" Devon Randle went down the center aisle toward the back of the dining room, where a set of swinging doors opened into the kitchen. An arm’s length or so short of the doors, he’d turned hard on his heels, spinning, shucking a pair of six-guns out of the holsters and into his hands. He’d stepped to the side, out of the way of the swinging doors, so no one could surprise him from that direction. "