4
When he’d caught sight of the careening car and the gun sticking out its passenger window, Mickey’s instincts had kicked in. A step, a leap, and he’d caught Luci mid-body, knocking her flat as bullets filled the air above them. His fumble for his gun netted him a handful of skirt—and thigh. He’d had to settle for uttering his choicest swear words as the Yugo swept past, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of a large-nosed-profile and a Groucho Marx behind the wheel before the car disappeared around the curving roadway.
The underpass filled with smoke from a burning something. Mickey’s eyes watered as he did a quick visual survey, noting that the downed figures were, like him, beginning to look around.
No obvious casualties. That was good. He remembered Luci and looked down. “You all righ
