Endless Night

by Richard Laymon

  “I know, 1 know.”

  “Let’s see what you’ve got,” he said to Sharon.

  She unzipped her leather case and slipped out a rifle. “A Ruger Mini-14,” she said, and passed it to him.

  “Ooo, she’s a beauty. Looks sort of like an old M-1.”

  “Very similar,” Sharon agreed. “Different caliber, of course.”

  “I like that stainless steel barrel and stuff,” Jody said. “And the wood. The wood looks great. That black plastic you see all the time seems so ... I don’t know, cold and futuristic.”

  “Is that why you hate my Mossberg?” Dad asked.

  “I don’t hate it. I just can’t shoot it.”

  “You’ll have to try this one,” Sharon told her. “Has a real nice feel to it.”

  “It might be a good idea,” Dad said, “for each one of us to try out everything. That way, if we do run into trouble, we’ll all have at least a passing acquaintance with each kind of weapon.” He turned to Andy. “Have you had any experience with shooting?”

  The boy grimaced. “I wasn’t ever allowed to even have a cap gun. My parents didn’t believe in it.”

  Please, Dad, Jody thought. Be careful. Don’t forget they’re dead.

  “A lot of people don’t believe in guns,” Dad said. From the gentle tone of his voice, Jody knew she didn’t need to worry. “But guns aren’t either good or bad, Andy. They’re just tools. It’s all in how they’re used. If they’re used properly, they can be a lot of fun.”

  “Which you’re about to find out,” Sharon told him.

  “They can also be used to protect yourself and people you love,” Dad went on. “I don’t need to tell you about the evil people out there.”

  Nodding slightly, Andy caught his lower lip between his teeth.

  “The only time you ever shoot someone,” Dad told him, “is if that person is a dangerous threat to an innocent person. Even then, you only fire if there’s no other safe way to stop him. And always shoot to kill.”

  Andy scowled. “Shouldn’t I try to just wound him in the arm or leg?”

  “Never,” Sharon said.

  “Jody?”

  “What?”

  “You tell him.”

  She sighed. “Always shoot to kill.”

  “Tell him why,” Dad said.

  “Because. If you go for an arm or leg, you might miss. And even if you do hit him there, the bullet might kill him anyhow. The purpose of shooting people is to stop them before they can do more harm. To do that, you need to put them out of commission. The only sure way to do that is to kill them.”

  “And how do you do that?” Dad asked her.

  She smirked at Sharon. “I’m always getting this. The ‘drill.’ It really gets old.”

  Sharon nodded. “Let’s get to the shooting. Andy, here’s the whole deal boiled down: if you have to fire at someone, put as many slugs as fast as you can into his chest. Empty your gun into him. If you’re a really great shot, forget the chest and go for the head.” She grinned at Jack. “End of lecture?”

  “Good enough for now,” he said. “We oughta start him on the twenty-two.”

  “But not yet,” Sharon said.

  “What?” Dad asked.

  “I think we’d better find out if Andy actually wants to learn how to shoot. He was brought up in a family that opposed firearms. If he has any sort of moral objections, it isn’t our place to force him into ...”

  “You’re right,” Dad said. “I should’ve thought of that. Andy, how do you feel about it?”

  “I want to shoot.”

  “Are you sure?” Sharon asked. “Your parents might not have wanted ...”

  “Maybe I could’ve saved them if I’d had a gun,” he said. “Them and Evelyn.” His chin started to shake.

  His eyes were hidden behind his new sunglasses, but Jody knew there had to be tears in them.

  Sharon took a step toward him before she seemed to realize that she held the rifle in her hands. A helpless look crossed her face.

  Jody put her arms around the weeping boy. “It’s all right,” she whispered.

  He tried to push her away, but she hugged him more tightly. His sunglasses bumped her neck and fell off.

  “It’s all right,” she said again.

  “Leave go. I wanta shoot.”

  “You can’t shoot while you’re crying.”

  “I’m not crying.”

  “No, that’s just your sweat soaking through my shirt.”

  “Damn it!”

  “Everybody cries,” Dad told him. “You’ve got better reasons than most.”

  “If you ever get done,” Sharon added, “we’ll turn you into a regular Annie Oakley.”

  Andy choked out a sob that was partly a laugh. It gushed hot air against Jody’s skin through the wet cloth of her shirt.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Dad picked up the small, stainless steel Smith & Wesson. Andy reached for it, but Dad said, “Not so fast, pardner.”

  “More lectures,” Jody muttered.

  Andy shrugged. “I don’t mind.” He wiped his eyes one more time, then put his sunglasses back on.

  “This kind of gun is a semi-automatic,” Dad explained. “Which means you don’t have to cock it between firing. After the first shot, it recocks itself over and over again until the magazine is empty. All you’ve gotta do is pull the trigger each time you want to fire it. That’s what a semi-automatic does. A full automatic lets you fire just by holding the trigger back.”

  “And they’re highly illegal,” Sharon pointed out. “Possession’s a federal crime unless you’ve got the proper permits.”

  “Which means,” Jody said, “that only the bad guys are allowed to have them.”

  Dad grinned. “Very good.”

  She dipped her head.

  “Let’s get back to the lesson.” He held up the twenty-two. “A little on semantics. Most people will call this weapon an ‘automatic’ or an ‘auto,’ but it’s not. It’s actually a semi-automatic. We just leave off the ‘semi’ part to shorten the word and make things easier to say.”

  “Easier, but inaccurate,” Sharon said.

  “But almost everybody says it,” Dad added. “Okay now, with an automatic or semi-automatic you’ve got two danger areas. One is the side port here.” He tapped it with his fingertip. “Almost the instant you fire, the shell casing will be ejected. It flies out of here. It doesn’t fall out, it flies out. Fast. The casings are brass and they come out hot. You don’t want to be standing near the right side of someone who’s firing, because it’s easy to get hit in the face by the things.”

  Andy looked skeptical. “Can something like that really hurt you?”

  “Might put out yer eye,” Jody said, trying to sound like an old geezer.

  “Just keep your sunglasses on,” Sharon told him. “Twenty-two shells mostly do nothing more than sting your cheek. But you get hit by a big one, it can hurt pretty bad and even cut you.”

  “A flying shell isn’t gonna be lethal,” Dad said, “but any sensible person tries to avoid pain. So keep your distance from ejection ports. If somebody’s firing a revolver, you don’t need to worry about it. Revolvers don’t spit out their spent shells.”

  “Okay.”

  “But it doesn’t matter,” Jody added, “because we don’t have any revolvers with us.”

  “It’s worth pointing out, anyway,” Sharon said.

  “Much obliged,” Dad told her. “Now, the other danger area is in front of the muzzle.”

  “Jeez, Dad. Isn’t that just slightly obvious?”

  “You’ve been known to get sloppy about it yourself, young lady.”

  “Me?”

  “Here’s the thing, Andy. Everybody knows the muzzle is dangerous. It’s where the bullets come out. But some people seem to forget about that when they aren’t actually aiming and ready to fire. You’ve always got to be aware of where your muzzle is pointing—when you’re walking with your weapon, when you’re jus
t holding it and doing nothing special, and especially when you’re busy reloading it.” He turned his head to Jody. “Paying attention?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Always assume there’s a live round in the chamber and that it’ll go off when you least expect it.”

  “And,” Sharon said, “make sure there isn’t a round in the chamber when you don’t want one there.”

  “The main rule is ... Jody?”

  “Never point your gun at anybody you don’t intend to shoot.”

  “Very good.”

  Sharon smiled at her. “He really has drummed this stuff into you.”

  “Tell her why,” Dad said.

  “A safe shooter is a happy ...” She suddenly felt cheap making cracks about it. “He wants me to be able to protect myself and also to know enough so I don’t get hurt by accident. It’s sort of like when he made me take swimming lessons.”

  Dad’s head moved up and down very slightly. He whispered, “That’s right.”

  Nobody else spoke.

  Jody heard the hushed sound of a mild breeze. She heard chirps and clatters and buzzes from nearby insects. A few birds sang.

  Then the plastic bag from the gun shop rustled as Sharon reached in. She came out with a handful of small cellophane packages. Inside each wrapper was a pair of bright orange foam ear plugs.

  She passed them around. “It’ll get loud,” she told Andy.

  They all tore open the wrappers and plugged their ears.

  Then Jack took a deep breath and held the pistol toward Andy. “Here you go, pal. It’s loaded. Jody always keeps it loaded, a bullet in the chamber, the safety on. I know that sounds dangerous, but her main reason for having the gun is self-defense. If you need to shoot someone, you might not have time to fool around loading up. You’ve gotta keep it loaded so you can get off a shot fast. Any questions?”

  “Not right now. Can I try it?”

  “Yep.” Dad gave the gun to Andy, then guided his hand until the muzzle was pointing in the general direction of the soda cans. “There’s your safety. Push it down with your thumb. That’s right. When you see the red dot like that, the safety is off and you’re ready to fire.”

  “Should I go ahead?”

  “First make sure everyone’s to the rear of your muzzle.”

  Andy glanced from side to side. “Yeah, they are.”

  “Fine. Now, just point it at any of those cans ...”

  “One of those in the front,” Sharon suggested. “A gun like that is for close range.”

  “Right,” Dad said. “Now pop a few rounds, see how it goes.”

  The pistol jumped a bit and Jody heard a flat bam! through her ear plugs. A yard behind one of the soda cans, a plume of dust leaped off the ground.

  Bam! Closer. Behind and slightly to the right.

  Bam! Bam! Bam! Two more misses, but then the can hopped high, tumbling away, and fell to the ground at least a foot beyond where it had started.

  “Wow!” Andy yelled. His head snapped around. He wore just about the biggest smile that Jody had ever seen on him. “Did you see that! I did it! I hit it!”

  Jody gave him a thumbs up.

  “Good shooting!” Sharon called.

  Dad said, “You did it once, you can do it again. This time, line your target up in the sights. Put your front sight in the center of the rear sight’s opening so that all three of the white dots form a straight row. Then make it look as if the target is resting on top of the front sight.”

  Andy took his time with the next shot. When he fired, his bullet kicked up dust a yard in front of the can. The shot after that missed, too, but came close enough for the shock of its passage to shake the can.

  “I think I’m better when I don’t aim,” Andy said.

  “It all takes practice,” Dad said.

  Bam!

  The can tumbled backward.

  KRA-BOOM!

  The unexpected blast, sharp and loud and shocking in spite of her ear plugs, made Jody jump.

  The soda can hit the air like a punted football. It flipped end over end, flashing sunlight, getting smaller, and landed forty or fifty feet back.

  Sharon lowered her rifle.

  Dad grinned at her and said, “Whoa, Nelly.”

  Andy gaped at her, his mouth drooping.

  “That’s the difference,” Sharon said, “between a .22 and a .223.”

  “Jesus H. Christ on a crutch,” Andy muttered. “Can I try it?”

  “Everyone can try it,” Sharon said.

  “Later, though,” Dad told Andy. “I want you to stick with the .22 until you’re more comfortable with it. Fire another hundred rounds or so. Jody, why don’t you take turns with him? And show him how to change magazines, reload, whatever else he needs to know. Okay?”

  “You hear that?” she asked Andy. “I’m in charge.”

  “This is so neat!”

  “I know, I know. Now, the gun is empty. You know it’s empty because the slide stayed back after the last shot you took. But put the safety back on, anyway. Always have it on when you’re not firing.”

  He pushed the lever upward until it covered the red dot on the side of the pistol.

  “Good,” Jody said. “Now it’s my turn.” She pulled the spare magazine out of the pocket of her shorts. “Gimme.”

  “Can’t I go again? If you let me, I’ll let you go twice in a row.”

  She thought about it for a moment. She remembered the look on his face right after he hit the can for the first time. “Okay. You do two magazines, then I’ll do two, and we’ll work it like that. Here, give me the gun. I’ll show you how to reload.”

  Andy offered the pistol to her.

  “Oh, great,” Jody said. “Planning to shoot me in the stomach?”

  He winced and turned the muzzle downrange. “Sorry.”

  “That’s the sort of goof that gets people shot.” She saw her father watching. “Right, Dad?” she asked.

  “That’s right. Glad you’re paying attention.” Then he turned his attention to Sharon.

  Sharon stood off to the side of the car, but near enough to reach her open box of ammo on top of the trunk. She was taking out long, pointed cartridges and thumbing them into a banana clip that glared like chrome in the sunlight.

  “Jeez,” Jody muttered. “Look at that.”

  Andy looked. “Holy smoke.”

  Jody took the pistol from him. Careful to keep it pointing away from everyone, she pressed the release button. The slim black magazine dropped down out of the handle and into her palm. “Ours are just a teensy bit smaller than hers.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Dad’s gonna make me move up to a .38 one of these days. He thinks I need to have more stopping power. I’ve always tried to talk him out of it, but ...”

  “Why talk him out of it? It’d be neat to have a bigger gun.”

  “Yeah, but I like this one. I don’t wanta change.” She slipped the full magazine into the pistol and slammed it home with the heel of her hand. “Watch me, not her. I’m making you do this next time.”

  “I’m watching.”

  “Okay. You’ve gotta make sure the magazine is all the way in and locked into place. Then you push this gizmo and the slide rams forward and chambers the round that’s on top. Watch.” She did it. “Now it’s loaded and ready.”

  “Except for the safety,” Andy added as he accepted the pistol from her.

  “Right. You’re learning.”

  Her father, she noticed, had stepped over close to Sharon. They were talking softly as she fed more cartridges into the magazine.

  “Should we go ahead and shoot?” she asked.

  “Fire away,” Dad said.

  “My can’s gone,” Andy complained.

  “Pick a different one,” Jody told him. “Any of those four in the front.”

  “Is there any special way I should stand?” he asked.

  “Any way that feels comfortable. I prefer the Weaver stance, myself.”

>   “What?”

  “Never mind. Spread your feet and crouch a little bit so you’re good and balanced. Then just stick out your arm and shoot. If you want to really take careful aim, you can use your left hand as sort of a platform under your gun hand.”

  “Like this?”

  “Yep.”

  “Here goes!” He squeezed off a shot. A can hopped straight up and dropped back to the ground. “Hey!”

  “Great!”

  “I wish I could really send it flying.”

  “The main thing is hitting it, not seeing how far you can make it fly.”

  “Yeah, but this little peashooter might not even kill somebody.”

  “It’ll kill just as good as that big cannon of Sharon’s.”

  “Oh, yeah, right. Every day and twice on Sunday.” He fired again. This time, he missed.

  “I’m not kidding. I happen to know that a lot of professional assassins use .22 caliber pistols. Like the secret Israeli hit teams that go after terrorists. They use them. At close range, a .22 is just as good as anything. And it’s quiet enough so that it makes almost no sound at all when it has a silencer.”

  He fired again, winging a can so that it fell over but didn’t jump. Then he looked at Jody. “Have you got a silencer for this?”

  “You can’t have ’em. They’re illegal.”

  “Guys on TV always have them.”

  “Yeah, and guys on TV are always putting silencers on revolvers, too. TV is stupid about guns. They never get it right. After this out here, you’ll spot crazy stuff every time you watch something.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. Movies are like that, too, most of ’em. Just wait and see. Uh-oh.”

  Andy fired and missed. “You made me miss.”

  “Sharon’s about to go.”

  Andy turned his head to watch.

  “You don’t have to stop,” Jody told him. “I’m still waiting for my first turn, you know.”

  “I don’t want to miss Sharon.”

  Sharon glanced over at them. “Go ahead. I’ll wait till you’re empty.”

  Andy emptied his gun with four quick pulls of the trigger. His first shot knocked a can spinning backward. The next three missed, but none by more than a few inches. “Nuts,” he said.

  “That was good,” Jody told him. “If you’d been firing those at a bad guy instead of at a little Pepsi can, you would’ve caught him in the chest every time.”