The biker had started to turn our way, but the sudden fusillade of lead changed his mind. He unloaded from the turn, and kept going clear across the intersection. Our security man gabbled something about "motorcycle gangs" into his radio headset, and took off in hot pursuit. (A classic case of brave like hero, smart like streetcar, if you ask me.) He rounded the corner, and the mall echoed with the chatter of automatic fire. There was the high-pitched scream of the elf's grease-gun and the deeper-throated roar of the Zorro-cop's SMG. No, more than one deeper-pitched weapon. The Zorro-cops were finally arriving in more force.