the street lawyer (4) up against the wall

For some reason, I thinking of the post office and all those horrible shootings--a frustrated employee returns after lunch and kills fifteen of his co-workers. I thought of the playground massacres--and at fast-food restaurants. And those victims were innocent children and decent citizens. We were a of lawyers!

a series of short orders, the man lined the eight lawyers up against the wall, and when their positions suited him he turned his attention to me. What did he want? Could he ask questions? If so, he could get anything he pleased. I couldn't see his eyes of the sunglasses, but he could see . The gun was pointed at them.

He off his filthy coat, folded it it were new, and placed it in the center of the table. The smell that had me in the elevator was back, but not important now. He stood at the end of the table and slowly removed the next layer--a bulky gray cardigan.

Bulky for a . Under it, strapped to his waist, was a row of red sticks, which looked like they be dynamite. Wires ran like colored spaghetti from the tops and bottoms of the sticks, and silver duct tape kept things .