Bud answered by whispering "hut" under his breath and firing a Crippler 
into the man's right bicep. It went off deep in the muscle, like an M-80, 
blowing a dark hole in the sleeve of the man's jacket and leaving his arm 
stretched out nice and straight—the trike now pulling without anything 
to oppose it. The man clenched his teeth, his eyes bulged, and for a few 
moments he made strangled grunting noises from way down in his chest, making an 
effort not to cry out. Bud stared at the wound in fascination. It was just like 
shooting people in a ractive.