Midvalley inwardly cursed his own faulty judgment at opening the door. He had thought he would be safe, with his saxophone right around his neck where he needed it. And he hadn't thought that that Sal even wanted to hurt him, though he couldn't exactly say he had trusted him. But now he had a gun between his eyes. He had known worse, though, in his past, and he stared at Sal impassively.
"The game may be over, but I don't think you've won," he said. It was true. He might be going to die again now, but he was sure Jazz wouldn't just sit back and watch. And that gun wouldn't do much to stop him.