3
" The fifth, in a rumpled plaid suit and plastic devil mask, plunked a ukulele. Even without the Satan-head mask, I realized Hawaii was a hell of a long way from Mexico, and I didn’t freeze, didn’t pause, just made a U-turn and cut back through the crowd. The last thing I saw was Ski Mask Guy’s neck twisting in my direction. I flew down the hall and then remembered that I was in the Commodore, and that the name of the Outfit-run hotel probably began with the third letter in the alphabet for a reason. I stepped around a corner and stared at a wall covered in flocked wallpaper. The pattern was end-to-end diamond shapes with small raised C’s in the middle. I pushed one, and then another, and another—I realized Ski Mask Guy would be rounding the corner any second—and pushed another, and one more, and then I thought screw it and took a fire extinguisher from the wall, listened for galumphing footsteps, and stepped out swinging.
I nailed him at solar plexus level.
He staggered backward groping at air, caught himself, and charged.
I went low on the next shot, kneecapping him, and he squealed like a debutante.
And then I was gone, down the hallway, pushing through the revolving door briefcase-first and sprinting for the Lincoln, yelling, “Al! Throw me the keys!”
“Head’s up, Al!” he said, flipping them through the air.
I snagged them, leaped in, and called out, “Thanks, Al!”
“My pleasure! Watch your back, Al!”
I roared from the curb, waved from the window, and hoped for more Als just like him "
― T.M. Goeglein , Cold Fury (Cold Fury, #1)
