across the street behind the shooters. Powell fired at the big guy, and Trent said he shot at the smaller one.”
I noticed when Spain was speaking copese, he spoke at an almost normal speed.
There are three vital areas on a human, and an order of selection. One; center mass, the chest. Two; the pelvis, to break them down. Three and lastly; is the head. When shooting at paper silhouettes any hit above the brow or below the nose doesn’t count for a hit. There have been too many recorded instances of bullets hitting a forehead then tracing the skull and exiting without much damage or ricocheting off a tooth.
With that in mind, I said, “I couldn’t see their pelvis’s”
I could feel Spain looking at me through the dim light.
“That little guy was very fast,” I said, looking down the street at a man wearing a hooded coat crossing to the restaurant.
He said, “Tell me about it. All of the remaining three rounds came from that little fucker’s .357 semi-automatic. Two of them went through your coat, just to the left of your heart and under your armpit, and hit the brick wall at Pete’s. The other bullet is the one that hit a coffee cup the waitress in the same restaurant was holding.”
I said, “I had that coat repaired. Little Vietnamese guy has a tailor shop out in Bellevue. I have his card at the office, if you ever need anything done, like a pair of pants taken up or something.”
“Fuck you. What I’m saying is you made a lot of points with a lot of people that night. The big brass down at the station are starting to look at you a little differently now.”
“Let me get this straight,” I said. “This is the same brass that blackballed me from the range after finding out I worked on guns that belonged to some maybe unsavory characters from the northeast, and now because I killed a couple of guys from there, I get a slide.”
“Yeah, that’s about it.”
“And this is a good thing?”
“You think it could’ve gotten worse than it was?” Spain said, as he picked something off of his coat sleeve.
“Cops are still talking about how you stepped in front of Bench and just stood there during the firefight. Trent said it was like you knew those two were going to try and hit Bench. He told me he couldn’t tell who made the first move, you or them. Said when it started it was over.” Spain snapped his fingers. “Just like that,” he said.
“Trent’s ex-secret service, isn’t he?” I asked, not wanting to open my door and have the interior light come on, making an easy target of me.
Spain was looking down the street the other way, his suit coat was unbuttoned with his right thumb hooked behind his belt buckle. I wondered if he still had that .45 or his usual 9mm Beretta.
“Yeah. Trent said he didn’t like it worth a shit when Bench hired you to help them. Said it pissed him off so much he wanted to kick your ass.”
Spain chuckled, “I told him he had better bring his lunch when he decided to have a go at you. He gave me a weird look and told me he would probably be dead if you weren’t there. Said they all would have been.”
“How’s Stretch doing?”
He looked at me like I was speaking calculus.
“What?”
“The waitress that got hit in the coffee cup.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot you know her. She’s okay, told me it was too bad the cup was empty. It could’ve had hot coffee in it and would’ve burned the shit out of her, then she would have found somebody to sue, maybe you.” He laughed at the thought.
Stretch was tougher than she looked, and she looked plenty tough. She always had some smart-assed remark; this meant everything was good with her.
“Just how well did you know Stretch?” Spain asked.
Standing beside my truck, I looked down at the backs of my hands, then turned them over to gaze into the palms, like there were answers in their shadows.
Over the years Margie and I knew her from different restaurants she worked where we’d go for dinner. We liked her.
I noticed when Spain was speaking copese, he spoke at an almost normal speed.
There are three vital areas on a human, and an order of selection. One; center mass, the chest. Two; the pelvis, to break them down. Three and lastly; is the head. When shooting at paper silhouettes any hit above the brow or below the nose doesn’t count for a hit. There have been too many recorded instances of bullets hitting a forehead then tracing the skull and exiting without much damage or ricocheting off a tooth.
With that in mind, I said, “I couldn’t see their pelvis’s”
I could feel Spain looking at me through the dim light.
“That little guy was very fast,” I said, looking down the street at a man wearing a hooded coat crossing to the restaurant.
He said, “Tell me about it. All of the remaining three rounds came from that little fucker’s .357 semi-automatic. Two of them went through your coat, just to the left of your heart and under your armpit, and hit the brick wall at Pete’s. The other bullet is the one that hit a coffee cup the waitress in the same restaurant was holding.”
I said, “I had that coat repaired. Little Vietnamese guy has a tailor shop out in Bellevue. I have his card at the office, if you ever need anything done, like a pair of pants taken up or something.”
“Fuck you. What I’m saying is you made a lot of points with a lot of people that night. The big brass down at the station are starting to look at you a little differently now.”
“Let me get this straight,” I said. “This is the same brass that blackballed me from the range after finding out I worked on guns that belonged to some maybe unsavory characters from the northeast, and now because I killed a couple of guys from there, I get a slide.”
“Yeah, that’s about it.”
“And this is a good thing?”
“You think it could’ve gotten worse than it was?” Spain said, as he picked something off of his coat sleeve.
“Cops are still talking about how you stepped in front of Bench and just stood there during the firefight. Trent said it was like you knew those two were going to try and hit Bench. He told me he couldn’t tell who made the first move, you or them. Said when it started it was over.” Spain snapped his fingers. “Just like that,” he said.
“Trent’s ex-secret service, isn’t he?” I asked, not wanting to open my door and have the interior light come on, making an easy target of me.
Spain was looking down the street the other way, his suit coat was unbuttoned with his right thumb hooked behind his belt buckle. I wondered if he still had that .45 or his usual 9mm Beretta.
“Yeah. Trent said he didn’t like it worth a shit when Bench hired you to help them. Said it pissed him off so much he wanted to kick your ass.”
Spain chuckled, “I told him he had better bring his lunch when he decided to have a go at you. He gave me a weird look and told me he would probably be dead if you weren’t there. Said they all would have been.”
“How’s Stretch doing?”
He looked at me like I was speaking calculus.
“What?”
“The waitress that got hit in the coffee cup.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot you know her. She’s okay, told me it was too bad the cup was empty. It could’ve had hot coffee in it and would’ve burned the shit out of her, then she would have found somebody to sue, maybe you.” He laughed at the thought.
Stretch was tougher than she looked, and she looked plenty tough. She always had some smart-assed remark; this meant everything was good with her.
“Just how well did you know Stretch?” Spain asked.
Standing beside my truck, I looked down at the backs of my hands, then turned them over to gaze into the palms, like there were answers in their shadows.
Over the years Margie and I knew her from different restaurants she worked where we’d go for dinner. We liked her.
Similar Books
