What a sorry excuse for a stakeout this is. He's resting against my Sparrow, balanced on a knife's edge, ready to spring to action at a moment's notice. Posse's got him flanked and eyes all on a swivel and they're looking for trouble. Looking for me. They try to squint the sun out of their eyes, but it won't help them. I remember when I used to shield my eyes. I remember when I tried to stay in the shadows. I don't squint no more. I drain my cup, and I stand, stretching my weary hands. The sun glints off the barrel of his pistol, and I can tell it's gonna be quick. Group's getting antsy. And where there's impatience, there's imprecision. I don't forgive imprecision. Stepping into the sunlight, it's like I can breathe again. All at once, they skitter to attention like I ain't been watching them for the past 20 minutes. Big one gets his rear off my ride. Small victory. Then he puffs himself up, hand inching toward his pistol. Mine stays planted on my belt. "Look who finally stepped into the light of day." I sure did. And you're gonna wish I hadn't.