I'm No Hero

Something spat against the nearest gas pump like a spit on a hot stove. From the alley came the flat report of a gun.
Glenn Bowman, private eye, froze in the darkness, crouching, the rain dripping off his hat, the wall behind him cold and wet.
The he heard running footsteps and the fierce gunning of a motor and the screech of rubber as a car headed west in a racing take-off. He knew he was safe for another night.
He was shaking. There was too much killing in this latest case he'd taken on.