The rider ignored her warning and turned to fire. She let off two quick shots. The first shattered his helmet, the second his spinal chord. The gun fell from his hand as his knees buckled. He was dead before his head hit the concrete. Our driver let out another scream when he saw the motorcyclists blood, then got up and repeatedly thanked Ming for saving his life. The light traffic had slowed to see the commotion, most of the drivers thinking there had been an accident between the motorbike and the taxi.
Ming said, ‘Let’s get out of here.’ We got our bags from the trunk. A few cars passed and slowed for what they though had been an accident. Another taxi slowed and we waved him to stop.
‘Airport’, Ming said as she smiled.
The driver said, ‘Yes, yes, ok, ok.’
Inside the taxi he asked, ‘Bad accident? Driver ok?’
‘Yes, bad accident, driver ok.’ I replied.
We saw the traffic slowing and backing up behind us. I hoped it would give us time to board our flight before anyone realised there had been a shooting.
We sat in silence to the airport. Ming’s Glock disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.
‘How did such a small gun take the motorcyclist down?’
‘It’s a Glock 36, slim but forty five caliber. They don’t get up when they’re hit.’ And she smiled.
At the airport Ming showed her SIS security card and said she was armed. A security guard walked her around the metal detector while I took off my shoes and belt, the change in my pocket setting off the alarm. I took the coins out of my pocket and that solved the problem with security. It was easier getting through airport security with a gun and ammunition.