Point of Impact by Tom Clancy Page B

Ragin' Cajun's records anytime soon, sir."
    Howard chuckled at that. The Ragin' Cajun was Jerry Miculek, a pro shooter who'd set the modem revolver record a dozen or so years ago, down in Mississippi. Using an eight-shot .38 Special revolver, he put all eight rounds on a target in one second flat. He also fired at four different targets, two rounds each, and hit them all just 0.06 of a second slower. And with a six-shooter, he was was able to put six hits on one target, reload, and put six more there in just over three seconds. By those standards, thirty seconds was a couple of eons.
    Howard had had his revolver fitted with a set of grips designed by Miculek, but it hadn't helped that much.
    Of course, more than sixty-five years before Miculek, the legendary Ed McGivern fired five shots from a 1905 Smith & Wesson Hand Ejector Military and Police .38 into a playing card in a mere 0.4 of a second.
    No way Howard could ever get close to any of that, not if he practiced every day of the week and twice on Sunday. Still, for his purposes, he was good enough for government work. Tests had shown that a fair-to-middling shooter took between a second and a second and a half to draw a handgun from concealment and get a shot off. If a man with a tire tool or a knife was inside twenty or so feet and was in a hurry, he'd get to you before you could shoot him. If he was closer than that, and your gun was in the holster, best you make some space or be ready for hand-to-hand to hold him off long enough to draw your piece.
    Of course, if Howard went somewhere expecting trouble, he was sure going to be carrying a rifle. Maybe a submachine gun, and it would be pointed in the general direction of any trouble, too.
    Then again, he had gotten shot when he hadn't been expecting it, so this was a skill he needed to hone.
    "Don't forget to stop and have your ring reprogrammed on the way out, sir."
    Howard nodded. All Net Force guns were smart technology now. You wore a ring with a code that changed every month or so. If somebody not wearing a properly coded ring picked up a Net Force weapon and tried to use it, it wouldn't fire. Howard still didn't trust it, but so far there hadn't been any failures of the system, at least not with his people. It was a good idea in theory, but if one of his team ever pointed a gun that didn't go bang! when it was supposed to, there would be hell to pay, and he'd be leading the devil's collection team himself, assuming it wasn't his gun that malfunctioned and got him killed.
    "Reset," he said. "Seven meters, one."
    Make it a little more challenging, this time ...
    "Go!"
    He reached for his gun.

    Chapter 12.
    Los Angeles, California
    The gag came to Bobby as he was driving back from the desert.
    It happened because a year or so ago, he had concocted about a quarter kilo of something he called GD, short for Giggle Dust. At the time, he'd had a customer somewhere interested in it, but something must have happened, and he'd stuck it into a drawer in the RV and completely forgotten about it. When he'd been there today talking to Ma and Pa Yeehaw, who actually were married and from Missouri originally, he happened to open that drawer, and son of a bitch lookit, there it was. Eight ounces of the gray green powder, worth an easy four grand if he wanted to bother with it. Free money.
    GD was a blend of MMDA--an analog of MDA, or Ecstasy--some psilocybin from a batch of dried baeocystis mushrooms he'd bought from a guy in British Columbia, and a little dexadrine. Everybody didn't react to it the same way, of course, but in most people, it tended to make for a really happy trip, laughing, giggling, speeding their asses off, beaming at everybody, and having a fun time in general. Problem was, the mix was iffy, and it was hard to get the recipe exact. This batch worked pretty good--he'd let Tad try a hit way back when--but the next mix might not. The mushrooms were the key, and they varied all over the place. Only real side effect