One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 8, page 3

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Zhíno Zhudıro held his semiautomatic pistol loosely with his right hand. Any tighter sent sharp pain through the muscles of his upper arm.

The fat, bald bastard kept trying to get the Enforcers to leave, but wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

Zhíno grinned with narrowed eyes. If the Zhéporé-spawn had actually succeeded in getting rid of the Voro-fuckers, Zhíno would have killed him by now. It was only the old man’s incompetence that kept him alive.

Behind a door which Zhíno had assumed was a closet, but when he thought about it probably was the garage, the distinctive static burp of a police radio grabbed Zhíno’s attention.

His heart pounded hard again as a smile crept upon his face. His throbbing injuries encouraging him to fight, Zhíno quietly raised his gun to point level toward the door.

The Enforcers were flanking the old Zhéporé-spawn. If they came inside, Zhíno had to shoot first. Running away was not an option.

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