“You won’t shoot either,” I said, and started to get up. “So you might as well put the gun d—” She pointed the gun at my leg and pulled the trigger. Pain flashed through my leg and I let out an involuntary shout. I grabbed at my thigh as the red flashlight settled on me. I pawed at my leg. I had a couple of smallish cuts, but I hadn’t been shot. The bullet had hit the concrete floor next to me and gouged a bite out of the concrete. A flying chip or two must have cut my leg. “Terribly sorry,” Valmont said. “Were you saying something?” “Nothing important,” I responded.
