Rock stood on a downtown sidewalk with several overweight gray-haired out-of-town Hash House Harriers he met in a bar a few minutes earlier. Everyone was in good spirits as they watched a man approach from the other side of the street. He fit Rock's general impression of the men beside him and he thought at first he was part of their group, an impression that dissolved the moment the man pulled a silver-plated revolver from his waistband.
Someone in the group wisecracked that this fellow didn't have the guts to shoot anyone. It seemed to Rock that none of them were particularly concerned about this circumstance, though he himself was somewhat panicked.
Then the man pointed the gun toward the Hasher to Rock's left and fired into his abdomen. He began to shoot the other men, who tried to duck back into the bar. Rock held the slumped body of the first Hasher shot as a shield in front of him. As the shooter continued to fire into the others, Rock knew he would have to make a run for it. He turned and sprinted to an alley no more than twenty feet away. He covered several blocks before finally hiding under a large dump truck parked in a fenced construction area.
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