“Looks like ya could use a bit o’ help, mate,” the tiny sailor laughed, lowering his smoldering weapon to his belt and offering his friend his hand. “Sorry bout the splatter.”
“Just part of the show, Eight Toes” Lucky grinned, gripping the sailor’s hand firmly and hoisting himself to his feet.
“I don’t think ye can call me that anymore, mate.”
Lucky’s brow arched. “You lose another one?”
“Fraid so,” Eight Toes chuckled, pointing to two blood-stained holes in the man’s left boot.
“How the hell did you manage to get shot twice?”
“Ye see, the first was more of a stabbin. I admit, that one was mostly my fault. But the second…”
The pop and whizz of a stray bullet interrupted the sailor’s explanation, forcing the pair to dive behind the cover of an abandoned cart.
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