Sean hit the floor and slid into the counter as the cooks dove for cover. The girl yelled and dropped out of sight behind the register.
The shooter's finger tensed, ready to put a .45-caliber bullet through the back of Sean's skull when something struck him on the back of the head. Fresh pain instantly throbbed from the blow, stunning him for a brief moment. A split second after, the ceramic plate that struck him crashed in a hundred pieces at his feet.
He turned and saw Tommy racing for him, lowering his shoulder. The gunman tried to line up Tommy in his sights, but his aim was too slow. He fired the weapon, sending a round a foot to Tommy's right. The next second, Tommy's shoulder dug into the gunman's ribcage.
Tommy pumped his legs as hard and fast as he could until he felt the gunman's bulk shudder when his body hit the counter.
One of the guns fell to the ground a few feet away from Sean. The shooter winced but managed to wriggle free of Tommy's grasp. He spun his remaining weapon around and started to fire again, but Tommy chopped his right arm down on the guy's forearm. The pistol's muzzle erupted. Part of the cheap tile floor exploded as the bullet smashed into it.
Sean grabbed the other weapon and scrambled to his feet. He tried to take aim but couldn't get a clear line of sight while Tommy was grappling with the shooter.
The gunman chopped his elbow down on Tommy's back.
Tommy grunted in pain and dropped to his knees, opening a shooting lane for Sean, whose fingers tightened on the trigger as he lined up the man's muscular chest with his sights.
The shooter's foot kicked up much higher and faster than either Sean or Tommy would have thought possible. The tip of the man's heavy boot hit Sean's hand and knocked the weapon backward toward the rear exit.
Sean's hand flew up. He corrected quickly and put himself into an attacking stance. In the blink of an eye, Sean swung his left arm in an arch, twisted his right foot, opened his hips, and kicked hard with his left.
The gunman attempted a block, but he used the hand with his gun in it. The blow knocked the weapon across the room, just as he'd done to Sean.
Tommy was on his hands and knees with his arms wrapped around the man's legs, still attempting to tackle the shooter.
The gunman yelled and grabbed Tommy by the belt and shirt, hefting him off the floor and then dropping him hard to the tile.
Sean used his friend as a step and lunged forward, vaulting himself into the air. The gunman twisted and clotheslined Sean with a forearm across the face.
The blow sent a surge of pain through Sean's entire head as he crashed to the floor in a heap next to Tommy. He struggled to get up, but before he could, the gunman grabbed him by the neck and picked him up. He did the same to Tommy, wrapping his massive arm around Tommy's throat.
Sean drove his elbow in the man's abs over and over again, desperate to free himself from the gunman's death grip. Tommy wriggled frantically, also trying to get away so he could breathe.
Sean's vision blurred. He was certain his friend was in similar straits. In less than a minute, they would both black out. A few seconds more than that, and they'd be dead.
His arms grew heavy, and the shots his elbows delivered to the gunman's midsection seemed to do nothing but piss him off, like a gnat flying around a bull.
He couldn't get into a position to kick his heel into the man's groin. But there was one idea that popped into his head.
"Tommy," Sean said through clenched teeth. He was barely able to make a sound. "Ears."
Tommy heard his friend and knew what he meant.
With a last-ditch effort, the two twisted their bodies as much as possible and swung their open hands at the gunman's head.
Their palms smacked both ears at the same time. To Sean and Tommy, it sounded like a low clap. To the man choking them, it may as well have been two loaded shotguns going off on either side of his head.
His grip loosened instantly, and the two fell to the floor, gasping for air as the shooter staggered backward into the counter. The big man clutched his ears, wincing in agony and no doubt a sudden dizzy spell brought on by busted eardrums.
Tommy and Sean struggled to their feet, bracing themselves on each other's shoulders.
They gasped for air, relieved to flood their lungs after being deprived for what seemed like an eternity.
Sean looked over his shoulder at the big gunman. His eyes twitched from the lumbering shooter to the sizzling hot woks on the flaming stoves.
"Time to find out who this guy works for," Sean said. "Take out his knees."
He and Tommy stood up straight, their faces still bulging and red from being choked. They rushed forward as the gunman started to regain his balance. Before he could get into a defensive position, Sean and Tommy leaped into the air. They extended their legs, driving their shoes hard into the man's knees.
The gunman suddenly yelped in a tone men his size rarely ever reached. It came approximately two seconds after both knees collapsed inward under Sean and Tommy's weight.
He dropped to the ground, crippled and in agony. He reached for his knees, but what he found was both legs bent at a wretched, unnatural angle. The gunman wailed, realizing the severity of the damage.
Sean ignored the man's screams. "Help me drag him to the kitchen."
Tommy obeyed and copied Sean as he grabbed the guy under the armpit. The two tugged and pulled, their legs and backs straining from the gunman's weight. After a Herculean effort, they dropped him behind the counter in front of the nearest stove. The cooks yelled, and the young woman screamed, all three still crouching behind the counter for safety.
"You might want to hide in the back," Sean suggested in between pants for air.
The workers scrambled to their feet and ran through the back door. The bell over the door jingled as one of the other patrons ran out onto the street, apparently confident enough they could escape now that the fight was over.
The gunman moaned. A tapestry of profanity came in the form of shouts and groans. He cursed nearly everything and everyone, especially Sean and Tommy.
Sean reached down and grabbed the guy by the ponytail. He yanked the man up onto his disfigured knees and lowered his face toward one of the woks. Tommy held one of the man's arms, twisting it behind his back.
"If you think you're in pain now," Sean said in as sinister a tone as he could muster, "wait until you feel your face frying in peanut oil."
"You can go to—"
"Uh uh uh," Sean cut him off. "Remember. The only thing standing between you and the worst possible pain you could ever imagine are my fingers wrapped around your ponytail. One slip" — he loosened his grip for a second and allowed the man's face to drop an inch closer to the pan—"and that becomes a reality."
The gunman wiggled violently.
Tommy punched him in the lower back, probably bruising a kidney. The gunman drooped forward another inch, only pulling back when he felt the wok's searing heat.
"See?" Sean said. "Struggling is only going to make things worse for you. Now, I can shove your face into that wok and not think twice about it. But that's not what I want to do. I don't like the smell of burning flesh."
"What do you want?" the man spat.
"There we go. Now we're getting somewhere. I like that. In spite of having blown out both your knees, you can think logically."
"You can take your logic and—"
"Now, now," Sean said. "Be nice. All I want to know is who sent you to kill us."
The man's head shook violently. "I don't know. I just get money, names, and an address."
Sean looked over at Tommy.
"Feels like he's lying," Tommy said with arms crossed.
"You know, I think you're right." He turned his attention to the gunman. "Is he right? Are you lying to me? I don't like being lied to."
Sean forced the man's head toward the bubbling oil.