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The first blast took out the windshield.

The second one took out the driver.

Tyler watched as the car spun out of control, rolling up on the sidewalk. The hood of the Escort crumpled up, as the brick wall did not yield. Slipping the shotgun back under his duster, he turned and walked away. The street was still pretty empty. Not surprising for three in the morning.

But someone would have heard the shots and called the police.

So it was best to never linger.

Canít afford to get caught.

So many people to go.

So little time.