The man’s ankle exploded. He fired three more times into the body writhing and screaming on the ground in front of him and then crawled out from under the truck. The dead man had no identification. But his suit was tailored and of quality and he carried a roll of cash. Kearns pocketed the dough.
A bullet whizzed over his shoulder, shattering the truck’s headlight. He scrambled around the nose, as another round ricocheted off the pavement, cursing himself for not realizing there would be a second man in the car. He breathed hard but quiet, and reloaded.