Chapter Seven
Gunner
With the building demolished ahead of schedule, the crew I was assigned didn’t have a damn thing left to do.
That didn’t mean we were going home, though. As long as we stuck around the work site until the end of the day, we’d keep getting paid, and that was all anyone cared about in the first place.
We were on the outskirts of Seattle, standing in an empty lot with a pile of lumber beside the massive hole in the ground we had made over the past couple of weeks. Most of the guys were just smoking and staring into space while the clock ran down, but I was feeling kind of antsy. The week before, we had hauled a big old furnace out of the structure. Before he left, our boss told us to let it be and that a specialist was coming in to dismantle the heavy beast and haul it away. With nothing else to do, though, I kept poking at it, thinking there might be some way for me to take it apart on my own.
“Damn, Gunner,” Bruce said, standing up from his spot on the back of his truck. “You gotta stop messing with that thing. It’s driving me out of my damn mind.”
Bruce was the leader of our crew, and I never would think to disrespect him. Not only was he a good and fair man, but he was also a giant block of muscles, tattoos, and sweat. When he told you to do something, you damn well did it.
I stepped back from the furnace but kept eyeing it. “I just thought I might make some progress on taking it apart while we’re all sitting here.”
Another worker, Dave, turned to face us, tossing his cigarette to the dirt. “Sit down, Gunner,” he called out. “You don’t have half the strength you’d need to even unscrew a bolt on that thing!”
Everyone chuckled like it was the funniest put-down they’d ever heard. I felt the hot rush of anger and had to purse my lips together to stop myself from cursing him out.
“Whatever, Dave,” I hollered back. “At least I’m doing something with my time instead of sitting there staring at a hole in the ground.”
Dave crossed over to join me by the furnace, dragging his feet along the way. Everyone else on the crew started to shuffle around, turning to face us and inching their way closer for whatever was coming next.
I swallowed, keeping my back straight and tall to show him I wasn’t intimidated, even though my hands were a little shaky.
“You want to pass the time?” he asked. “Fine. Let’s make a bet.”
I pulled a cigarette out of my pocket, sticking it between my lips and lighting up. “What’s the bet?”
Dave reached around to his side, pulling an eight-inch knife with a worn handle from a sheath hanging off his belt. He spun it in his hand for a moment, admiring it as the metal glinted in the sun. “You ever try knife throwing?”
“I can throw a damn knife,” I answered defiantly.
Which was true. I had messed around with knife throwing the summer I turned eighteen. It was right after my father had disowned me and only a year after my mother’s death. There was something about the rhythm of throwing knives against a tree that felt relaxing, even though everything else in my life had fallen to shit. Like every time the blade sunk into the tree trunk, I took a little more of my life back.
I just didn’t actually remember much about it. For how upset I was that year, the whole summer was pretty much a blur.
“Great,” Dave answered, still spinning the knife. “How about a little friendly competition to pass the time? Whoever hits the mark the most times out of five wins?”
The eyes of my crew were all burning into me. “What’s the wager?”
“One day’s wages. Just enough to make it interesting,spark plug.”
I ignored the way he said my name, trying my best to keep my cool. “Sounds good to me,” I answered, finishing my cigarette and flicking it to the ground. “What are we waiting for?”
The guys all gathered around, mumbling to themselves and talking shit while Dave took out a can of spray paint and marked a largeXon a nearby tree. I tried to search my mind and recall what I knew of knife throwing, but all I got were memories of that awful summer. My mother had always loved and supported me, and without her, I had really lost my grip on things.
Dave held the knife out to me, handle first. “Kids go first,” he sneered.
I snatched the knife, shooting him my cockiest grin. “Fine by me.”
With everyone glaring my way, just waiting for me to fuck it up, I stretched my shoulder out, feeling the ache from a day of hauling scraps. We were about seven or eight feet from the tree, but under pressure from the crew, the distance felt a lot bigger than that.
I drew my arm back, focusing on my muscles and my posture. I sucked in a breath to steady myself, then launched the knife forward, watching it soar through the air with speed and force that surprised me.
And then I watched it clatter to the ground, the handle hitting the tree with a thud.
Everyone burst into laughter. “Nice aim, spark plug!” one of the guys hollered from the back. Gritting my teeth, I acted like it was no big thing and retrieved the knife for Dave.
