Unfinished Business by Karyn Langhorne

it. And when Erica looked more closely it was clear he had the means to do it: the soft rubber bottom of the cane was gone. Instead, a six-inch blade, sharp as death, protruded from the wooden cylinder like a bayonet.
    â€œThe police are on the way!” Papa Tony called.
    The young man under Newman’s makeshift bayonet made a sudden lunge. With surprising agility, Newman lunged with him, pointing the tip of the knife at the kid’s jugular with an expression on his face that seemed to boil the man down to his naked essence: equal parts protector, violator, hero and killer.
    â€œErica,” he commanded, and Erica felt her muscles snap to attention as though she’d been taking his orders all her life. “His gun’s on the floor.” He nodded toward the ground, but never took his eyes off his opponent. “By your foot. Pick it up.”
    Erica hesitated. She disliked guns, had never held one in her life and didn’t want to start today.
    â€œI’ll just kick it over—”
    â€œNo! Pick it up!” Newman shouted at her, and there was an edge of something desperate in his voice. Erica glanced at him: his face was very pale, very sweaty and there were tight lines around hislips and mouth as though he were in great pain.
    His leg , Erica realized with a flash of understanding. He’s standing on the bad leg.
    Reluctantly, Erica stooped, but the kid must have realized he had only one chance. He dove for the floor, just as Newman lost his balance. Erica felt the cool metal come into her fingers as she scooped up the weapon. She held it in front of her, clasped tight in both her shaking hands.
    â€œDon’t!” she hollered at the kid. “Don’t or I’ll—I’ll—I’ll…“
    But the kid didn’t hear her. He read her fear of the weapon in her eyes and knew she wouldn’t—couldn’t—use it. Before Erica could even muster the courage to threaten to fire, the young thug had already bolted out the door.
    Erica let her hands fall to her sides. Her whole body was trembling, shaking with the thoughts of what could have happened, what didn’t happen, what she’d let happen…
    â€œDone good,” Newman murmured, touching a lever along the cane’s curved handle. The blade sprang back into the staff and disappeared. “Done good,” he repeated gently, and she realized he was standing right beside her, leaning harder than ever on his old wooden stick. He gently pried the weapon from her fingers, cracked open the barrel and counted the shells in the chamber. “This thing was ready for business. One less gun in the hands of an unprincipled idiot,” he pronounced. “Done good.”
    â€œBut…he…” Erica heard her own voice, high and distant, as though someone very young and very far away was speaking. “He…he…got away…”
    â€œBut you got the gun,” Newman said calmly.
    â€œI…got…” Erica repeated blankly. She’d helda gun. A weapon. Her stomach churned with the thought.
    â€œI wish I could have kept him under my knife a few minutes longer, but…” He sighed, patting his leg. “I’m not what I used to be.”
    Erica stared at him, hearing him but not hearing him, seeing him but not seeing him. The room went kind of fuzzy and there was a tinny, whining noise, like a mosquito had taken up residence in her eardrum. Erica rubbed at the side of her face, feeling warm and wet on her fingertips.
    A loaded gun…
    Those bright blue eyes met hers, searching her, and his frown deepened.
    â€œYou’re bleeding,” he said. A large pale hand caught the side of her face, stroking at her right ear with an unexpected gentleness. Then it was gone. He showed her his fingers, smeared with bright red blood. “The bullet must have grazed…”
    Erica didn’t hear the rest. A strange sensation of heat climbed from