Everything happened at once.

  The leader of this black-clad little posse wailed as his nose compressed, spewing blood.

  The red-haired girl, who I'm pretty sure was still giggling like a maniac, immediately seized the initiative and pounced on the wingman as he grabbed for his gun.

  The guards at the door let their jaws drop open in abject shock and the one still aiming a gun at me squeezed off a poorly aimed shot on sheer instinct.

  I heard the bullet buzz through the air as I dove to the floor and covered my head with my hands.

  Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit…

  When I looked up, the redhead was grappling with her target, pounding balled fists against every part of him in reach, roaring in fury, and… losing. Badly.

  And while she flailed ineffectually in her brazen attack, the leader, blood still streaming from his shattered nose, was already reaching into his jacket for his own pistol.

  Shit!

  I scrambled to my feet and managed to grab him by the wrist just has he slid his weapon from his holster. We wrestled for control of the weapon while I desperately tried to keep him between me and his men at the door who were already looking for a clean shot to finish me off.

  "Who the hell are you?" he spat at me through clenched teeth, "This isn't your fight! What do you care about some girl?"

  I snarled at him with a ferocity that surprised me.

  "I liked Mattie."

  "Join her, then!"

  He wrenched his arm and tried to bury his barrel in my guts. My guts had had enough of a beating that night, so I yanked his wrist and tried to push his gun barrel toward his ally still grappling with the girl.

  It worked!… sort of.

  The leader squeezed off two shots. One hit is ally in the thigh. The other cut through the redhead girl's calf, splattering her blood over the floor.

  She shrieked in pain.

  "Watch it, asshole!"

  Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

  "Sorry!"

  Now, I'll be honest- I'm not the toughest nail in the coffin. Never have been. But… you don't get along in my line of work for as long as I have without picking up a few tricks.

  Now, as the leader of this motley crew realized he'd just pumped a hot round into his own guy's leg, he hesitated—just for a moment—and I saw the opportunity for a trick that just might save my skin.

  So I took it.

  In that split second of distraction, I gave that murderous bastard's wrist a brutal twist and hoisted is arm up, over my left shoulder. Then, gripping the wrist with the gun with both hands, I brought it down with all the force I could muster.

  His elbow locked tight against my shoulder and then, with a quick yank, it snapped.

  He howled in rage and pain, gnashing his teeth and making all kinds of terrible oaths… but he dropped the gun.

  I snatched it up and, using him as a moaning, groaning bullet shield, raised the pistol and blasted the whole magazine into the two dumfounded guards still posted by the door.

  They went down in a shower of bullets and broken glass.

  It wasn't elegant, by any means… but it worked.

  "No!" screamed the leader, "What have you done?"

  I didn't answer him. I don't like stupid questions.

  I just bashed the heavy suppressor against his head a couple times until I felt him go limp. Then I dumped into a heap beside the counter to let him bleed out of his busted arm.

  "Damn!" grunted the redhead, who was still struggling with her man as I caught my breath, "How about sending a little bit of that badassery over here?"

  The two of them, both shot in various parts of their legs, had both ended up on the floor where they punched and gouged at each other like two medieval cripples fighting over a crust of bread.

  Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

  I cracked the suited gentleman over the back of the head with the butt of my new pistol and that ended that. He flopped onto his side like a dead fish. She gave him a vicious little shove, just for good measure.

  My legs melted out from under me.

  I felt my back press against the counter and a let myself just slide down into an exhausted puddle, breathing hard.

  The girl lay beside me on the bloodstained linoleum, her breath also coming in ragged gasps.

  "You shot me," she said.

  "Better me than him."

  She forced herself to sit up, wincing as the muscles in her bleeding calf tensed.

  "I suppose I should thank you. What's your name, anyway?"

  "Ray. What's yours? You're real name."

  "You wouldn't be able to pronounce my real name."

  "Why? Is it foreign."

  "…something like that."

  "Well, I've gotta call you something."

  "Just call me-"

  "Something besides Hawty Schlitz."

  "…"

  "Well?"

  "Have you ever heard of the Saga of Cassilda?"

  "No."

  "Oh."

  She sounded a little disappointed.

  "Just call me Cassilda."

  "Cassilda, huh?"

  It wasn't much better than Hawty Schlitz but at least it sounded like it could be a real name. Sort of. Maybe European?

  "It's kind of a mouthful," I said, "How about Cassie?"

  "Sure. Cassie Schlitz. I like it!"

  Good Lord.

  "We'll work on it. Nice to meet you Cassie Schlitz."

  I raised my hand to her, sore and bloodstained though it be. I meant to shake but when she reached out and took it she just… held on.

  I looked over at her and there was something new in her eyes. Not joy, not hate. Just something quiet and solemn. Maybe even sacred.

  "Nice to meet you, Ray."

  And I think- I really think she meant it.

  Then the bullets started up again.