The naked edge

15

"She isn't moving." The spotter stared through his binoculars at where the woman stood on the porch, her back to him.

"I can see his head."

"Behind her? Bullshit. All I see are his hands gesturing to one side of her or the other. His head? No way. From this angle, the porch roof interferes."

"I'm telling you, I see about an inch or so of his head."

"A guaranteed kill?"

"No."

"What about shooting through her?"

"Remember the JFK assassination?" the sniper asked.

"How the hell old do you think I am?"

"One bullet boomeranged all over the place, in several impossible directions, hitting Kennedy and Governor Connally."

"Yeah, the magic, slip-sliding bullet-if somebody's dumb enough to believe Oswald was the only shooter."

"What I'm saying is, I can hit her square in the neck on an angle that I think will go down and out the soft tissue and into his chest. But that bullet might just as easily hit the top of her spine and shatter or change angle, blast along a rib, and slam into the post beside her."

"So you can't guarantee a kill."

"Not even if the bullet does go through her neck and into his chest."

"But he'd be down, and you've got other ammunition in that rifle. How fast can you chamber a fresh round?"

"A lot faster than that dick Oswald. Wait. She's stepping out of the way. I've got a shot. This'll be just like that time in Rome."

"Beta," the spotter said into the radio. "Cut the phone line."