Aiming in the Dark
So this was the drug lord they called La Muchacha. A dark figure moving swiftly through the dewy green of the jungle. Jack Grabber tried to follow as quietly as possible, but the man was like an animal in its natural habitat while Grabber had to inch slowly to keep from being detected. Suddenly a snap. Grabber knew it was a branch under his foot. Hard to miss them when you have size 16 steel toed army boots on. La Muchacha turned. Grabber could see his eyes (lashes curled, lined with eye-liner) hone in on him. La Muchacha fired something but it wasn’t a normal gun. A small grenade landed nearby, chemicals hissing from its top in Grabber’s direction. Tear gas seeped into his eyes, blinding him. That’s when instinct kicked in. It had to if he was going to survive. He remembered what his mentor had taught him. If you can’t see, then rely on muscle memory. He lowered his gun to his crotch like so many times that he had peed in the dark. And since he was 16 he’d never missed the toilet, his target. And he didn’t miss now. As the bullets issued rapidly from his crotch he could hear his prey drop like a dead deer. Or Quail. After was done firing he shook the gun twice to clear the smoke. Shaking it three times would have been playing with it.