Wax said, sliding a gun from the holster at his side. MeLaan did the same, only her holster was her leg. Like, the skin split and she reached in through a slit in her trousers and slipped the gun out—a sleek, long-barreled thing. Wayne whistled softly. She grinned, then gave him a kiss. “Try not to get shot too many times.” “You neither,” he said. They split up.
