Untitled Story; Chapter 2 You'll notice that I've removed the title of the story. That's because I had one idea of where the story would go; the story itself, however, had another idea, and wrenched the steerign wheel away from my grip. So I'm going to refrain from naming it until I have an appropriate title for the story. I have another idea now of where it's heading, but it's just as likely to change. Enjoy!

Creeping carefully along the wall, Martin silently cursed himself for not dry-running through his plan at least once. Martin kept a close eye on his target, knowing that he was too busy watching the couple to notice Martin. As the glow from the exit lamp finally hit his face, Martin reached the garbage can he had kept. With his force, he kicked over the can, causing a loud clatter that was like a sonic boom on the quiet road.
After that, everything happened instinctively. The couple and Martin's opponent both turned towards the noise, Martin's opponent caught in the full glare of the light. Martin raised the camera in his left hand and pushed down hard on the shoot button, hoping that keeping it depressed will lead to atleast one good shot. His right hand, the one with the gun, came up at the same time as his opponent's; somehow, Martin got off the first shot, ricocheting it off the wall behind his opponent. As he started shooting back, Martin--still keeping the shoot button firmly pressed--dived behind the garbage can and continued to fire. The couple, initally paralyzed, finally snapped out of it and made a break for their car, their heels making an odd musical accompaniment to the gunfight. Seeing his targets running--Martin made sure to provide an adequate screen so he couldn't run after them--their would-be attacker made a break for it himself in the opposite direction. Martin fired after him, but continued to shoot away, so as not to injure his opponent. After all, he wanted the police to bust him in good health, so he would have no viable defense at the trial. After Martin was convinced his oppenent had fled, Martin got up, dusted his jacket off and proceeded to walk towards the nearest bus stop and get home, so he could upload the first facial pictures anyone had gotten of Toronto's serial killer onto his computer and send them to the newspaper outlets.
Unknown to Martin, someone had witnessed the entire proceedings from another shadow, up until the couple had driven away, at which point he drove away with them. But not until Martin had had his own picture snapped.  ¶ 6:49 PM