You reach over and jab Max in the shoulder. "Seriously? Spy 101 – always take their guns away once you've knocked them down."
He gets the nervous, glassy-eyed look on his face that usually means he’s about to start lying or conning his way into or out of something, but instead his face falls into a grimace.
"Sorry," he seethes. "I’m still new to the Han Solo thing."
Harris is coming closer, visibly annoyed by the blood from his nose that stains his hands and shirt. You know Max isn’t packing, but his clip may be empty. Dispatching Harris's colleagues may also have exhausted his current supply of fortuitous aim. Your own Walther is tucked deep into your waistband behind your back - a quick calculation tells you that you have half a clip left.
You hand Max the iPod, and he instinctively begins to crack it open to validate Harris’s claim of the GPS signal. Harris gestures.
"Go ahead, rip it to pieces. It’s already served its purpose. Much as you two have." Max eyes him suspiciously, then closely inspects the circuitry inside the iPod.
Max utters a few indistinguishable grunts and phrases and then looks over to you. The hint of smirk on his face alerts you to the possibility of something. "Well - Lana, is it? I'm afraid Agent Ray Bans here is right. This isn't your usual iPod with music and video and such. Except for the GPS signal that's no longer broadcasting" - he jabs the device with his fist - "this thing’s dead as a camel."
Max’s odd choice of phrase triggers a subconscious response. You're aware of your own reaction only briefly before realizing the involuntary nature of the response. In one motion, the Walther from behind your back is in your hand and pressed directly against Agent Harris’s forehead.