The gun snapped up into his hand, almost like it met his palm half way. Bullets were flying before anybody knew what was happening. I dove to the floor and shot out the over head lights. Rolling to my left as fast I could, I was pleased when bullets ricocheted near me instead of inside of me.

This was as bad as it could get. This bloodbath was going to spill out into the street. A week from now, both sides will decide to up the ante after a favorite nephew is killed.

It didn’t matter who died anymore. I was just determined not to join them.

The shooter I had nicknamed Rattlesnake had stopped shooting except as a response. Every muzzle flash had a virtually simultaneous echo that ended in grunts and groans. I wasn’t good enough to make those kinds of shots in the dark, especially with limited ammunition. Evidently he was.

In the humid darkness, filled with sounds of pain and dissipating second hand smoke, I had a terrifying thought- that shooter had just engineered a coup. Who could he be working for?