Handguns...I hate handguns...

Handguns...I hate handguns...

Ah, once again been a while since my last post.  Not that anyone reads this so it doesn't really matter.  It's more of an effort on my part to keep my writing skills honed to a fine point.  Use it or lose it, right?  Right...
Still waiting on final word on the last house.  I think all will be ok but you never know about these house deals.  Sometimes they can go south at the last minute.  Which leads me to Deuce Maverick and his current situation.  If you remember, his office window had just been shattered by...but wait, if you don't remember, go read the previous blogs for crying out loud.
And with that, on to Deuce....
My hatred of handguns aside, I am still quite quick when the ol' Big A hits me.  Adrenaline that is.  I love that stuff.  It can make the most intense situations seem even crazier.  Fight or flight syndrome and all that jazz.  Whatever the case, I grabbed the women's arm and dragged her down behind the desk with me.  Rain drops cascade in through the window with each gust of wind and I can faintly here men yelling outside.  Most of what I hear is "did you get 'em?"
I decide to risk a quick peek.  I see them.  3 guys in dark suits and white shirts.  All are carrying automatic pistols.  All are bulky.  All are most definitely mean and probably hired assassins.  I turn back to the woman.
"Who did you piss off?  Dick Cheney?"
"Possibly.  I'm not sure.  I did mention something about his wife that-"
"That was not a serious question.  You know Cheney?"
"Of course I know him."
No explanation.  That's what I like about these hoity-toity rich women.  They only tell you what they think you need to know.  Which invariable gets me knee deep into trouble.
I decide it's time for action.
"What's your name," I ask.
"Liddy Anne Horne."
I recognize the name of course.  Ex-wife of the former mayor.  They divorced right before the mayor was killed.  Some think the mafia hit him.  I think it may have been his constituents.  Either way I know a bit better of what I am dealing with now.
"Come on."
I grab her hand and lead her to the door.  On the way I grab the shotgun and a few extra shells I keep in the peat moss around the potted plant.  It's loaded.  Like I said, I have no fear of big guns.
In the hallway, she automatically heads for the elevator.  I stop her and head for the fire exit instead.
My building is pretty old and fire escapes consist of those old rusted staircases you see on every old building in NY.  I've used this one several times and each time I wonder how much longer it will be before it crashes to the ground. 
A quick look below reveals no bad guys...yet.
We head down.  Every step clatters loudly but the pouring rain and occasional thunder seems to cover the sounds pretty well.
"What's your plan?", Liddy asks.
"Plan?  Get out of here alive of course.  And take you with me if possible."
"I'm paying you good money to protect me!"
I'm just about to point out the fact that I have received absolutely no money from her and in fact we have not come to any kind of financial agreement when gunshots ricochet off the fire escape, inches from my head!
to be continued...