I lob the crossbow to him, which he catches with one hand, then squints at the bindings.
“Government contractors,” he sez in the same tone he uses to announce he’s stepped in somethin’ organic and unpleasant. “It sure ain’t lolo’s work!”
“The quarrels are about as straight as a barroom pool cue, too,” I sez, givin’ him the rest of the bad news. “But like the Boss sez: ‘Ya does the best ya can with what ya got.’ Right?”
He makes a face at me, then snaps off his three shots, also shootin’ from the hip. I notice that even though he works the dummy’s other shoulder to avoid confusion, his groupin’ is not a noticeable improvement over mine.
“Okay, if s the weapon … this time,” he admits, handin’ the crossbow back to Spyder. “If we were working a longer range, though, I still think …”
“Just a minute, you two!”
We turns our attention to the sergeant, both because he sounds upset over somethin’, and because we’ve been havin’ this particular argument for years, so it’s doubtful we would have resolved anythin’ even if we had continued the discussion uninterrupted.
“What are you trying to pull, here?”
“What’s wrong. Sergeant?” Nunzio sez, expressin’ the puzzlement we both is feelin’. “Two out of three hits qualifies, right?”
“Whafs wrong?” Smiley smiles, showin’ too many teeth for comfort. “Shot groupings like those mean you’ve both got excellent control of your weapons. Now, correct me if I’m mistaken, but doesn’t that also mean you could have put those groupings anywhere on the target you wanted?”