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Machines of War; Collected Short Stories: 1993-1995
Gangland
Chapter 1 Page 16
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"That's two," counted Pugs.

"Three," I amended. For a sharp moment, Pugs shot me a glance that said, 'Drake's being cool, why we gotta cap him?'. Then he saw that wasn't what I meant. "I think we hit the target . . . and a by," meaning bystander.

"Really?"

"Aw shit, man, aw shit," started Drake again. The litany drifted quietly off, but continued on like that until we rolled past the first crime scene. The blues were there in force, lights strobing in the semi-darkness of evening like the dancing fires of hell. The 'aw shit's started up all over again.

Finally Drake asked the question I knew must come, his eyes leaving the road again and again as he drove, turning to stare out his left window at the cops. "Who was it? Did anybody see?"

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