Free ATONEMENT by S. W. Frank Page B

sideways. W hen Alfonzo flexed forward with a black look , Vincent held him to the ground as another succession of shots rang out . The bullets whizzed overhead and Vincent returned fire, not wild shots but controlled ones .
    Bang! Bang!
    That’s it; two shots from Vincent’s M9 stopped Bryan’s progression. He was stumbling backward drunk with lead about to topple when from across the street a PRPD officer with the silver Guardia shield , his gun extended, both hands clasped to the revolver fir ed directly at the injured gunman ’s head .
    Vincent saw the resulting impact as a bullet ripped through Bryan sending a spray of human tissue out the side. “ Oooh , that gotta hurt,” he mumbled as Bryan’s legs buckled and he collapsed slamming face down in the street.
    People screamed.
    Alfonzo heard f eet running , sirens and ensuing pandemonium. T he contents of coffee slid to meet the thick pool of blood near his body. He lay there, unwilling to tussle with Vincen t because he was too darn exhausted and frankly he could use a rest. He knew when it was over because the gunfire and panic-stricken voices ceased .
    Fifty Cents’ former rap hit played in his head and he jammed to it, finding it appropriate under the circumstances.
    ‘Many men…many…many…many…many men, wish death on me…I don’t cry no more…don’t look to the sky no more… ’
    He would’ve stayed there , napping if Vincent’s voice hadn’t asked, “What the hell ’s wrong with you ; a graze and you ’ r e dead?”
    Alfonzo looked at the sky and found Vi ncent staring down in amusement. “Go ahead pendejo lau gh. I’m tired.”
    “No, you’ re plain crazy. ”
    “ Que también .”
    Who the hell sleeps during a shoot -out ?”
    “You kept knocking me over! ”
    “Yeah, I did it so you wouldn’t catch a bullet in your big head , not for you to go nighty-night by lull ing yourself to sleep with a 50 Cent death song .”
    Alfonzo got to his feet and examin ed the t ear to his favorite Brook’s Brothers suit jacket. “Shucks!” B lood poured down the sleeve and he looked at Vincent, “He missed your large cabeza and got me.”
    “ He’s a piss of a shot. Probably never shot a gun a day in his life. ”
    “You have to stop pushing me, m y reflexes are way faster than yours big guy.”
    “Bull- shit!”
    “The time it took you to shove me out of the way you could’ve covered your own ass.”
    “Shut-up kid, that’s not what I’m paid to do.”
    Alfonzo frowned, “Vin, just stop with the shoving shit alright?”
    “Yeah…yeah…yeah!” Vincent said dismissively then turned toward the active police scene. The cops were out in force. Soon they’d come to question him and Alfonzo. Yeah, they’d want his weapon until the investigation was over. He had others , but this one was his favorite. He heaved air; Alfonzo didn’t understand much did he? Vincent’s job was to keep him safe and out of harm’s way. Money wasn’t the incentive, far from it. He and Nico took oaths. They were sworn to protect Alfonzo and then he’d made another pledge to Alfonzo . Both were affirmed on the blood of the Giacanti’s . To die ensuring the grandson of Sergio Giacanti survived was a fulfillment of his duties, a goddamn honor!
    Alfonzo had his sleeve rolled up checking the bullet wound. Vincent ’s right, the projectile didn’t penetrate any muscle or bone, it mostly hit the fleshy p ortion of his upper arm. He need ed a few stiches, otherwise, he ’d live .
    His chuckle got Vincent’s attention, “You owe me another coffee.”
    “That’s all you can think about , coffee and your precious suit?”
    “Right now, is there anything more important?”
    “How about you almost got done in by a two-bit drunk?”
    “Almost, is an adverb , i t modifies a verb, so I guess I didn’t get done - in by the two bit drunk, did I ?”
    Vincent cocked a brow at the younger man, yeah, he was talking crap which m ean t Alfonzo really needed some