Blood Bound: New Orleans Trilogy, #1

By Melanie Atkins

Fueled by grief after his fiancée is brutally murdered, Detective Sam Walker focuses on finding her killer—a calculating predator who binds books with human skin. Dani Barrington, the newest member of NOPD's Victim and Witness Assistance Unit and a survivor of another frightening attack, helps him discover the terrifying link between the monster's known victims. Despite his anguish, Sam is struck by Dani's incredible strength and determination, especially when her inquisitive  nature makes her the killer's next target. He must find a way to protect her or risk losing the one woman who can bring his dead heart back to life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melanie Atkins
• Release date: Aug 19, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393503491

Book preview

Prologue

Wednesday, June 15

Kristen was gone.

She wasn't at work. She wasn't at home. She hadn't gone out to run an errand. She had simply... vanished.

New Orleans Detective Sam Walker stood in the center of his fiancée's cluttered bedroom and struggled to piece together the timeline of her disappearance. Last night they'd planned to meet for dinner, but he'd caught a case. They'd talked on the phone around eleven, and he'd asked her to meet him for lunch today at Mabry's.

He hadn't spoken with her since.

She had also failed to show up for her job with the Victim and Witness Assistance Unit. One of her co-workers had called to tell him this around ten o'clock, and he'd tried to reach Kristen again. She hadn't answered, so he'd come here and found her car in the driveway.

Yet she sure as hell wasn't here.

Her bed was meticulously made, the way she left it every morning, dumping him out on the days he'd stayed over. A damp towel lay beside the bathroom sink. Soulful jazz drifted from the iPod dock on her nightstand. What terrified him most, however, was the spot of blood on the door frame and the lone pink sandal lying in the living room floor beside her purse, keys, and cell phone.

His heart lurched. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Simply could not absorb that she was missing. They'd been engaged for five months and three days, with only a month to go until the wedding. They should be mulling over the guest list, squabbling about where to go for their honeymoon, and deciding where they wanted to live.

Instead, Sam stared at Kristen's empty bed.

There's no sign of forced entry, so she either let the guy in or he jumped her when she headed to work this morning. Major Sabbatini's voice floated to Sam as if he were far away. I'm thinking she fought him off and ran, and he caught her here in the bedroom.

She would have clawed him. Hell, she would've drawn blood with those long nails. Sam should know. He had the marks on his back to prove it. Moisture blurred his vision as he eyed the maroon stain on the door jamb. She... she just had her nails done a couple of days ago. They're like talons.

We'll check the blood for DNA. You know that. What were her plans for today?

Um... just to work, far as I know. We were supposed to have lunch. Sam shook his head. Then tonight, she was going to a wedding shower. I just—

When was the last time you talked to her?

Late—last night. Sam's eyes fell on a partially-filled mug on the table beside Kristen's favorite chair, where she liked to read or check email on her phone. A hard knot formed in the center of his chest. She didn't even finish her coffee. She loves coffee.

We're gonna find her, son.

You don't know that. Sam's voice cracked. He turned to his boss. What if I never see her again?

*****

Wednesday, July 17

The Mississippi River glimmered like molten gold as it snaked past the French Quarter beneath the setting sun. The sultry July air smelled of turned earth, fish, and rotting flesh.

He stood about a hundred feet away from I-10, watching the area below the bridge. Satisfaction flowed through his veins like a drug. Eager to see what was happening downriver, he hunkered in the shadows beneath the trees and pulled out his binoculars, focusing first on the bloated corpse sprawled on the strip of sand and then moving on to the detectives, the medical examiner, and the trio of technicians busy photographing and cataloguing every little detail.

One detective stood off by himself with his hand over his eyes.

The watcher sneered.

That one was particularly upset. What a pity. This one had begged for mercy, like all the others, but the word wasn't in his vocabulary.

Mother had seen to that.

This fucking bitch deserved to die just like all the others, without a lick of compassion or sympathy.

He lowered the binoculars, and the sun gleamed off the slim silver bracelet adorning his left wrist. His resolve grew even more resolute. Finally, another one of the Godforsaken bitches who'd failed his sister had paid the ultimate price. He would wait for a while, let this one sink in, and give himself time to bask in the glory of the kill.

Then it would be time for number four.

Another volume for posterity.

Chapter One

Eight months later

Monday, March 14

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. NOPD Detective Sam Walker's low rasp echoed inside the tiny confessional within the deep recesses of St. Mary's Church. He pressed his damp palms to his thighs. It's been nine months since my last confession.

Continue.

My sins are... indescribable... He let the word trail off. Sweat pooled at the base of his spine. I don't know if I can—

You must voice your transgressions, son, to get them off your chest. It's the only way to gain absolution.

I don't deserve God's forgiveness.

Sam, tell me the truth. Father O'Malley cleared his throat. Is this about Kristen?

She died a horrible death, Sam whispered, his heart breaking all over again for his fiancée and the family he would never have with her.

The priest paused.

It's been a long time.

Eight fucking—sorry, Father. Sam broke off and swallowed, doing his best to regain his composure. "Eight long months. I thought I was coping, but I can't get past it. Especially since I'm the reason she's dead."

How did you come to that conclusion?

Sam pressed his lips together. Every time he thought about his fiancée's brutal murder, his gut clenched. He should have taken her to dinner that night like he'd promised, instead of letting the job get in the way. The Glock riding his hip was a constant reminder he'd been a detective first, and her intended husband second.

God should damn me straight to hell.

Father O'Malley shifted inside the tiny booth, and the ornate screen between them shuddered. The too-sweet odor of funeral lilies wafted over Sam.

You didn't murder her, my son. Some sick, depraved individual did it.

I was supposed to protect her.

You were doing your job.

When I should have been with her. Keeping her safe. Agony pierced his soul. He dropped his elbows to his knees and hung his head. His voice broke. I let her die.

"You didn't let her die, Sam. A terrible thing happened. It wasn't your fault. God doesn't hold you responsible."

Well, He should. I'm guilty.

Sam—

He... he skinned her, Father. I don't know why, but he did. Tears burned his eyes.

Clearly shaken, Father O'Malley murmured more words of condolence. I'll say another prayer for her soul.

It's my fault she's gone. I can never do enough penance to make up for it. Sam shuddered. Not in this lifetime.

"I want you to say one Our Father and one Hail Mary."

Sam barked a harsh laugh.

That doesn't even scratch the surface. I can't even—

Wait. I'm not finished. Father O'Malley regained his poise, and his strong, even tone reverberated in Sam's ears. I also want you to pray for the person responsible for Kristen's death.

Hell, no! Sam blurted, the idea of absolution jolting his brittle psyche. I can't pray for that sick son of a bitch. He's killed four women, including Kristen, after brutalizing them, and we have no idea who he is. We're working day and night—

That's your penance, son. Father O'Malley said, gravely. In addition, you must perform the Act of Contrition and say the Rosary. Don't let that individual's cruel soul steal yours.

Father O'Malley's sage words of advice still rang in Sam's ears fifteen minutes later as he jerked on his coat and hurried out of the church into the cool March breeze. His heart throbbed as if somebody had stomped the living hell out of it. He'd attempted to pray for the evil snake who'd murdered Kristen, but had failed miserably. All he wanted to do was get his hands around the sick bastard's neck.

His cell phone shrilled, yanking him back to reality. He paused on the steps in the blinding sun and fished out the bleating device.

Focus. You have a job to do.

Walker.

Sam, sorry to bother you. I know you're at the church, but we need you at a scene. Downriver, about a mile south of where they found Kristen. We have another one.

Seriously? Sam swayed as the meaning of his partner's words crashed into him. The nightmare continued. His heartbeat skittered. Do you know anything? Have an ID? Any leads?

Not yet. Her body's in pretty bad shape. The ME's on his way.

Okay. I'll... I'll be there as soon as I can. He closed the phone and switched his gaze to his car parked down the street. He needed to get inside it and drive. Don't think, don't give in to emotion. Just get to the scene.

Go in peace, Sam. The priest's words startled him.

He spun to find himself face to face with Father O'Malley. The priest's kind gray eyes were a balm to his stinging soul. He put his hand on Sam's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Call your mother. She's worried about you.

My mother? Sam blinked after being jerked from his thoughts. Finally, what the priest had said registered in his grief-fogged brain. He was talking about family, not death. Sam's dysfunctional family. He met Father O'Malley's curious gaze. She only wants me to come to dinner so my father can pour on another layer of guilt about Philip. Everything's always about my big brother. Dad's never mentioned Kristen's death even once.

You know he cares about you.

Do I? Sam lifted a brow. Philip was gunned down while I was still working a beat. I wasn't in the same zone, wasn't even on duty that night. But that never registered with my dad. Not once. I became a cop instead of taking over the store for him, and you know how that translates. As a betrayal. Because of it, he blames me for Philip's death.

Sam—

Let it go, Father. I have. Sam forced a smile so Father O'Malley wouldn't see the lie written all over his face and jogged off down the steps, his troubled thoughts tumbling inside his head as he climbed into his battered, department-issue Ford.

He'd gone to the church today for absolution, and he'd found it. Too bad he could never forgive himself. Not for Kristen's grisly demise or Philip's untimely death. Or for disappointing his father every single day.

He wasn't his sainted older brother, the king in his father's eyes, and he never would be. He was simply a man who'd lost the two people he'd loved most in this world.

A man afraid to trust. Afraid to feel.

A man who would never be happy again.

*****

Thursday, March 18

Birthday number thirty-two. Ten down and counting since the birthday Dani Barrington most wanted to forget. Her heart constricted as she rubbed the small scar on the back of her hand and blew out the candles on the elaborately-decorated sheet cake taking up half of her desk. The combined odors of sugary icing and spent wax drifted over her. She met her best friend's determined eyes over the stack of files that had been pushed aside, and she frowned.

I told you not to do this, Abigail. You know I don't celebrate birthdays anymore, and you know why.

Yes, I do, Abigail said, her expression growing solemn. But I also know it's time for you to start living again. Beginning today, your first birthday here in New Orleans. There's no time like the present for you to celebrate your new beginning.

Just being away from Tampa is enough.

Maybe it seems that way now—

I don't have anything else to celebrate.

What about your job? You told me you find it rewarding. Or your new apartment? Abigail cocked a brow. Not to mention all the hunky cops and investigators you've met since you got here.

That's nothing to get excited about.

Maybe not for you. Her friend smirked. But I'm enjoying the hell out of it.

You're man crazy.

Happy birthday, Dani. Roger Gordon, an investigator for the Orleans Parish District Attorney's office, halted at her office door. He was blond, with classic good looks, a nice ass, and a friendly attitude. Exactly what she should want. Except he did nothing for her. No man had since the attack. She lived her life alone, and she liked it that way. He flashed her a gorgeous smile. Hope you're having a good day.

Thanks. I am. She nudged the cake and knife toward him. Have a some cake.

I believe I will.

He stepped inside, took a plate from Abigail, and proceeded to whack off a large corner of the colorful sheet cake.

Abigail made a face, and she smothered a laugh. Abigail would love to date Roger but so far, he only wanted to talk to Dani.

Lucky me.

She folded her arms and smirked at her friend.

Roger lounged against the desk, dug into the cake, and made small talk.

A cell phone rang, and they all jumped. Abigail flashed Dani a startled look, pulled out her Blackberry, and turned away to answer it.

Abigail Tremont.

Relieved the call hadn't been on her phone, Dani picked up a file from the stack on her desk and flipped through it. The photos of her latest victim's bruises turned her stomach.

Roger settled a hip on the corner of her desk.

Doing anything special for your birthday?

No. I don't celebrate. She edged her chair back as the man crowded closer. The cake was Abigail's idea.

I see. He licked icing off his fingers one at a time, making a show of it for her benefit, she guessed. Yet his antics did nothing but increase her apathy toward him. Well, a beautiful woman should do something nice on her special day. How 'bout dinner tonight?

Oh, I'll eat at home. I never go without food.

That's not what I mean, and you know it. I'm asking you out on a date.

I know. Dani's cheeks flushed. She didn't know if he was asking her out of pity or because he was genuinely interested in her. But what did it matter? She wasn't going out with him. She met his eyes. I appreciate your offer, but I'm not interested. Sorry.

Come on, Dani. It'll be a blast.

No.

Give it up, Roger, Abigail said wryly, approaching them, Blackberry in hand. When she says no, she means it.

Thanks. Dani hadn't noticed her friend had ended the call. She returned her gaze to Roger. She's right.

"Anyway, she's going out with me tomorrow night. Abigail looked up at him and winked. We have plans."

Fine. Irritation flashed across Roger's face. He ditched the plastic plate and fork in the garbage, brushed off his hands, and glared at Dani. Forget I asked.

I'm not kidding about going out, Abigail said, after he disappeared out the door.

A bit confused, Dani frowned. What are you talking about? We didn't plan anything.

You didn't, but I'm hosting a party in your honor at Zoe's.

No, Abigail. Panic rushed up Dani's throat. She rose. I can't.

Yes, you can. Her friend pinned her with a deliberate stare. "Don't even attempt to weasel out of it. I won't take no for an answer. Everybody you know will be there. From here, the DA's office, minus Roger, of course, and the police department. You'll love it."

I don't want a party, Dani said, her voice rising. Call it off.

Can't. It's a done deal. Abigail crossed her arms. Be there at seven, with bells on. No excuses.

Are you out of your damned mind?

Maybe, but trust me. You need to go out this weekend.

"I do not." Dani put down the file. Her heart fluttered. I need to be left alone to live in peace.

In boredom, you mean.

Boredom is safe. She gripped the edge of the desk. My private world has no men in it. That means no danger, no threat—

And absolutely no sex. Abigail's mouth curved, and she dropped her arms. Come on, Dani. You and I both deal with danger every day.

"No. We deal with the aftermath of danger. There's a big difference."

You're splitting hairs.

I don't want to go to the damned party.

Too bad, Abigail said. With one last smirk, she flounced from the office, only to poke her head back inside. Seven tomorrow night, at Zoe's. Be there, or I'll call in a favor and have a friend send a squad car after you.

She vanished into the outer office, and Dani lowered her head to her arms and slumped down in her chair, her body paralyzed by fear. What was she going to do? She didn't do parties... or mingle with people much at all, for that matter, except the women she helped.

Women like me.

Her attack had happened the day after a rollicking St. Patrick's Day celebration on campus her senior year at the University of South Florida, and she hadn't been to a party since.

She reluctantly sat up.

Get your mind back on the case. Think about Tammy, and the other women you've helped. Not yourself.

She rose, moved the cake to the top of the filing cabinet, and picked up Tammy's file. She needed to talk to the Special Victim's Crime Unit again, to see if they had developed any leads. The girl was in counseling, but couldn't stop crying long enough to listen to the Crisis Intervention Specialist.

Dani's phone rang, and she snatched it up.

Dani Barrington.

Silence.

Hello? Her senses sharpened. Is anyone there?

Still nothing.

This is the New Orleans Victim's Advocate's office. She hesitated. You must have the wrong number.

I don't think so, a raspy male voice said. He paused. Happy birthday, Dani.

Click.

An icy chill raced up her neck. She slammed down the phone.

Dani? A man's deep baritone startled her.

She jerked her head up to see Roger standing in the doorway with a worried expression on his face.

He stepped inside.

Wow. You're white as a sheet. You okay?

No... yes. She swallowed hard, glanced down at the phone, and willed herself to calm down. I just... um, had a strange phone call.

Strange in what way?

He edged closer to the desk.

Not wanting to confide in him, she forced herself to relax. Come to think of it, it really wasn't that strange after all. It was probably just a wrong number.

Are you sure?

I'm positive. She pushed a wisp of hair behind her ear with one shaky hand. Look... do you need something?

No. I was just walking by and saw you slam dunk the phone.

I'm just feeling antsy today, she said, eager to get rid of him. I've been working long hours, and just need a break.

Wanna walk down the block for coffee?

No, thanks. She flashed him a fake smile. Caffeine's the last thing I need right now.

All right. I understand. He furrowed his brow. But if you need anything, anything at all, I want you to promise to call me. Will you do that?

Sure. When hell freezes over. She gripped the back of her chair. Thanks, Roger.

He bobbed his head, studied her for another long moment, and then disappeared into the hall. Relieved, she blew out a shaky breath, and picked up the telephone.

Abigail answered on the second ring.

Child Abuse Unit, Abigail Tremont.

Abigail, I just had a telephone call that scared the hell out of me. Dani's legs wobbled. She dropped into her chair before they gave way. A man wished me happy birthday.

"Okay... let me get this straight. That scared you?"

"Yes. It came from a total stranger and wasn't a normal happy birthday, Dani, and it set my teeth on edge. He mocked me. Almost like—" Dani froze. The way Austin harassed me before he and Luther attacked me.

What's wrong? Dani?

Oh, my God. Her mouth went dry, and she leapt to her feet. It was Austin. It had to be. He and Luther are still in prison, but I'm sure they have phone privileges. Monitored or not, he can certainly get by with wishing someone happy birthday.

Are you sure he'd have the balls to call you?

"Why not? He attacked me. He hurt me."

You'd better make sure he's still locked up.

He'd better be. I wasn't able to go to his latest parole hearing because of this job, but Emily's parents always beg to keep him locked up, and I'm sure they went this time, too.

You'd better check.

You're right. Dani shivered. Austin Miller had attacked her out of revenge after she'd spurned him and even forced his friend to take a turn, although he didn't act as if he wanted to do it. Cold fury had leeched from Austin that night, an anger she'd never seen in him before. He'd been just as enraged in court.

Yet once he was sent to prison, she'd felt safe because he and Luther were both sentenced to ten to twenty-five years. Hard time for two vicious bastards, but if they'd gotten out on parole and Austin's anger was still intact, they might come after her.

An odd metallic taste filled her mouth, and she recognized it as the dreaded taste of fear. No. She made a fist and pictured the weapon hidden inside her purse. She'd made a vow after Austin's trial to put the assault behind her and get on with her life, and she had.

Perspiration broke out across her brow. She didn't even know if there was a real threat. She had to be cautious, however, and that meant learning the truth. Her hand trembled as she picked up the phone and dialed the Victim's Advocacy Office in Tampa, Florida.

*****

Sam made a slow circle in the center of Jill Montgomery's spotless kitchen. The latest victim of the monster terrorizing the Crescent City kept her house neat. Nothing looked out of place except maybe the trash can. It overflowed with wads of packing tape, white Styrofoam peanuts, and crumpled yellow birthday paper. She had received a gift before she died.

Maybe it meant something. So far they had no evidence at all in this freaking case. A man on a barge had found her body, like the other three discovered in the past year—with an odd eight-month break after police had recovered Kristen's remains—floating in the Mississippi River, and nature had taken care of all DNA evidence. No hairs, no fibers. No fluids. Nothing.

Investigators hadn't found a relationship between any of the victims, either. Neither had the Crime Scene Unit or the state team assisting them with the case. One victim owned a boutique, another was an emergency room nurse, and Kristen was a victim's advocate. The latest girl, Jill, had worked as a pharmacist at a local mental health agency.

Sam blew out a shaky breath. An entire year, and not one clue. They needed a break. Anything to give them the identity of the murderer the press had dubbed the Muddy River Killer, or MRK, because apparently the bastard wasn't going to stop murdering women anytime soon. For a while, they thought he had.

Detectives had no reason for the long dry spell between Kristen and this girl. Maybe he'd killed others and their bodies hadn't yet been found. Or perhaps he'd been sick, in jail on another charge, or had moved out of state. Sam made a mental note to check NCIC for similar crimes in other locations. His gut clenched.

For the first couple of months after Kristen's murder, he'd considered eating his gun every single day, but the idea of catching the monster who'd killed the love of his life kept him going. This was his chance. He was finally back on the job full-time and on the case he wanted most to solve.

He was determined to see it through no matter how long it took or how high the physical, emotional, or mental toll.

A muscle ticked in Sam's jaw. With another silent vow to solve the case, he crossed the gleaming linoleum and pulled the bent cardboard box out of the trash can. Sure enough, the label slapped across the front bore Jill Montgomery's name and Garden District address. The upper right hand corner was covered with stamps. Uncancelled stamps. He frowned. That was odd.

The box was heavy. He peeked inside and pulled out a small, leather-bound book.

Sam— His partner, Jack Marston, strode into the room carrying a desk calendar.

Sam waved him off and peered down at the book. It looked crude, almost homemade.

Jack stepped up beside him.

What's that? Find something?

I don't know. Sam's pulse skittered. Something about the book's appearance was... unusual. An icy chill enveloped him. Found this in the trash.

Her boyfriend was telling the truth, Jack said, apparently more interested in what he'd learned than the item Sam had in his hand. According to Jill's calendar, anyway. They did have a date Saturday night.

We already know he's clean. She was seen at church on Sunday morning. Sam fumbled the book open and spotted the words suicide and blood. His heart constricted.

Jack frowned.

What's going on, man? You okay?

I don't know. Pressure built inside his chest. Sick with dread, he flipped to the second page and found a typed dedication.

To Jill

I made this little book just for you... with Kristen's help. She gave her all so you could have it. Leather made from human skin is hard to come by, you know.

Happy birthday to you.

Chapter Two

Sam zeroed in on the soft tanned leather beneath his fingertips, remembered Kristen's manner of death, and his mouth went dry.

Nausea surged up his throat. He dropped the book and bolted for the back door, the acidic taste of bile burning his tongue. He stumbled down the concrete steps, hit his knees in the grass, and lost his breakfast.

Deep, wrenching cries tore from his throat and he braced himself on the damp ground, his mind filled with one of the pictures of his fiancée taken during her autopsy. Her lifeless body had been bruised and bloated, and a large square of skin had been cut from her back.

Oh, God. Her skin! He'd made a book from Kristen's skin. Sam recalled the rank odor of decaying flesh, the faint overlay of formaldehyde, and the sickly sweet scent of gardenias that had filled the church during her funeral.

His stomach heaved again.

Once it was finally empty, he dug his fingers into the chilly brown-green turf, and sobbed. He'd been holding it together for eight long months, and to fall apart now, after finding their latest victim, wasn't like him. He was tougher than this.

Sam? Jack's stoic voice jarred him. The crime scene team's on the way.

A warning. His partner was letting him know he needed to get his ass off the ground and go back inside, unless he wanted the crime scene techs to find him like this. Pain arced through him, icing his soul, and touching the place deep inside his heart where he'd hidden Kristen and their special memories. He rocked back on his knees.

Jack strode down the steps and put his hand on Sam's shoulder.

You okay, man?

I will be.

Another cold shiver wracked him. He wiped his eyes and mouth with the back of his hand and forced himself to his feet. He couldn't let the techs see him like this, or word would get back to the major that he'd come unglued, and his superior would take him off the case. A tremor slid through him.

No way.

He'd fought too hard to get on the team to lose face now. Sabbatini believed Sam was over the worst of his grief, and he'd thought so, too, until today.

Jack squeezed his shoulder.

I'll take over here if you need to take a walk, get some fresh air.

No need. Sam didn't see pity in his partner's gaze, only understanding, and that helped ease his pain. He sucked in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. I'm working this one. I have to. Just please bag that book and get it the hell out of there, will you?

It's already done. I bagged it and the packing material inside the trash can. Jack glanced at his watch. It's lunchtime. We should be finished here by two.

All right. Sam nodded wearily, a plan forming in his mind. Let's go meet the techs.

*****

I can't go to your party tomorrow night, Dani said to Abigail. Her mind was made up after learning Austin was out on parole. She rose from her desk and plopped a stack of files on top of the filing cabinet to deal with later. Not after that phone call this morning.

You've got to be kidding me. Abigail gaped at her from the doorway. The table will be filled with cops and ADAs. It'll be the safest place in New Orleans.

I'd rather stay home.

Did you call Florida? Her friend slipped into the office. If not, you should.

I did. Dani met Abigail's concerned gaze. Luther Hayes was stabbed in the exercise yard last month. He's dead.

Well, that's good. What about Austin?

He was just released on parole. Emily's mom and dad died in a car-train collision on the way to the hearing. Never knew what hit them, or that the man who assaulted their daughter finally beat the system. Good behavior, my ass. Austin is a master manipulator.

Oh, Dani. Abigail dropped into one of the worn leather chairs in front of her desk. What are you going to do?

Live my life, like always.

Work and home.

That's pretty much it, except for the gym and the firing range. I intend to keep working out every morning. The place is always busy, and I feel safe there. She pulled her purse out of the bottom drawer. My complex has good security. I'm armed—

Not a big stretch. Criminals have guns, too.

I don't care. Dani hefted her purse and gave Abigail a peek at her large Smith & Wesson long barrel revolver. I have this.

Damn, girl. Her friend's eyes widened. "That's a bazooka. You know, this isn't the wild, wild west or a battlefield."

I won't be a victim again.

Unless some jerk swipes that honking big gun and turns it on you.

"That's not going