"Here something for flunkies," the trash lady thrust her hunting knife in his stomach.
Floyd clutch it trying to yank it out of his gut and fell in desperation on the ground. Trash lady turned to Get It Right, displaying her handgun or some automatic pistol. Brice couldn't tell the difference. Nicholson leaning forward, gazing at her face. She fired two shots near each of his earlobes.
"'Don't mess with my mama, ' Arcadio says," Trash lady replaced her gun and reclaimed her knife. "Do you hear me?" She roared with laughter sprinting from the block. Bullets came from all directions as Get It Right's bodyguards approached firing at her. She dug between the bags and tossed something in their directions. Brice held his ears to stop his head from pounding from the boom noise and pressed his feet against the floor to steady himself. An explosion happened. Body parts flew like crash test dummies.
Nicholson stomped his foot then he backed up his chair. He rocked in his chair a few times. "You've been praying."
"Yes," Brice said. After all that had happen, he knew he was in a guerrilla war with drug dealers, cops, and civilians. He blocked what happened out his mind, trusting he could win.
"Look at what's going on and at me." Nicholson slapped his legs. "I made it through by the grace of God. I'm supposed to have been dead so many times."
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