A page from my WIP - I, Azazel

As with most of my adventures, it all started innocently enough. I'd been feeling a bit lonely, tired of staring at the four walls and decided to go out and about in Sin City--Viva Las Vegas. I took a short cut through a back alley and happened upon a human tragedy in progress. Gun drawn, a street kid had an old man cornered between a dumpster and a brick wall.

“Good evening, Junior-G, my name is Azazel. Drop your weapon, put your hands above your head and turn around slowly.” My voice was calm and gritty, a fair imitation of Clint Eastwood. I was tempted to add or I’ll twitch my nose and your little cock will fall off, but that might get the old man shot.

The kid whirled, gun leveled at my chest and fired. The bullet sped toward me, spun a graceful ninety-degree turn and like a heat-seeking missile honed in on its target, the kid holding the gun. In a freeze-frame instant, Junior's jaw dropped, his eyes stretched wide enough to pop out of his head. At the last moment, the bullet veered right to strike the dumpster with an explosive ring like metallic thunder. He hung there as if suspended from invisible strings attached to the waistband of his jeans.

“Bastard,” he gasped.

“Mind your tongue, Junior.” Cool, confident, I strolled toward him.

He gave me a tough guy stare but his gun hand shook. Effort pinched his face. He was definitely stretching his intellect to understand what had just happened and fast becoming a nervous kid in street clothes—baggy jeans riding low, showing his underwear, combat boots, black t-shirt sporting a stack of bleached skulls. He was too shocked and I moved too fast, grabbing the gun from his frozen fingers, using it to wave him on his way.

NOTE: I'd like to find the artist who drew this if anyone can point me to him/her.