Amanda Cohen sighed as a bullet blasted a chunk out of the booth she crouched behind in the dingy Dad’s Burgers. The lone worker behind the counter had already hit the deck. Probably crawled out the back door already. People were ready for anything in Rook City.
Expatriette pulled Pride out of its holster, slammed a clip into it, and blindly fired two rounds behind her. Electricity crackled and there was the start of a scream, cut short as one of the gunmen fell to the floor, twitching.
She sipped her coffee.
“The Chairman is displeased, Miss Cohen,” a male voice said from the doorway. He punctuated his sentence with a few shots from his pistol. It wouldn’t be safe behind this booth much longer.
She chucked the coffee cup into the air, and it arced toward the middle of the room. The gunman took the bait and fired at it, which gave Expatriette just enough time to slip out from behind the booth and fire a few more shock rounds in his direction. He, too, collapsed in a shuddering heap.
As she pried the gun from his hand, she shook her head. His eyes were unfocused but angry.
“Tell him to send a letter next time.”
Letting out another heavy sigh, she left some change on the counter and grabbed a fresh styrofoam cup. But the coffee pot was shattered, leaving a hot brown mess—and no fresh coffee.
“Damn it,” Expatriette muttered, stepping over the two goons on her way out the door. Where else was she going to find a coffee at two in the morning?