We picked ourselves up off the sidewalk, dodged flying things, and saw that the frame house was all out of whack, with flames climbing its torn edges.

“Any left?” Reno asked as we looked around, enjoying the novelty of not being shot at.

“Here’s the last one,” Fat said, holding out a bomb.

Fire was dancing inside the upper windows of the brick house. Reno looked at it, took the bomb from Fat, and said:

“Back off. They’ll be coming out.”

We moved away from the front of the house.

A voice indoors yelled:

“Reno!”

Reno slipped into the shadow of our car before he called back: