"Hefty, are you never going to let this go?"
Stomping his feet in the mess on the floor, Hefty motioned his gun for him to come. Then he poured cornmeal over the mess. Brice didn't move.
"Come eat this," Hefty said firing a bullet. Brice grappled with his leg, checking the wound. Blood emerged. Brice limped near the mess, picking up a handful of it.. He brought it to his mouth. Do something. He told himself, not wanting to die. He threw the mess in Hefty's face then he rolled in the opposite direction of the shots. Hefty fired three more times scratching at his eyes.
The heat from the bullets pumped up Brice's heartbeats. Running out the back door, he headed for his car. He yanked the door open to the passenger side for the Glock. He backed out the car on his belly, flipping over to his back. He slammed the door. Hefty stood over him. He fired, his head ached and his vision blurred as Hefty scurried through the dark. He knew he hit him, hoping he was dead. His stomach gurgled, realizing his death brought him peace. Brice stumbled to his feet and trotted through the side streets to meet up with Office Newberry. She would be his alibi.
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