The door is ajar. He eases through it, hears voices, crosses the vestibule, into the gaslight, behind the three men. He doesn’t hesitate even a second, but shoots the blue-eyed man in the back of the head. The one with slicked-back hair pivots, firing as he turns, hitting nothing, and takes two rounds that remove a portion of his face. A stream of pepper spray arcs past Nameless, an inch from his head. He answers it with three rounds at a distance of one foot, and if the guy really is an evangelist, it won’t be angels carrying his soul away, and he won’t be destined for eternal peace.
