Dzinski had recognized the cackling of the two punks from the bar. They’d followed him for two blocks now, and when he took a quick right, he heard their hurried steps. He ducked in a darkened doorway.
“Where the hell did he go,” one of them said. But before the other could answer Dzinski slammed the butt of his revolver over his ear.
“Shit,” the first one said, and then made to charge.
Dzinski levelled the piece, slowly, and the kid stopped.
“Guess it’s my turn to offer you some advice,” he said. “You want to hear it, or what?”