The Sun Never Sets June 29, 2014

Excerpt from “The Sun Never Sets”

THE SHOOTER SAT in the back of a white Ford van waiting to take his third shot, if the right target appeared…

…the shooter lay on his slopped table inside the van, the suppressor on his rifle only inches back from the see-through black-out material covering the windows in van’s rear doors. From outside they appeared opaque, like darkly tinted windows.

From his ‘hide’ he watched as squad cars closed off Ervay Street, blocked off it on the north at Jackson Street and at Wood Street on the south. Two box-truck EMS ambulances were backed up as close to their ‘patients’ as possible.

He scanned the crowd for his next target. Several were pointing in the direction of the van where the shots had been fired.

The crime scene techs and plain clothes investigators swarmed below him. Through his scope he watched the silent movie unfold, mouths moving, hands gesturing and pointing.

His attention was drawn to the tripod set up by one of the techs. It was positioned over the place where the first victim had been standing. A few minutes later a second tripod was set up where the second victim had been. The height of each tripod coincided with the height from the ground for each victim’s wound.

He smiled as the two techs, ten feet apart, simultaneously attached devices to their tripods and powered them up.

Bill Carson and Dred Yerksey each clicked on their tripod-mounted laser pointers.

“I’m plotting 30 degrees up,” Carson said.

“Same-same,” Yerksey replied.

“Don’t put anybody’s eye out,” John Raef chided.

Carson glared at Raef. “Course, this is only field work… estimates… but maybe—

“There!” Yerksey yelled. “There!”

The shooter watched the two laser dots converged on the  seventh floor of the parking garage across the street.

The sun was streaming in through the openings in the cinderblock squares that formed the west-facing façade of the open sides of the parking levels.

“Daaaamn!” Raef said looking through binoculars, in between the six-inch square holes of the cinderblock façade, was the back end of a white van with its rear windows blacked out. “Jamison! If he’s still up there, we’re dead-fuckin-meat!”

This was the shooter’s third shooting setup. He lifted his eye from the scope and double-checked the two photo’s pinned to the blackout cloth in front of him. “It’s them; about time they showed up.”

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