[B][h2][center]Paige Kennedy[/center][/h2][/b]

"It's okay, Jackie," Paige said cocking the hammer back. "I didn't forget mine." She met Milo's gaze as soon as he looked up. Her words were like ice-water, but her olive eyes held back a flaming rage that only few still living would recognise. When the shot went off she came around the corner hoping not to find Milo on the floor. She hadn't been able to see the gun pulled. She'd waited, listening. They needed more. The metalsmith remained cool though, and managed to get the greasy mobster to really put it all on the table. She could see the blood staining his torn shirt-sleeve from what looked like a grazing shot... Now they'd be able to put him away for a [i]very[/i] long time. "US Marshals- Put the gun down," She commanded. "Hands up, nice and slow." Her SiG was pointed firmly at his back. 

After she had their tech experts trace every possible connection to the burner phone number, she next pulled the public traffic cameras near Milo's shop and looked for anyone that matched the description. License plates and rental car records were all back-checked thoroughly. When she arrived at Final Round Armory, Paige had a firm understanding of with whom and what they were going to be facing: Jackie Costa had a wrap-sheet that weighed about ten pounds, had been in and out of prison multiple times, but like most of the pros, never on anything that really stuck. He'd filled his niche in numerous cities brokering guns and money for his Detroit bosses and always preying on the same small shops that no one would notice disappear if things went awry in his racket. Milo was just the next in line.

Paige nodded slightly, motioning for Milo to get out of the way. She was sure it wasn't the first time Jackie pulled that glancing trickshot only this time the joke was on him. [I]Typical asshole[/i]. It was fitting his sleazeball game would be what put him away for good.

[@RoccanIronclad]