He’s reaching inside his coat, and as he pulls out his other gun, I step forward and bring my foot down on his wrist, pinning it to the ground. I point my gun at him.

He opens his mouth and spits out a little rain.

—You… you really are making a mistake. You don’t know what it is, but… Christ, that hurts. But this is a mistake. Trust me.

I nod.

—I trust you, Roman.

—Well. OK, then.

I shoot him in the chest. he convulses when the round hits the bulletproof vest. He spits out more rain.

—Oh, for chrissake, Hank.

—Sorry, I forgot.

I point the gun at his face and pull the trigger again. He dies this time.