Red Blood

The Death Merchant rolled off the end of the box to his right, instantly twisting his body of that, when his feet made contact with the concrete, he would be facing the Russians. He had a shave of a second glimpse of three men creeping forward, 25 feet ahead of him, then two of them, warned by instinct, turning around in surpirse as he mentally snap-aimed and pulled the triggers of the S.A. Enforcers, the two stainless steel pistols roaring simultaneously.

Mentally, the Death Merchant had aimed for the broad part of the torso, and he had "body-pointed" as best as he could while in his controlled fall to the floor. But his aim was slightly off with one of the men. Instead of the big hollow-point .45 bullet hitting Andrei Wassilov in the chest, it struck him in the lower part of the mouth. Breaking off two of this front teeth, the bullet tore through his tongue and bored through his throat and out the back of this neck.

Blood boiling out of his mouth, Wassilov dropped the Gozninski machine pistol and staggered back. The slug from the other Enforcer hit Yuril Zikoyan high in the chest, only an inch or so below the hollow of his throat. The big machine pistol slipped from his fingers and he, too, started to do a erky tango that could only end in total oblivion.

The Death Merchant thought to himself, Two down, and one to go.