Near Miss

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Stone Barrington stood in the shooting range in the basement of his New York City home, held the Colt Model 1911 semiautomatic .45-caliber pistol out in front of him with both hands, and squeezed off a round.

The president of the United States, Holly Barker, stood next to him. “Near miss,” she said.

“I hit him in the chest,” Stone protested. “All right, sort of in the chest.”

“You should be able to hit him in the center of the chest or in either eye,” Holly said. “I don’t know why I can’t fix you. If my father, Ham, were here, he’d fix you in a minute. Why can’t I do that?”

“It just may have something to do with the quality of your student,” Stone said.

“You can shoot the eye out of a gnat with a rifle. Why can’t I get you to do that with a .45?”

Stone tried again. “Maybe I’m unfixable. Maybe I’ve been hit over the head too many times, and my brain is wobbly.”

“I could always fix anybody, like Ham does.”

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