I rolled off the cushioned bench seat behind the table and onto the floor, my fake Bacardi Coke coming down on top of me, like it was seeking some sort of safety itself. The neat crystal glass rolled across the hardwood floor to stop before my eyes. There was no shot fired that I could tell, although the House of the Rising Sun lyrics were coming out of huge speakers at a volume that would have partially concealed it. I checked myself out as best I could in my soaked supine position. When I’d been shot before in the A Shau Valley the pain had been so unbearable that only the corpsman, finally reaching me, could minimize using a couple of his morphine syrettes.

My knowledge of lasers being used for targeting was nearly non-existent, as rationality overcame my initial reactive fear. Climbing to my feet I turned slightly to see that the big red dot was illuminating a spot on the cushion I’d been sitting in front of. I noted that the laser tower, the one seemingly attached to the top of my table, was reflecting that light off the course it was intended to stay beamed on.

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