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Behind Commander Clay runs Don the waiter—now wearing a police uniform—lifting his revolver to aim at Clay’s back …
Dickinson, behind them both, sees what Don’s doing. In a flash—from the hip—he shoots. Don is hit; falls … Dickinson and a cop, ru
From inside the den, aiming out through the broken-open French doors, Wojack coolly draws a bead on the approaching Clay.
Clay sees the rifle aimed at her—hasn’t got a prayer …
Suddenly in a single startling motion Radford looms up through the French doors and slams Wojack to one side with the nutcracker.
Wojack falls back; the rifle shoots harmlessly into the air. Wojack works the bolt to load a new shell into the chamber but Radford kicks the rifle out of his hands … Slams Wojack again with the nutcracker. It dazes Wojack; he falls back against the wall.
Radford growls, “They’re go
And then he wheels to run into the house, as Clay approaches the window, having seen it all. “Radford—wait!” But he’s gone.
Dickinson rushes in ahead of her and picks up the discarded 308 rifle and claps handcuffs on Wojack.
Larry, Gootch and Conrad are backing away from the kitchen’s rapidly spreading fire, into the dining room. Larry shouts, “Where’s my brother?”
Conrad shoves him. “He bought it. Haul ass outa here.” He steers Larry quickly toward the exit—as Clay and Dickinson come slamming in. Conrad lifts his gun but Dickinson (with the 308 rifle) shoots first … Conrad goes down … Larry, moving like an automaton, lifts his automatic weapon and aims it at Clay—and Clay, regretting it, shoots Larry down … Dickinson shakes his head. “Jesus H. Christ.”
Radford spills out the front door, toting the nutcracker. He’s searching for Vickers; he runs along the burning side of the house. Two cops hold the stu
And just then, behind the two cops, appears Vickers.
He comes up alongside Clay, every inch the federal man. Ru
But Denise Clay pushes Vickers’ gun aside. “Not him. You. Damon Vickers, you are under arrest …”
And suddenly the muzzle of Vickers’ gun is lodged against Clay’s throat and he’s making her drop her gun and he’s dragging her away, using her as a shield …
They freeze: Radford, Dickinson and the other cops—as Vickers backs away with his hostage … The house burns high …
Vickers drags Clay into the nearest car and turns the key in its ignition, all the while holding his revolver hard against Clay’s throat.
Dickinson lifts his gun. He’s going to open fire
Radford says, “Nobody shoots that good. What if you miss?”
Dickinson lowers the gun. Cops hold their fire; they watch helpless frustration as the car begins to back away.
Radford speaks very calmly—icy. “But he’ll kill her anyway! Only chance to save her is now.” And he plucks the 308 rifle from Dickinson’s grasp and in the same smooth synchronous motion drops to one knee and takes careful aim at the retreating car while it swirls backward, turning nose-out, ready for getaway. Dickinson thinks about making a move, decides against it, doesn’t know what the hell to do, and Radford, silhouetted against the flames of the burning house, steadies his aim. Like a rock.
The car slithers for purchase. It’s a very tricky moving target.
In the car Vickers removes the revolver from Clay’s neck long enough to whip the shift lever from reverse to drive, and that is when Radford squeezes off his shot—quick but steady and careful.
It hits square on the skull. Vickers’ head snaps to one side; he is instantly unconscious.
Clay grabs the revolver out of Vickers’ limp hand, and switches off the car’s ignition.
The car stops. Clay closes her eyes and breathes in, very deep, and out, all the way.
Dickinson follows Radford to the car, as Clay gets out and comes around—and looks Radford in the eye. Radford looks right back. In back of them the house burns.
Vickers is flopped back limp against the headrest, his head lolling, bleeding from the head wound. Clay opens the door and picks up Vickers’ wrist, feeling for a pulse.
Dickinson gently takes the 308 and the nutcracker from Radford. Radford doesn’t resist.
A couple of cops bring Wojack along, handcuffed.
Clay says, in surprise, about Vickers, “He’s alive.”
Radford says, “Yeah. I want to hear him explain all this.”
Wojack murmurs, “And a fascinating tale it’ll be.”
Dickinson yaps at a cop: “Call paramedics.”
Wojack looks up at Clay. “Tell you what. I’ll swap you the whole story for immunity from prosecution. What do you say?”
Radford and Clay meet each other’s gaze—now slowly they both begin to smile. She takes his hand in both of hers. A warm bond.
Vickers’ house colors the sky red with its leaping flames …
Dr. Trong parks his Jeep in that same spot across the street from the big lawn leading up to the Senator’s house—gardens, tranquility, solid establishment, wealth.
In the passenger seat Radford looks neat and refreshed in a new suit. The two men exchange glances. Dr. Trong nods, indicating the house.
Radford hesitates, then gets out of the Jeep and, with visible misgivings, walks toward the house, then looks back.
Dr. Trong just watches him.
Radford turns to face the door, and rings the bell.
It opens. Dr. Trong sees Dorothy there. At first she’s shocked. Then with a wonderful smile of disbelieving happiness she invites him in. He goes inside, and the door closes.
Dr. Trong smiles, and drives away.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Hit, copyright © 1970 by Brian Garfield.
The Marksman, copyright © 2000 by Brian Garfield.
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