The Precision cut *****

It had to be done at just the right time. And LeClerc knew the time was now. He gingerly removed the ice cubes. Casting a sideling glance up and down the aisle, he bent forward and emptied the cold water into her shoe. The woman seemed not to notice. As LeClerc watched her, she turned slowly. “Show me your armpit,” it was a command. But no, he couldn’t do that. He got up and briskly walked to the door. In a single move he disarmed it and had it open. The air outside was frigid. As he looked out, he felt someone behind him. LeClerc turned around slowly. It was the carpenter.

“I have to get to Copenhagen. You have to help me.” He was pleading. LeClerc had to finish the macaroni. It was a matter of principle. The dawn was predestined. After all, Janet had two sets of twins. And both had been born in elevators. The bank went ahead with the debt restructuring.

It was a potent dilemma, complemented by an interlocutory function. Well, LeClerc decided that a vacation was what he needed. The child looked haggard. But she was wearing branded shoes. As he stepped off the staircase, the whooping sound came. A herd of bison. Chased by two cowboys on donkeys. The fluctuation made him dizzy. The intermission went quickly. LeClerc was thankful. Another night here, and he would go insane. He hung on to the parasail, gliding to the ground. McCann came out of the consulting room. He looked grave.

“Its confirmed, he has a headache,” he announced pompously. Grace sobbed silently. McCann stroked her head. And abruptly turned and sat on the floor. Grace stifled a laugh. She couldn’t suppress it. As she guffawed, Vivien flung open the doors. She walked out deliberately, clutching the sword. In one violent swing she beheaded McCann. Grace rolled on the floor, tears streaming down her cheeks. Vivien nodded to her, sheathed the sword and went back inside, closing the doors behind her. They tossed the coin. Trickling down his chin, it looked like a red scar. As soon as she left, Grace stood. Raising her arms, she prayed. Then she drew the 5-iron.

“Whack.” The ball flew over the hill, landing within inches of the chimney. The black soot looked so inviting. Cavernous rooms, eerie and foreboding. McCann smiled knowingly. He knew it. It was predestined. No one could have done it better. Superb precision.