Tag! You're Hit!

Ben Morgan squinted through the night vision scope of his Dakota T-76 Longbow rifle. It was his third night in a row of kneeling beside a low retaining wall near an open construction site, waiting for graffiti vandals with their hissing spray cans to come along. His all black garb, including a black knit watch cap and black shooting gloves, belied the summer heat of Las Vegas. Even at this late hour - nearly midnight actually - the daytime heat that had soared to nearly one-hundred ten degrees was still hovering around the mid-nineties. The automobile traffic was light and the occasional large truck and trailer passing beneath the bridge, Morgan was watching intensely, seemed to clear the overhead structure by only a few inches. Morgan was used to staying in uncomfortable clothes and in uncomfortable places for hours at a time. Positioned as he was, across the freeway, he had a clear view of the highway bridge, and could clearly see the beautifully adorned southwest designs of birds, Native Americans in silhouette and jagged Aztec patterns spanning I-15, just north of downtown Las Vegas. The green directional sign, lit by fluorescent lights, indicated traffic to downtown Las Vegas, should be in the right lane. The sign, Morgan thought, detracted from the overall design and appearance of the bridge. Tonight his patience and military training finally paid off, again. The powerful .330 Dakota Magnum’s telescopic site located two young men, one carrying a spray can, the other seemed to be holding a length of rope, creeping around the fencing on the bridge. The crosshairs found the spray can-holding target as he started to work his defacing deed. Tightening his finger, Morgan squeezed off a round and saw his target disappear from view. We don’t need your stinkin’ graffiti, he muttered to himself. Goodbye scum. And as the other offender scrambled behind a bridge column, he added, Don’t come back.