Mike crouched next to the door, reloading, while Jack nervously peered in through a shattered window.

“Did we get him?” Mike hissed through a tight smile. “We got him, right?”

Jack raised up another couple of inches to get a better look.

“Dunno. Don’t think so,” he whispered back.

Mike’s head jerked up.

“What’s he doing? Is he coming out?”

He looked at the door as if anticipating the exit of one seriously pissed off cop. Jack shook his head.

“You’re not going to fucking believe it.”

“What?”

“He’s got one big ass shotgun and he’s wearing kevlar. Dude must not have been pleased with his footwear though, because he just threw some loafers against the wall. Now he’s sitting on the floor. Tying his boots.”

Mike looked puzzled. That’s one cool motherfucker, he thought.