THE ADJUSTMENT CLINIC

“Were you trying to show off?” Feinberg checked in her .380 Walther PPK and received the 9mm Walther in its place.

“What do you mean show off?” Trumble signed for his Walther 9mm and a cleaning kit.

“You used one hand and then a two-hand hold.” She went back to the shooting stall and sent the silhouette target down range.

“You have to do the same. The new Walther 9mm might be too big and heavy for you. Your other Walther is the smaller caliber and a lighter gun. Maybe you should stay with the little .380 Walther.” Trumble put his ear protectors on.

Feinberg fired in both single action and double action mode. She rolled back the target. “The 9mm holds more powerful shells. I won’t have to carry a lot of extra magazines.”

“You do better with the two-hand hold but not bad with single off-hand.” Trumble watched the range officer sign her qualification form.

“Do you think we’ll have to use these handguns Lance? We’re really only paper shooters you know.” She turned in the ear protectors and received a holster, ammunition, an extra clip and a cleaning kit for her new 9 mm Walther PPK.

“You never can tell.”

Feinberg touched his right sleeve. “Lance, you‘ve used a gun before.”

“During Desert Storm and a few other military operations. I was in the Special Forces, remember?”

“I know, but I mean out in the field–in the corporate battleground.”

“I’ve had to show it on occasion. If I had to I would have pulled the trigger.”

“I wonder if I could pull the trigger on a human target.”

“If we’re to be partners you better be able to cover my tush.”

They walked side-by-side with their small attaché gun cases and went to the briefing room.

The room was painted in institutional gray and held a dozen folding chairs. A white board with colored felt markers on its ledge was behind a skinny, 38-year old man with black-rimmed glasses sitting on a Spartan narrow, brown wood table. He adjusted his glasses which kept moving down his nose. He motioned Feinberg and Trumble to sit in the front row seats. They were the only occupants.

“Good. We’re all here then.” He smoothed his salt-and-pepper hair forward.

“Hello, George.” Trumble looked at Feinberg as he spoke. “Just the two of us for this task force?”

George Swibble scratched his unparted helmet-like hair and waved his finger in the air. “You two are our forward arm out there. Rest assured the entire FDA section and the DEA SWAT squad is behind you.”

“Behind us on what, George?” Feinberg smiled as Swibble adjusted his suspenders and tried to tuck his gray shirt into the waistband.

“This Wilson Medical Products sabotage business.” Swibble went to the white board with a red felt marker. He drew a large “W”. “From your reading you know both Wilson and Legg Pharmaceuticals were vying for an NDA with a similar drug.” He drew a large letter “L” below and to the left of the “W”.

“So far there’s no link between the two. At least the reports from the FBI and local police can’t establish any relationship.” Trumble looked from Feinberg to Swibble.

“You two have been in the business long enough to know it’s cutthroat competition in corporate Pharma. Legg Pharmaceuticals is clean. But some group hit Wilson and killed two people when they burned Wilson’s NDA.”