Master of Pong (Second Half)

He must have given me this look on purpose.

He turned slightly to the side so he was no longer facing me. The man behind him mimicked his movements. The smaller man was wearing a huge trench coat that went all the way down to his ankles. His right sleeve was hanging limply, and his right arm was being concealed by the inside of the jacket. Suddenly I noticed the gleam off of a silver barrel pushed right into Chung’s back. He was not walking with superiority. He was arching his back away from the gun pointed into him!

All my breath escaped me again for the second time in the past five minutes. My stomach churned, and I tried to keep down the chicken marsala I ate for lunch in the food court. The small Chinese man saw me staring at my hero and headed right toward me, pushing Chung before him. I backed up several steps and almost ran into Maurice’s cage when they approached me.

“I thought you would be older,” the small man said with a thick accent, his expression harder than asphalt.

“Uh.” I had nothing.

“Here,” he handed me a black briefcase with gold clasps and a combination panel. “You make sure it gets there one hour or Chung Feng Nguyen,” he said my idol’s name extraordinary fast, “will see end of days of pong.”

I looked to Chung and his eyes widened. That never happened. I had to do something. The master of expertise’s life was in danger.

I saw a small movement and something fall from the cage in front of the man. His small eyes missed it as they were set in full glare at me.

“Got it,” I said and walked around him with the briefcase, nodding him forward. They both took a step away. The small man’s foot slipped forward on a yellow peal. He lost his balance, and I swung my dustpan at him faster than a paddle toward a ping pong ball with spin.

The man fell on his back with debris and trash snowing down around him. The look of rage in his eyes was sent straight from the depths of hell. I could not miss it though I wasn’t entirely sure whether his eyes were even open.

“You will pay for this, you scum.” He flopped his arms around in search of his gun, his anger evident that he would kill me the moment he secured his weapon.

He saw the gun out of the corner of his eye. His head toward it and looked into the barrel pointed right at his skull. It was held by a furry, orange arm.