldiers. I came over his cover - a rusted-out Chevy Impala - while he was turning to run and after that, it was easy. I am very happy to say that his attitude changed immediately, at least for the next 10 or 15 seconds.
He'd mouthed off and waved the gun around, and when I called him on his attitude he laughed and put a couple of caps in me. He was wearing a white T-shirt and jeans with a big wet stain along one leg, and he'd been toting the gun around in his hand without the slightest attempt to conceal it. He was a skinny little kid who looked Puerto Rican. So I kept oncoming after I felt the bullets go out of my back, because if you take a shot at you are going to die, simple as that. The slugs stung a little bit when they hit, but they didn't pack enough to break anything loadbearing.
It was a nice gun he had, one of those TEC-9s that are all the rage among street-level dealers these days, but it had absolutely no slopping power. The kid shot me twice, then pissed his pants when he saw me keep oncoming.
