Dean
The whole point of the meeting at the shooting range was to test how I handled a gun in case I had to use one to protect Lily and myself — I still didn’t have an actual gun, but the idea of keeping one around Lily still didn’t sit right with me. Instead, as I stood behind Crowley and Riccardo while they unloaded their guns on the target sheets, I found I was watching something more along the lines of a pissing contest. One that cut thirty minutes into the hour-long session Mark had booked.
I could’ve walked into one of the other target lanes and started practicing, but I wasn’t allowed to use any of the weapons until their eyes were on me.
If I had known it was going to be a waste of time, I would’ve stayed home after dropping Kira off at the apartment.
Kitted out with earmuffs and protective eyewear, I settled against the cold, gray wall behind me, crossing my arms as I watched their little showboating exercise.
When there was finally a gap between rounds, I cleared my throat.
Riccardo looked over his shoulder. That smirk he carried was getting on my nerves.
“Am I gonna use a gun today, or should I just watch you guys and take notes?”
Crowley shook his head in disappointment and raised his eyebrows in a way that caused his large forehead to wrinkle like an accordion. “Young people these days have no respect for their elders.”
“I’ll show you respect when you prove you’ve earned it. Am I usin’ a gun today or not?” I pulled off the earmuffs as I waited for their response.
Riccardo chuckled and motioned me over. “Yeah, alright. Come on.”
I pushed off the wall and came to stand in between them, bringing the earmuffs to my ears again. I stood taller than both, with Riccardo being the shortest. His short height didn’t seem to diminish his arrogant confidence.
Riccardo reloaded the standard-issue Glock 19 and handed it to me before going over a quick lesson on how to hold it and how to stand. But he stopped short when my hand shaped to the weapon without hesitation.
“Still don’t think this is a good idea,” Crowley muttered.
I hid my satisfaction at the slight unease in his voice and stepped up to the desk that separated us from the target sheet beyond.
“You scared, old man?” I looked at him side-on.
Crowley scowled and narrowed his eyes. “Not at all, smartass.”
As the target sheet was reloaded, Riccardo and Crowley took one step back.
When the target was in place, I squared my shoulders and raised the gun in both hands. One cupped under the grip panel, the other with my finger on the trigger. I squeezed it, and the shots came easy. Several of them sliced through the outline ofthe figure printed on the target sheet ahead, decorating the chest and shoulder region, while a few other shots clipped the edge of the paper and hit the back wall.
I put the gun on the desk and stepped back.
The detectives joined my side, their eyes on the dappled target.
“It’s okay. The kickback is a little hard for novices. It’s why that sheet looks like Swiss cheese right now,” Crowley jeered.
Riccardo huffed a laugh as he folded his arms. “Not gonna lie, I did think you were going to be better at this.”
Was I being dragged into their pissing contest? Yes. If I was going to do this, I might as well do it good.
I looked at them blankly for a moment, sighed, and picked up the gun again. This time reloading the magazine with fast efficiency before I stood side-on and lifted the gun in my right hand at a ninety-degree angle. I fired a string of rounds into the target sheet again. This time, shredding a large hole right through the head.
The detectives were silent.
“Better?” I asked, putting the gun down.
Riccardo’s smirk had finally disappeared. “Who taught you?”
“Antonio.”In deserted parking lots when I was nineteen, I used abandoned cars for target practice. First the tires, and then the headlights, and then the blinker lights. The smaller the mark, the easier it is to hit something… Or someone.
I removed the earmuffs and safety glasses and added them to the desk too, before walking by the men.
