Read Online Swan Dive - Jeremiah Healy by Jeremiah Healy - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jeremiah Healy
Ads: Link
wait six
months before you can try again.
The officer came back to me with an old tomato can in
his hand. He took me out through a rear door, passing under the
large-print sign that spelled out Boston Police Rule 303 ("The
Use of Deadly Force is Permitted: . . ."). We walked toward the
numbered asphalt firing stations at the close edge of the range.
No one else was in sight. The blue target holders
were posted about twenty-five yards away against a high reddish brown
barrier and an even higher earth berm behind it.
The officer placed the can on the ground and
unholstered his revolver. After checking to be sure the cylinder was
empty, he stuck his fingers into and through the gun’s frame to
keep the cylinder swung out and safe. I slowly drew the four-inch
Combat Masterpiece I had carried.
He said, “No, sir. You’ll use my weapon. I’ll
be handing you the cartridges as appropriate. Please keep the barrel
pointed downrange at all times and deposit the spent casings in the
can."
I returned my piece to its holster and took his,
keeping my fingers through the frame as he had.
"We’l1 move downrange now to the seven-yard
line. You’ll be firing twelve rounds from there."
We came to a stop at the target distance from which
over half of the actual police gun battles are fought.
"All six shots have to be fired one-handed,
double-action. Do you understand what that means?"
"Yes."
"You can practice a few dry-fires with the
weapon if you want."
"No, thanks." He doled out six bullets to
me, and I loaded them.
"You may fire when ready."
I put my left hand in my pants pocket, assumed a
bent-L arrangement with my feet, and took a deep breath, letting it
out slowly. I inhaled again, aimed, and began to exhale, pulling the
trigger without cocking the hammer. I repeated the procedure,
including the deliberate breathing, five more times.
"Make it safe."
I swung the cylinder out, and we walked to the
target.
He said, "Four tens, a nine, and an eight."
Back at the seven-yard line, I fired another string
of six. Five tens and a nine.
As we moved to the fifteen-yard line, he said, "You
have any prior experience?"
"With guns?"
"Uh-huh."
“ Military Police. Mostly forty-fives."
He nodded.
"Weapon as finely balanced and maintained as
yours would make anybody look better."
Another nod.
I fired my next three strings single-action,
two-handed, with my feet spread wide and my shoulders and trunk
hunched down in what’s usually called the combat stance. My point
total came to 289. We returned to the bungalow, and the officer
certified my score in a logbook.
He handed me the necessary paperwork and shook my
hand. "Hope we’ll be seeing you again in five years, Mr.
Cuddy."
I said thank you and
decided it was the first time he’d actually smiled since I’d met
him.
* * *
After the second ring, I heard, "Nancy Meagher."
"As a watchful taxpayer, I’d like to know why
you’re not guarding the common weal in court."
"Oh, hi, John. As a matter of fact, I should be,
but after I broke my neck to catch the dawn shuttle back from La
Guardia, the judge I’m trying before was in a fender bender this
morning and still hasn’t arrived."
"Wil1 this screw up dinner tonight‘?"
"No way. Just drop by a little after six-thirty
and see the guard in the first-floor lobby. I’ll come down as soon
as he tells me you’re here."
"See you then."
“ Oh, John?"
"Yes?"
“ Thanks for calling."
“ Don’t thank me. It’s good to hear your voice."
“ Bye, John."
I hung up the receiver and
looked at my watch. Plenty of time for a quick lunch and a visit
before going in to the office.
* * *
I’m glad about Nancy, John.
"Me, too. I think."
There’s always going to be some uncertainty, you
know.
"I know." I laid the baby tulips, mixed
yellow and white, longways to her, just outside the shadow the marker
threw.
You’ve seen enough of people who won ’t move
forward with their lives.
I thought of what Roy was doing to Hanna
months before you can try again.
The officer came back to me with an old tomato can in
his hand. He took me out through a rear door, passing under the
large-print sign that spelled out Boston Police Rule 303 ("The
Use of Deadly Force is Permitted: . . ."). We walked toward the
numbered asphalt firing stations at the close edge of the range.
No one else was in sight. The blue target holders
were posted about twenty-five yards away against a high reddish brown
barrier and an even higher earth berm behind it.
The officer placed the can on the ground and
unholstered his revolver. After checking to be sure the cylinder was
empty, he stuck his fingers into and through the gun’s frame to
keep the cylinder swung out and safe. I slowly drew the four-inch
Combat Masterpiece I had carried.
He said, “No, sir. You’ll use my weapon. I’ll
be handing you the cartridges as appropriate. Please keep the barrel
pointed downrange at all times and deposit the spent casings in the
can."
I returned my piece to its holster and took his,
keeping my fingers through the frame as he had.
"We’l1 move downrange now to the seven-yard
line. You’ll be firing twelve rounds from there."
We came to a stop at the target distance from which
over half of the actual police gun battles are fought.
"All six shots have to be fired one-handed,
double-action. Do you understand what that means?"
"Yes."
"You can practice a few dry-fires with the
weapon if you want."
"No, thanks." He doled out six bullets to
me, and I loaded them.
"You may fire when ready."
I put my left hand in my pants pocket, assumed a
bent-L arrangement with my feet, and took a deep breath, letting it
out slowly. I inhaled again, aimed, and began to exhale, pulling the
trigger without cocking the hammer. I repeated the procedure,
including the deliberate breathing, five more times.
"Make it safe."
I swung the cylinder out, and we walked to the
target.
He said, "Four tens, a nine, and an eight."
Back at the seven-yard line, I fired another string
of six. Five tens and a nine.
As we moved to the fifteen-yard line, he said, "You
have any prior experience?"
"With guns?"
"Uh-huh."
“ Military Police. Mostly forty-fives."
He nodded.
"Weapon as finely balanced and maintained as
yours would make anybody look better."
Another nod.
I fired my next three strings single-action,
two-handed, with my feet spread wide and my shoulders and trunk
hunched down in what’s usually called the combat stance. My point
total came to 289. We returned to the bungalow, and the officer
certified my score in a logbook.
He handed me the necessary paperwork and shook my
hand. "Hope we’ll be seeing you again in five years, Mr.
Cuddy."
I said thank you and
decided it was the first time he’d actually smiled since I’d met
him.
* * *
After the second ring, I heard, "Nancy Meagher."
"As a watchful taxpayer, I’d like to know why
you’re not guarding the common weal in court."
"Oh, hi, John. As a matter of fact, I should be,
but after I broke my neck to catch the dawn shuttle back from La
Guardia, the judge I’m trying before was in a fender bender this
morning and still hasn’t arrived."
"Wil1 this screw up dinner tonight‘?"
"No way. Just drop by a little after six-thirty
and see the guard in the first-floor lobby. I’ll come down as soon
as he tells me you’re here."
"See you then."
“ Oh, John?"
"Yes?"
“ Thanks for calling."
“ Don’t thank me. It’s good to hear your voice."
“ Bye, John."
I hung up the receiver and
looked at my watch. Plenty of time for a quick lunch and a visit
before going in to the office.
* * *
I’m glad about Nancy, John.
"Me, too. I think."
There’s always going to be some uncertainty, you
know.
"I know." I laid the baby tulips, mixed
yellow and white, longways to her, just outside the shadow the marker
threw.
You’ve seen enough of people who won ’t move
forward with their lives.
I thought of what Roy was doing to Hanna
Similar Books
