Random Acts

by Franklin Horton

  "It is a social activity," Mohammed replied tentatively. "One uses social media to lure people to a gathering. They work together to carry out a certain objective. I observed one in a local square the other day and it gave me ideas."

  "Do not go into detail on the phone. Be at the mosque tonight at 10 o'clock. Be prepared to explain those ideas in detail. Your time is running short. I hope you are prepared to give me good news."

  With a click the call ended. Mohammed pulled the phone away from his ear and the worker extended a hand. Mohammed placed the phone in the scarred and calloused hand. Without taking his eyes from Mohammed's the man squeezed the phone and shattered it. He twisted it several times until there were nothing but small scraps of plastic and circuitry. He opened his hands and let the crumpled pieces rain to the floor. Then he turned and left the apartment.

  When the man shut the door behind him Mohammed turned to his roommate. The panic and wide eyes indicated he already understood the implications of this visit.

  "Do they want to see us?"

  Mohammed nodded. "Tonight. With a plan."

  "Then we must have one. We must give your Death Merchant an incentive to behave himself.”

  They returned to Mohammed’s room and he logged into his CamaroChick19 social media account. He took the time to upload a picture of a dog he found on the Internet, then changed his profile picture to another he had stolen from the same account where he got his current one. Those little touches made the account appear current and active, thus increasing the believability. When he was done with his housekeeping he opened the messaging app and began keying in a message to DeathMerchant6o6o6

  "Hope you haven't done anything too crazy since our last conversation. I think it would be a waste of your talent to get locked up and not be able to make videos. The idea makes me very sad. Please message me back as soon as you can. I can't wait to hear from you. And if you’re thinking of doing anything risky, please reconsider."

  Mohammed pushed himself away from the keyboard and allowed Khebat to read the message.

  "You are an artist my friend."

  "Hopefully," Mohammed replied. "Our lives may depend on it."

  17

  Amanda was beginning to find the groove in her new life. She got used to getting up early, though she still wasn’t fond of it. She learned to drink the coffee her dad drank, despite having to add flavored creamers to make it tolerable. She enjoyed the early drives to the job site before the rest of the world was active. The mountains of North Carolina were breathtaking sometimes. In the early mornings of summer, the play between the fog and the rising sun amazed her.

  When they reached the house site, she knew a little more about what to do now. She would pitch in as soon as she got out of the truck, rolling out extension cords and air hoses. She would oil the pneumatic nailers and position them out of the way. She would get out a circular saw and connect it to power, then place it near the sawhorses.

  She was more useful throughout the day too. She was learning the language of carpentry and homebuilding. When someone asked for a 2x6, a sixteen penny nail, or an eight penny nail, she knew what those things were. She could read the cryptic framing layout marks Lupe scribbled with the thick carpenter’s pencil. She could point out a jack stud, a king stud, a common stud, a trimmer, a top plate, a bottom plate, and a header. She knew when it was necessary to throw in an extra stud as a drywall backer or to include blocking for a handicapped bar.

  She still wasn’t interested in becoming a building contractor one day but she was a logical person and she enjoyed jobs more when they made sense to her. She was beginning to understand some of the basics of how of a house went together, how the individual pieces played certain roles in carrying and transferring the loads to make the house stronger. She understood how the sheathing nailed to the studs helped resist shearing forces. Knowing those things made her enjoy the process more. In that way, she was finding she was more like her dad than her mother.

  The job was improving her physical condition as well. Her weight was in the normal range for her height but she was feeling stronger now. She felt healthier. She’d even taken to throwing her new bike in the truck with her each day and riding around at lunch. Their current jobsite was on a long private road and it was perfect for getting in some pedal time. It helped her become stronger and more confident on the bike.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy hanging with the crew but they were all a lot older than her. Even the youngest of the framers was nearly twice her age. Most of the lunchtime conversation was around politics, guns, and people she didn’t know. They all made an effort to include her in the conversations but they were still things she knew nothing about or didn’t want to know about.

  After spending her thirty minute lunch break on the bike, she returned it to her dad’s truck and pulled a protein shake from her cooler. She’d found those to be the best lunches if she was going to spend her time riding the bike because she could drink one down in less than a minute. She’d just got one from her cooler and was mopping the sweat off her forehead with a blue bandana when her dad called her over to the house.

  All of the first floor walls were framed and the exterior walls sheathed. They’d built those walls flat on the subfloor, nailing on the plywood and installing the windows before raising them. A truck came that morning and delivered engineered floor joists that would be put in place after lunch. Then they could put a sub-floor over those joists and start framing the second floor walls.

  “We’re not going to have enough nails for these joists,” Cole said. “Lupe just noticed. I thought we had two more boxes on the trailer but they’re the wrong size. I’ve already called the lumber yard and they’ll have the boxes waiting at the counter with my name on them. Can you go pick them up?”

  “It’ll take me an hour to get there and back,” Amanda said. “Is that okay?”

  “That’s fine,” Cole said. “We can cut everything to size and tack them into place. When you get back, we’ll use the air nailers to finish everything off.”

  “Take my truck,” Larry said. “Then we don’t have to unhook your dad’s trailer.” He tossed her the keys.

  “You mean I don’t get a lecture about how to drive your particular truck on this particular road?” Amanda asked, cutting a look at her dad.

  “He does that?” Larry asked.

  Amanda nodded.

  “I’ll talk to him,” Larry said, winking at her. “I have to wait until you’re gone because I’m going to use some colorful language.”

  “I appreciate it,” Amanda said. “It’s kind of annoying.”

  “Enough dad-bashing,” Cole said. “Get moving.” He was laughing, realizing he was probably going to get an earful from Larry about being overly-protective.

  Amanda climbed in Larry’s truck and was adjusting the seat so her feet would reach the pedals when Larry appeared in the doorway.

  “Young lady, if you don’t mind, kindly hand me that pistol off the dashboard. I keep it up there so it doesn’t get all dusty during the day but you probably don’t need to drive to town with it up there on display.”

  Amanda carefully handed him the pistol in the soft leather holster. “What kind is that?” she asked.

  “Compact 1911. I’ll let you shoot it when you guys come to the house.”

  “We can do that this week,” she said.

  “I take that to mean you have plans for the weekend?” Larry replied.

  Amanda flushed, which kind of surprised her. She hadn’t expected it.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Larry said, backing away from the vehicle. “You be careful.”

  Amanda drove away thinking about how much different her life was now. Sometimes she felt like she was in another country. Everything, from the conversations, to the guns, to the more genuine way people interacted made her question the way she’d just spent the last five years.

  When she’d lived in Virginia, people kept their guard up all the time. You couldn’
t tell much about people just from talking to them. It was different here. She could spend a few minutes talking with a person and come away knowing whether they were a good person or not. It was so crazy to her that people just walked around being so open about who they were. It was so vulnerable.

  Again, it made her wonder why her parents had split up. While she’d only been with him a short time, she didn’t feel like her father was concealing things from her. She didn’t get the impression he was trying to make himself out to be something he wasn’t. He seemed entirely genuine, like the rest of the people around here.

  She wondered if she could ask Larry about why her parents broke up. Maybe he could tell her something. Had her mother actually had a man on the side like Raven suspected? She found it hard to imagine but was mature enough to realize anything was possible.

  She had to drive by the bike shop on her way into town. Well, not really, but if she got off on a particular side street and went to the lumber yard that way she had to drive by it. She felt like a creep slowing down and coasting by but it didn’t stop her from doing so. She saw Ben through the glass, taping a sign to the plate glass window.

  She had to stop even if it was only for a second.

  She pulled into the lot beside the shop and parked. She gave herself a quick glance in the mirror and almost changed her mind about going in. Her clothes were still damp with sweat from the morning’s work and from her bike ride. She had sawdust stuck to her face. Her hair was doing all kinds of things and none of them were what she wanted it to do.

  She took the bandana off her head and re-tied it, trying to reorganize her hair as she did so. Satisfied this was as good as it was going to get, she hopped out of the truck. If she was going to ride bikes with the guy, he would probably see her more disheveled than this at some point.

  “Hey, what’s up?” Ben said when she walked in, smiling broadly.

  He appeared genuinely happy to see her and that made her glad she’d stopped.

  “Not much. Just running into town to pick up some nails.”

  “Cool. You’re a carpenter today, I guess?”

  She nodded. “Yep. Hence the sweat and dirt.”

  “I bike nearly every day,” Ben said. “I don’t even notice sweat and dirt anymore.”

  “That’s good to know,” she replied, hoping it was true.

  “I was just putting up a sign. We’re needing some part-time help around the shop.”

  “It won’t be hard to find someone, will it? It’s a small town. There’s bound to be people looking for a job.”

  “Not in the summer,” Ben said. “There are a lot of jobs related to outdoor tourism in the summer. More jobs than people.”

  “Oh, that sucks.”

  “Too bad you’ve already got a job. You’d be perfect.”

  Amanda hadn’t even considered the possibility but working here would be great. Besides working with the only guy she’d met here, a guy she was slightly interested in, she would also have the opportunity to interact with people her own age. She would get to meet people she’d be going to school with in the fall.

  “What are the hours?”

  “You’d be here in the afternoon and evening with me. Mostly helping with the shuttles and rentals. That’s most of our business.”

  Amanda’s mind raced. “That would be so cool. I know I don’t really know you, but can I ask a favor?”

  Ben shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Can you give me one day to see if I can get out of this thing with my dad? I’d love to work here. There’s no one my age on the jobsite and I’m going nuts. All they want to talk about is politics and deer hunting.”

  Ben laughed. “I’ll do that, just for you, but I need someone soon. You’d have to be able to start next week.”

  “I’ll text you first thing tomorrow with an answer.”

  “Great!” Ben said. “I’m glad you stopped by.”

  “Me too,” Amanda said, smiling. “Gotta run now. My dad probably knows exactly how long this trip is supposed to take.”

  She waved and headed out to the parking lot. When she pulled back onto the street, she saw Ben taking the sign back down out of the window.

  The lumber yard was less than five minutes away. The boxes of nails were heavier than she expected so they had someone load them for her. In the parking lot, she cracked open a box of the air nails and held a few of the strips up. She took a selfie with the lumber yard sign in the background and posted it to her social media account. #mynewlife #carpenterchicks #westernNC #buildingstuff.

  18

  That evening, Amanda and Cole cooked hamburgers on the grill. At her suggestion, they also grilled asparagus, squash, white potatoes, and sweet potatoes. They ate on a metal table on the back porch. It had an umbrella for blocking the sun but the thick pines surrounding the home softened the light. The days were still warm and muggy but cooled off quickly at the high elevation.

  They used paper plates and threw them away when they were done. They worked together to clean up the kitchen and had it back to its normally organized state in short order.

  “You want to shoot some?” Cole asked. They’d talked about it ever since she’d come to live with them but they hadn’t done it yet.

  “Sure,” she said. It was something they’d done often when she’d come to visit him over the years. They’d set up targets at his home range and she’d shoot at them with a .22 caliber rifle or pistol.

  “What do you want to shoot?” he asked.

  “Let’s do pistols. I want to learn to shoot a handgun.”

  “Handguns it is,” Cole said.

  They went to the room where Cole kept his gear. He loaded Amanda with the range bag and an ammo can, then removed a couple of handguns from the safe. They returned to the backyard. Cole verified each gun was empty as he removed them from their individual plastic cases, then laid them out on the table with the slides locked back.

  “These magazines are loaded with hollow points,” he said, pointing to a round with a hole in the tip of the bullet. “These are expensive rounds so we don’t use them for targets. These are only for self-defense.”

  “What’s the difference?” Amanda asked, examining one.

  “Those expand on impact. They create a devastating wound channel which accelerates blood loss.”

  Amanda’s eyes widened and her lips curled. “That’s gross.”

  “If you’re fighting for your life or the life of a loved one, sympathy for your attacker is not normally a concern. Usually you’re just looking to stop the fight as quickly as possible.”

  “That makes sense,” Amanda said. “Your description was just a little graphic.”

  “Sorry,” Cole said.

  “Which is the gun you carry every day?” Amanda asked.

  Cole pointed to one on the table. “That’s a 9mm Shield. Put on your safety glasses and your hearing protection.”

  Amanda did as she was told and Cole slid a mag in the Shield, then dropped the slide, chambering a round. He slid the weapon into the Kydex holster which he then tucked into his pants, beneath the tail of his t-shirt.

  “Watch that steel torso,” Cole said, pointing to a rectangular steel plate hanging from a wooden post.

  In a smooth motion, Cole raised his shirttail and drew the Shield. He raised the gun, got his two-hand grip in place, and steadily dumped the magazine. Each round hit the plate center-mass, boldly ringing the steel target like a bell.

  “That was cool,” Amanda said. “Can you teach me to shoot like that?”

  “It takes practice, but you can definitely learn it. I’ve got a Smith & Wesson .22 pistol similar to this one. You can run through a lot of drills with it using cheaper ammo.”

  “Show me where to start.”

  Cole started her on the basics of grip and hand position. He explained the role of the support hand in taming recoil. He talked about both trigger pull and finger position on the trigger. When she started to zone out on the information overload, he explai
ned some of those things would make more sense over time as she became more experienced.

  He showed her how to load a magazine with the less expensive solid point rounds, instructing her to keep the muzzle pointed downrange at all times. She inserted the magazine and chambered a round. He reminded her there was no safety and she should keep her finger out of the trigger guard until she was ready to shoot.

  Cole got behind her where he could give instruction. She raised the weapon to the target and placed her support hand, aligned her sights, positioned her trigger finger, and pulled slowly. The gun boomed, immediately followed by the ring of the steel. Cole watched his daughter’s face and saw a smile curl the edges of her mouth. Her look of satisfaction made him smile too.

  Not every round hit the steel but enough did that Cole was certain she had the bug. When the gun was empty, Cole took it from her and confirmed it was clear. He dropped the mag onto the table.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  “It was fun. Can I shoot some more?”

  Cole grinned. “Music to my ears. Let’s load some more magazines.”

  They stood around the range table and loaded mags, Cole giving her pointers as they went.

  “Dad, I need to ask you something.”

  Cole stopped loading his current magazine, a look of concern crossing his face.

  “Nothing bad,” she added.

  “You just sounded serious,” he said.

  “I don’t think it’s that serious but it’s important to me.”

  “Let’s hear it. If it’s important to you, it’s important to me.”

  “How hung up are you on me working with you in the construction business this summer?”

  Cole looked at his daughter. She continued her task, not looking up at him.

  “Well, you know I don’t want you just hanging around the house all day doing nothing. It’s not that I think you’re going to hurt yourself, but I just don’t think it’s good for anyone to loaf all day and not do anything. It’s important to have activities to fill your day. You need a reason to get out of bed every morning.”