Hamman cursed at the missed opportunity. He had tailed Jackson, a rival of his in The Boss’s gang, to his next job. Unnoticed, he was just about to kill Jackson’s mark when the store owner gave away his presence. Jackson managed to save the man he was sent to kill, but at least Hamman was able stall his rival long enough for the man to get away.
After being chased off, Hamman only ran far enough to get out of sight. He took cover behind a mailbox across the street. A million things went through his mind as he tried to figure out what his next move should be. The first thing he needed was more time. Hamman called another fellow gang member and told him to keep the police occupied because Jackson had screwed up the hit.
That’s when he saw the homeless man walk up to the store.
He watched the events unfold with glee. This had worked out perfectly. Now, all he had to do was kill Jackson and blame it on the homeless man. Hamman still planned on trying to kill the homeless man, but it wasn’t essential to his plan. Either way, The Boss would be told the homeless man killed Jackson. He walked out from behind the mailbox and headed for the door.
DICO saw movement out of the corner of his eye. There was a man approaching the front doors. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like the man had just appeared out of nowhere. After all, no cars had pulled up to the building. Not willing to give this newcomer a free shot, like he did with the last man, he reached inside his shirt, pulled one of his nipples off, and prepared to throw it.
With his hands raised, the man walked in the door. “My name is SGT. Hamman,” he began. “Is everything…”
Before he could finish his question, DICO chucked the projectile at his head. Hamman ducked, barely dodging it. “What the hell is wrong with you,” Hamman yelled, holding up a stolen badge. “I’m with the police.”
“Bullshit,” DICO retorted. “If you were a cop, you would’ve come in your car with the lights and siren blaring.”
“I’m off duty, you idiot.”
“And where’s your gun?”
Hamman swore inside his head. He did have a gun tucked into the back of his waistband, but the silencer on it would give away the fact that he wasn’t a cop. How the hell did I forget to take that off, he chided himself. “I already told you,” he tried stalling. “I’m off duty. I don’t have it on me.”
“Then you’re the only cop I’ve ever heard of that doesn’t carry one at all times,” DICO shouted as he threw a second time.
After ducking again, Hamman pulled the gun out and pointed it in DICO’s direction. When he had the shot lined up, he finally saw what was being thrown at him. DICO pulled off another nipple and made ready to let fly. Even though he knew he should pull the trigger, Hamman found himself sternly saying, “Put the nipple down and nobody else gets hurt.”
As the ridiculousness of what he just said washed over Hamman, the momentary distraction it caused was all DICO needed to hurl the third nipple at his opponent. The movement registered in Hamman’s mind and he fired his gun. Both men hoped they they would be able to dodge the speeding projectiles.