Free D.E.A.D. Till I Die: An Action Thriller (GlobaTech Book 1) by James P. Sumner

dressed in a large overcoat and loose-fitting jeans, with expensive-looking sneakers poking out the bottom, leaning against the wall off to his right. He had a baseball cap worn high, with the peak almost vertical. He was clean shaven, maybe late twenties.
    Jericho glanced over his shoulder, back to the street. No one was paying any attention. He turned to face the man. “Not lost,” he replied. “Just looking.”
    The man stepped closer, stopping in front of Jericho and looking him up and down. “That right? And what you looking for, big man?”
    Jericho gestured to his bandage, which he knew was far from inconspicuous. “I need something for the pain,” he said, with a slight smile.
    “You’re a big guy,” said the man, shrugging. “I reckon you can manage.”
    “I don’t know… I’m in a lot of pain.”
    The man’s eyes flicked momentarily to his right, and two more guys appeared, dressed in similar outfits. He looked back at Jericho as his friends walked slowly toward them.
    “Oh, you about to be, homie,” he said. “Are you a cop?”
    “Do I look like a cop?” asked Jericho.
    “Yeah, you kinda do,” he replied with a humorless smile.
    “Huh... really? Well, that’s a pain in the ass. I’m not , by the way. You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. Tell me, do you treat all your potential customers with such prejudice and contempt?”
    “Whatever, man. In my line of work, you’re guilty until proven innocent, know what I’m sayin’? Now, my boys here are gonna search you. And I hope for your sake we find cash, and nothin’ else. Otherwise, you gonna have a problem, you feel me?”
    Jericho smiled regrettably. “Seriously, if any of you lay a hand on me, I’ll fucking break it.”
    The man took a step back; his face a split-second picture of shock, before lighting up with a large, white and gold smile.
    “Ah, shit—you just gone and got yourself killed, bro.” He turned to his friends. “Fuck this fool up!”
    Jericho turned to look at them as they moved toward him. Their bulky frames and weathered faces gave the impression they were professional muscle, but they posed no serious threat to him.
    He took one giant step forward, right foot first, and met the one on his left head on. Before he could move, Jericho thrust his left leg forward without breaking stride and kicked him hard in the groin. The man buckled over instinctively. As his head lowered, Jericho took another step and lifted his right knee, smashing it into the man’s face. He felt the cartilage in the nose break under the impact, and he watched as the guy dropped to the floor like a dead weight.
    Jericho turned to face the other man, who hesitated briefly before throwing a right punch at his face. Jericho caught the punch in his large right hand, stopping it dead. The impact stung his palm, but his face betrayed nothing. He stared into the man’s shocked, wide eyes and saw a wave of fear sweep across them.
    He threw the man’s hand down and launched one of his own—a quick left jab that connected flush on the jaw, sending him backward, crashing unconscious to the ground next to his friend.
    Jericho spun around, breathing heavily; not through exertion, but through sheer adrenaline. It felt good to get involved again—to feel capable. His world had been turned upside down, and being able to take down a bunch of low-lives made him feel… himself again.
    The man who engaged him when he first emerged from the alley stood holding a gun, and was aiming it directly at him. He was maybe ten feet away, and Jericho could see the faintest of quivers in the gun’s barrel. The man was afraid.
    And so he should be…
    “Give me that gun and whatever cash you have on you, and I’ll let you off easy,” said Jericho, feeling that was a perfectly reasonable proposal.
    “Sc-screw you!” came the response. “I’m gonna shoot you!”
    Jericho smiled. “No, you’re not.”
    The man frowned. “And what makes you so sure, fool?”