crack.
One of the distant figures went limp, mid-stride, and fell hard to the ground. He didn’t look up from the scope. “What’s my count?”
“Twenty-two.”
Someone whistled. “Two more and you’re tied with Hank.”
He chambered another round. “Who the fuck is Hank?”
“Old deputy Mayor. Lost him on a run two years ago. Good guy, always—”
crack.
Another figure spun in place, dropped to lie motionless. “Twenty-three”
“Anyway, Hank: he was always making sure the kids had sweets. You know, candy, stuff the other guys wouldn’t bother with.”
“Kids? What kids?”
A long silence followed.
crack.
“Twenty-four. Tied.”