Good.
He understood enough to move bodies.
The bartender reached for the phone.
The man in the hoodie lifted his right hand slightly.
“Don’t.”
The bartender froze.
I said, “Let him call.”
The man’s eyes flicked to me.
“You don’t give orders anymore.”
“No?”
“You disappeared.”
“I retired.”
“You were erased.”
I smiled then.
A small smile.
The kind Mason had never seen.
“No,” I said. “That’s what they told you so you’d get sloppy.”
His left hand moved.
I grabbed the pool cue from the rack and snapped the thin end across his wrist before the weapon cleared his pocket.
The sound was ugly.
Bone or plastic or both.
The gun hit the floor.
Maddox moved like a slammed door.
He drove the man into a table, swept the gun away, and pinned the wrist while Alvarez and Pike dragged civilians back.
The bar exploded into shouts.
