Quoting Jared Waddell <rick_spiff@yahoo.com>:

If mall was shaped like the letter 'Y' with a horizontal line
crossing
the bottom, then JC Penney was in the right side of the bottom
line.

"If" doesn't make sense.  

Past the large intersection was the music store, and further down
the
hallway was a large open space Ed had described as 'in progress.'
James'
trained eyes told him that it was still under construction. Already
he
had noted the presence of a huge water tank dominating the open
area,
but had not investigated further.

JC Penney was a warm and inviting store with pink marble pillars
and
brass trim framing a vast entrance big enough to drive two Mack

trucks

through.
The name was posted above the doors in bronze lettering illuminated
from
behind with white light. Someone even stood behind the perfume
counter
to greet them, yellow teeth and black submachine gun glinting
evilly in
the light sparkling off of a hundred shiny piece of gold jewelry.

Yellow teeth don't glint very well.    

Great. Just fucking great.

"You're covered, give up!" The greeter shouted.

James' eyes swept the entrance. There were a pair of tall
fiberglass
ladders to the left, a display of jewelry cases and leather watch
bands
on the left. A scattering of glass and polished stainless steel
islands
were spread across the beige carpeting. Like the droppings of some
giant
crystal bird.

"Shoot down the ladders," James whispered out of the corner of his
mouth.

"We're covered. I can't take aim," Ed said as loudly as he dared.

"Just do it. Don't think about it, just shut the fuck up and do
it."

Ed nailed his targets on the first pull of the trigger. James
tapped his
twice with a nice sweep to the right between bursts. The greeter
went
down without firing a shot, 

Why not?  


and the second man stayed behind a

nice
mahogany piece that James figured would take a whole paycheck to
buy. A
third satisfying squeeze of the trigger reduced it to a cloud of
dark
splinters.

One second gone. He ran forward. Ed went for the island in the
hallway.
James dropped the automatic and drew his pistol, his ribs aching,
his
legs pumping, the wind rushing in his ears. He cut his last stride
short
and pivoted on his leading foot. He was tempting death by trying
to
execute a round-off handspring in the middle of a gun fight.

I have no clear idea what he's doing.  Why would he pivot on his foot
to do a handspring?  

Performing
one while holding a gun was absolute suicide.

It was a testament to the quality of his training that he
succeeded
without getting shot.

It's mostly a tribute to the strange refusal of the bad guys to shoot
back.  

And James was out of bullets.

That's all right.  The bad guys obviously have plenty of bullets due
to their rigorous ammo conservation policy.  Just take a gun away from
one of them.  

Murder by numbers!

That was lame, even for him.

He reloaded, his hands a blur as he worked the action and controls
on
his gun even while spinning a hundred and eighty degrees while
lying on
his stomach. A second later, he sighted down his gun and slowly
peeked
around the base of the island. The soldier was indeed hiding behind
the
opposite counter. James took the opportunity to get quickly to his
feet
and jump over the main counter.

He came down on top of a dead soldier with an MP5. He snatched the
gun
and checked the clip 

See?  Who needs to reload?  

rifle, no grenades, no handcuffs, no watch, and no Taser. The man
didn't
even have a scar on his tall face, and every hair was positioned
precisely.

Faces aren't tall.  They're long.  

"So, you're the big bad assassin," he said.

James kept his face relaxed. "Well, since I'm killing you guys, I
guess
you can call me that, but what makes you any different?"

The soldier ignored the commentary track. "I'm talking about your
little
boast--or was a dramatic revelation--to your friends back at 'home
base.' Interesting choice, that music store."

"Let me guess, you like salsa music?"

"Your affection for inarticulate patter has been well documented,
Mr.
Whoever-you-are. Don't expect it to get a rise out of me."

James snapped his fingers. "Aha! You would the big bad
interrogator
dude."

would be

The man raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps."

"I can tell you something you want to know," James said in a
conspiratorial whisper.

The soldier didn't look impressed. "Probably not."

Dude, if you don't want to know anything, pull the trigger.  

"You can't beat me."

"We--"

"I was stating fact there, not making idle chit-chat," James spoke
over
the soldier's words.

Pull the trigger.  

The man smiled. "Thanks for getting rid of your friend, and I think
you
know when you are beaten."

You have no real reason not to pull that trigger.  

"Indeed," James said, straining all the emotion he could from his
voice.
"Now, I can tell you how I eventually take you guys out, throw off
some
memorable one-liners, save the day, and spend my vacation in
Disneyland,
or you could just hand over that gun and save me some trouble."

"You chatter far too much for you own good."

"your own good"

As in "You stand and around and listen far too much for your own good." 

"It won't take long to explain."

The man's gun was rock-still. "You're already dead. You just don't
know
it."

No, dead is what happens _after_ you pull the trigger.  WHAT ARE YOU
WAITING FOR?

James leaned back and smiled. "All a matter of perception, my
'good'
man. Ready to see my magic trick?"

"Don't move." The soldier's voice hardened.

James remained perfectly still. "Keep your eye on the bird." The
man's
eyes tightened just as the word 'bird' left James' mouth. He struck
like
a rattlesnake, grabbing the soldier's gun hand and forcing the
pistol to
point up at the ceiling. Then the man made his fatal mistake; he
tried
to use his other hand the force the gun back on James.

I think we both know when he made his fatal mistake. 

Your bad guys are a bit on the overly incompetent side.  7



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