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Back Dishonorable Intentions Save as PDF
Chapters (65)
  1. Cover
  2. Books by Stuart Woods
  3. Dedication
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. Author’s Note
  65. About the Author

Tirov was in his home office when Sergei returned with the silenced gun and handed it to him. “This is a fucking .22!” Tirov yelled.

“Boss, it’s the best thing for the job.”

“A .22 is too light, it won’t kill him outright.”

“It will, if you shoot him twice in the head from close up.”

“I could kill him with a baseball bat from close up. Why would I want to get close up?”

Sergei sighed. “Boss, I think we need to go do some target practice, okay?”

“Okay,” Tirov said.

Sergei drove them through the hills to Mullholland Drive, then took a left and drove until the road became unpaved. They passed an illegal garbage dump, then he turned off the rough road onto something that was little more than a track. When he had put a hill between them and Mullholland, Sergei stopped the car and pressed the trunk button.

He came out with two plastic bags, one filled with small melons and one with guns. “Okay, boss,” Sergei said, “what kind of gun you feel comfortable that will kill the guy?”

“A nine-millimeter or a .45,” Tirov replied.

Sergei went and set up a row of half a dozen melons. He took a .45 from the plastic bag, checked to be sure it was loaded, then handed it to Tirov. “Okay, one in the chamber, safety is on. We’re about twenty feet from the first melon, the one on the left. Put a round in that melon. Take your time.”

“I haven’t fired a pistol since I was in the KGB,” Tirov said, adopting a combat stance and aiming the weapon. He fired, and the round kicked up the dirt well behind the melon, a foot high.

“Again,” Sergei said. “Keep shooting until you hit it.”

Tirov fired until the gun was empty. All the rounds missed, except the last one, which hit the melon next to the one he was aiming at.

Sergei handed him another gun. “Okay, try it with the nine-millimeter.”

Tirov fired another magazine and missed every time.

“My point is, hardly anybody but an expert can hit anything the size of a head from twenty feet. I mean, I’m very good, and I might hit two out of three.” He took the pistol from Tirov and handed him the .22. “Now walk over there to three feet and fire two into a melon, any melon.”

Tirov walked over and fired two rounds into the melon.

“See? You either get close or you get yourself a rifle with a scope and practice a lot. The easy way is to get close.”

“I get it,” Tirov said. “I don’t mind getting close. I’d like to look him in the eye while I’m killing him.”