"You can call me Mr. Jones, Zula," he answered. He now let the assault rifle slip down off his shoulder, grabbed it by the barrel, and looked at it wistfully. "Difficult to fire with one hand," he pointed out. He turned to look at her. His face was intelligent and not unattractive. "What’s the only thing more attention getting, on the streets of Xiamen, than two niggers handcuffed together?"