The metal of the drink cooler was cold against my back. Reflections of flashing police lights flashed all around me. I laid my head back and closed my eyes for a moment, listening to the rush of police officers out in the parking lot.
I took a drag from my cigarette. I could feel a trickle of blood running down my chest and into my cleavage.
The weight of the .44 magnum Ruger Super Blackhawk was familiar in my hand, but heavier somehow than it had been before. I pulled back the hammer. The click of the cylinders turning seemed loud as thunder.
I risked a glance over the top of the cooler, the glass crunching under my feet as loud as an avalanche.
Only four; I have to hurry.
I took a final drag from my cigarette, then flicked it away, trying to center myself for what I knew was coming.
How did I get here?
That made me smile a little.
How did I get here?