"Hell, I don't know; I can't remember
all of them."
"One thing," Kavaalen said solemnly, "you never hear of any lawyers
springing people out of cemeteries on writs."
"Look, Jeff," McKenna said, at length. "If it's the way you think, this
guy won't dare kill you instantly, will he? Seems to me, the way the
script reads, this other guy shoots you, and you shoot back and kill him,
and then you die. Isn't that it?"
Rand nodded. "I'm banking on that. He'll try to give me a fatal but not
instantly fatal wound, and that means he'll have to take time to pick his
spot. The reason I've managed to survive these people against whom I've
had to defend myself has been that I just don't give a damn where I shoot
a man. A lot of good police officers have gotten themselves killed
because they tried to wing somebody and took a second or so longer about
shooting than they should have."
"Something in that, too," McKenna agreed. "But what I'm getting at is
this: I think I know a way to give you a little more percentage." He
rose. "Wait a minute; I'll be right back."
CHAPTER 19
There was less feuding at dinner that evening than at any previous meal
Rand had eaten in the Fleming home. In the first place, everybody seemed
a little awed in the presence of the new butler, who flitted in and out
of the room like a ghost and, when spoken to, answered in a heavy B.
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