Jimmy, wrapped in a blanket, fell beside the bed and immediately continued rolling to the corner of the room, not even having a chance to free himself from the blanket and toss it aside.
Once hidden in the corner, Jimmy twisted his head to look outside but could see nothing; the street was just outside, only part of the building across could be seen, not the roof.
This damn life was unbearable; even sleeping at night wasn't safe, someone was sniping at him from a building across.
Jimmy looked towards the head of the bed and realized he had rolled too quickly to grab the pistol under his pillow, and now he didn't dare to get up. The shooter could accurately fire through the curtains to the bed, and he couldn't rule out the possibility of the gunman using an infrared scope.
Jimmy's room windows were open, only curtained off, and although the air in New York wasn't great, he still liked to ventilate his room.
