shoots parker

Parker laughed, a low and nasty sound. "Nice trick. Got another?"
"One more," I rasped, and fumbled at the jumpsuit's tool pouch. Parker walked slowly toward me, confident, relaxed, and moving like a man thirty years younger than he. My fingers were aching with cold, torn from the asphalt, numb from all the pain and scrapes and bruises. But the handle of my Chief's Special was easy enough to find.
I drew it out, thumbed back the hammer, and pointed it up at Parker. His eyes widened and his weight settled back on his heels - not quite retreating, but not coming any closer, either. From three feet away, even down in the mud, it would be tough to miss him, and he knew it.
"I didn't pick you for the kind to carry a gun," he said. The rain plastered his greasy hair down over his eyes.
"Only on special occasions," I said back. I had to delay him. If I could hold him in place, just for a few minutes, the cops would show up. I had to believe that they would, because if they didn't I was dead meat. Maybe literally. "Stop where you are."
He didn't. He took a step toward me.
So I shot him.
The gun roared, and the bullet smacked into his right kneecap. It exploded in a burst of blood and flying chips of bone, and the leg went out from under him, hurling him to the muddy ground. He blinked once, surprised, but the pain he must have been feeling didn't seem to register. He scooted back a couple of feet and stared at me for a second, reassessing me.


Fool Moon Chapter 21, Page 250-251