And when the command to fire was given, Payne did just that.
And hit the silhouette in the head, just above where the right eye would be.
Beginner’s luck, Stennis decided.
Payne’s second shot hit the silhouette in the upper center of the head, where the forehead would be.
I’ll be damned!
Payne’s third shot hit the target head where the nose would be; and so did the fourth. The fifth went a little wide, hitting the tip of the silhouette head, but still inside the K5 ring, which Payne made up for by hitting the silhouette head where the left eye would be with his sixth shot.
I really will be damned. That wasn’t at all bad.
When the recruits went forward to examine their targets, and to put gummed pasters on the bullet holes, Sergeant Stennis followed Payne.
“Not bad at all,” he said to Payne, startling him. “Where did you learn to shoot a pistol?”
“At Quantico,” Payne replied. “The Marine base.”
“I know what it is,” Stennis said. “How come your records don’t say anything about you being in the Corps?”
“I was never in the Corps,” Payne replied. “I was in the Platoon Leader Program. I went there two summers.”
“What happened?” Stennis asked. Payne understood, he saw, what he was really asking: If you were in the Platoon Leader Program, how come you’re here, and not a second lieutenant in the Corps?
“I busted the commissioning physical,” Payne said.
“You tell them that when you joined the Department?” Stennis demanded, sharply.
“Yes, sir.”
They locked eyes for a moment, long enough for Stennis to decide that Payne was telling the truth.
Is that why he came in? Stennis wondered. Because he flunked the Marine Corps physical, and wants to prove he’s a man, anyway? Well, what the hell is wrong with that?
“Well, that was pretty good shooting,” Stennis said.
“I could do better if the pistol had better sights,” Payne said, adding, “and this could use a trigger job, too.”
Stennis’s anger returned.
“Well, Payne,” he replied sarcastically, “I’m afraid you’ll just have to learn to cope with what the Department thinks they should give you.”
He turned and walked back to the firing line.
Almost immediately, he felt like a hypocrite. Wiseass or not, the kid was right. You couldn’t get a very good sight picture with the standard service revolver. The front sight was simply a piece of rounded metal, part of the barrel. The rear sight was simply an indentation in the frame. Stennis’s own revolver was equipped with adjustable sights—a sharply defined front sight, and a rear sight that was adjustable for both height and windage, with a sharply defined aperture. That, coupled with a carefully honed action, a “trigger job,” which permitted a smooth “let off,” resulted in a pistol capable of significantly greater accuracy than an off-the-shelf revolver.
And Stennis was suddenly very much aware that his personal pistol was not regulation, and that he got away with carrying it solely because no one in the Department was liable to carefully scrutinize the pistol carried by the Police Academy’s Firearms Instructor.
When he reached the firing line, he was not especially surprised to see Chief Inspector Heinrich “Heine” Matdorf, Chief of the Training Bureaus, and thus sort of the headmaster of the Police Academy, standing at the end of the line, to the right, where a concrete pathway led to the main Police Academy Building.
Heine Matdorf, a large, portly, red-faced man who was nearly bald, believed in keeping an eye on what was going on. Stennis liked him, even if they could not be called friends. When Matdorf had come to the Training Bureau two years before, he had made everyone nervous by his unannounced visits to classrooms and training sites. He was taciturn, and his blue eyes seemed cold.
But they had quickly learned that he was not hypercritical, as prone to offer a word of approval as a word of criticism. The new broom had swept only those areas in need of it.
As was his custom, Stennis acknowledged the presence of Chief Matdorf with a nod, expecting a nod in return. But Matdorf surprised him by walking over to him.
“Chief,” Stennis greeted him.