Tacos. He was pretty sure he knew what tacos were. But he didn't have long to think about it, because the woman he'd marked a moment ago was heading for them.
She was nearly to them, a smile on her face, when her hand went to her hip. Nine places for concealed carry on a female. Within the waistband, small of the back, appendix carry, shoulder, purse (although he didn't see one on her), ankle, thigh, bra. And most importantly, the belt holster. That usually put the weapon at the hip. Unknown female approaching, touching her hip.
Maybe it was nerves, finally catching up. Maybe it was fear of failure. Maybe it was the rage that still hadn't dissipated over the Widow and Barton. Whatever it was, Agent Barnes was moving before he could stop himself. He had the SIG Sauer up, the same one he'd used on the Widow, firing off one bullet at the woman. He aimed for her hand, intending to keep her first from drawing in the first place. Then he could worry about neutralising the threat.