Predator Concrete Jungle 1

The roar of the shotgun seemed to shake the weakened building right down to its foundation, and Rasche's ears rang even before the second blast put buckshot through a space where Schaefer had been standing a fraction of a second before. He couldn't hear Carr's footsteps as the gang leader started running, couldn't hear if Carr had said anything else, couldn't hear him curse when he ratcheted the pump and got an empty click and realized the goddamn shotgun had only had two shells left in it.
Then Rasche's hearing began to come back, and he did hear Schaefer bellow,

"Freeze, you son of a-"

Schaefer's 9mm barked three times, and by that time Rasche had finally gotten himself turned over and headed back to being upright, and how the hell had Carr gotten so far down the corridor already, and how'd Schaefer get into that solid shooting stance?

But Schaefer wasn't as calm and in control as he looked, because he missed with all three shots, and while Schaefer wasn't exactly Annie Oakley, he didn't generally miss three times at that range, and it sure as hell wasn't due to any worries about wanting to hit his target, not when Carr had just tried to blow him away.

Carr was yelling when he went through the window at the far end of the corridor, but he wasn't hit, it was pure adrenaline, a scream of challenge, not pain, and Schaefer was already running after him, and Rasche wondered as he often did, how the hell did Schaef do that? How could anyone be that strong, that fast, when he spent his time at a desk or in a car, instead of working out at the gym?
Rasche got to his own feet and trotted heavily down the passage, to find Schaefer standing in a shattered window frame, his hands on either side of the sash and one foot on the fire escape beyond, staring up the street. Rasche stepped up beside him and watched as Carr dodged the four cops assigned to watch that particular alley, watched as they hesitated, conferred among themselves, and didn't leave their post to pursue.-pg.29-30 chpt.3