Harlan's Race

lonely for Michael and Astarte, and they were lonely for me. So the two of them decided to move to L.A. They put the Village condo on the market. When Hotel Brown sold too, I felt it was only fair to plunk all the real-estate sales proceeds into development for Angel. Steve deserved that kind of payback from me.
    Lance and Bob told me on the phone that the Beach was quiet — too quiet. Come September, they were looking forward to an L.A. vacation.
    April
    Early April, Michael and Astarte made their move to L.A., and we had a wonderful reunion. The two found a place to live not far from us. Astarte landed a fundraising job, and my son got a new internship in L.A. They’d kept up their running, so they joined Front Runners right away. Both of them had surprising potential in long distance, and I encouraged them to think of serious competition.
    “Gawd, Harlan,” said the Front Runners president. He’d started warming up to me. “Half the club is your family!”
    Later in April, John Sive had a sudden gall-bladder operation. Our cutthroat lawyer was getting old.
    Chino was actually finishing his UCLA sophomore year in political science. I helped him write his papers. Now and then that sharp yearning for him came over me, and a nostalgia for those two stormy days on the Beach. But I kept it to myself, because I wasn’t going to jeopardize the new psych with Vince. We’d need that psych at the Memorial.
    May
    One day in the park, Chino and I had a crucial talk about the race.
    On the pretense of a little cross-country run, we took off through that mile-wide disk of woods and ravines bounded by the circular course. Chino wanted to show me some topographical features. At about the 3-K mark, we passed a rocky wooded promontory that overlooked a major curve on the course. It was forested with young eucalyptus and thick brush, right up to the edge of a 30-foot bluff, that fell to the edge of the paved two-lane road. The drop-off was typical of the dramatic broken terrain in the park.
    Chino said quietly, “Just sneak a peek at that spot.”
    A hundred feet farther, we slowed to a walk, so Chino could talk freely.
    “We’ll call it Hide A,” he said. “It’s the spot I’d pick.” “Why?”
    “Because it’s far enough into the race that Vince will be moving to the front by then. And it’s the least obvious. Our shooter can make his approach through all that brush, and nestle down in the rocks and bushes just above the drop. The brush is so thick that he probably won’t be disturbed by spectators. The position dominates the area. He can shoot dow nhill . He’ll have rocks at his back too — scatter his echoes. A wide field of view... he can fire as the target is approaching, or going away.”
    “Why isn’t the position obvious?”
    “Because it’s so risky. It’s inside the course loop. He could be trapped here. He’ll have to cross the road if he plans to escape north, east or west. I doubt he’d evade south ... that’d take him right into the race command area and Los Feliz. I wouldn’t do that. There’s a couple of safer positions outside the loop. But he’ll know I’d spot them.”
    Just looking at Hide A gave me a feeling of choking paranoia.
    I said, “He’ll fire over the longest distance, won’t he?” “Yeah. Seventy-five yards is about maximum, if he uses
    the silencer. That’s another reason I think he’d pick this spot... when the runners first come in sight around that curve, he has a direct line of fire over about 70 yards.” “And he probably won’t shoot when the runners are passing right in front of him, because that exposes his position more.”
    “Why Harlan, you’re starting to think like a sniper,” Chino said dryly.
    I smiled a little, but nothing was funny. “What are his chances of a one-shot hit at 70 yards?”
    “With a running target, 65 percent, maybe. And he has to compensate for shooting downhill ... and the up-and-down motion of the target. My guess is ... he’ll try for the approaching shot, because the target is getting bigger, not smaller, and he won’t know if he’ll get another opening.” “Once Vince kicks,” I said, “chances are he’ll be running alone. Unless a couple other guys kick with him.”
    “Yeah, this bothers me. I want Vince to be more protected out there. We want to dangle him like a lure... nothing more. I want Vince to wear a T-shirt with Kevlar panels in it. Harry and I will be wearing them too. They’re light.. .just