by Mercy Walker
I smiled victoriously.
That’s when he frowned. “But I’m only doing this because I know you’ll just go out and do it anyways, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let you learn from some phony and get yourself injured or killed later on.”
I reached over and touched the dark though sparse hairs growing on his strong forearm. I let out a little gasp of air at the frissiony feeling touching him sent through my nervous system.
“You see?” I said, pulling my hand away and rubbing at the little electrical shocks that lingered. “You know me well already.”
*****
The shooting range was on the other side of the city. Jake drove us in his late nineties pickup truck. It was spotless inside and out, the paint a little sun faded, but not a speck of dust anywhere.
The building housing the shooting range was pretty much a large square box made out of bricks. The only windows I could see were in the front. It boasted a small private parking lot you needed an electronic pass key to get through the gate with.
Jake had a large metal chest welded in the back of his truck’s cab, a smaller version of the one that rested in the truck’s bed. He produced a key from his key chain and unlocked the lid. He had all sorts of contractor paraphernalia in there, and some extra clothes. He pulled the bundle of clothes out to reveal another, crude steel box. It had a classic “safe” combination lock. I averted my eyes politely as he made fast work of the lock and then pulled a small gym bag from within. I heard metal clank together.
He looked at me hard. “You sure you’re up for this?”
I nodded. “Yes, I’m sure.”
He smiled broadly and slammed the safe and then the metal locker shut. We exited the truck and walked towards the Spartan façade of the firing range.
“You know,” he drawled, “I’ve never been able to get a woman I was dating to ever come here.”
I smiled and looked off to the side, almost uncomfortable, but not quite. I hadn’t really thought too hard about the gruff though handsome handyman…at least not as a romantic possibility.
I’m married after all…
You’re married to a man who won’t touch you…but touches the neighbor’s son who’s half his age…
So was I married or not?
Jake cleared his throat nervously. “I didn’t mean to…I wasn’t meaning that this was…”
I held up my hand to stop him. It wasn’t his fault that I was messed up and probably sending off all sorts of crazy signals. And I’d asked him to bring me here, not the other way around.
“It’s okay, I understood. You’ve never had a woman accompany you here. Must be kind of strange.”
The tension faded from his features, but his usual light hearted smile didn’t return. Instead sad shadows passed over his face. I’d inadvertently touched on a bad subject.
“Let’s just say it’s been a while.” He turned away from me and started walking toward the building again, gym bag full of firearms in hand.
Desperate to change the subject I said, “I still don’t know why I couldn’t have brought my own gun?”
“You said it was your husband’s gun.” It wasn’t a question. “So the permit for it is in his name.”
“Is that important?”
Jake pushed in the buzzer by the door with a thick, oil stained finger. “Yes.” A moment later another, higher pitched buzzing signaled for him to open the door. He held it open for me.
I passed by him, coming as physically close to him as I’d ever been. He smelled of grease and saw dust, not a bad mixture on a man. But most of all, he smelled of Jake. I felt my heart flutter a little, and something low inside me tightened.
I shook it off and walked into the dimly lit building.
“If you took that gun out of your house, and only his name was on the registration and permit, you could get arrested. If I was with you, I could be arrested too. And since I can’t afford a good lawyer, I’d probably end up doing time for it.”
I gasped. I wouldn’t want that…but… “But why wouldn’t I go to jail too?”
He looked at me like I’d sprouted a Christmas tree from my head. “Because you can afford a good lawyer, you live in an affluent suburb…and your husband’s the mayor.”
My jaw dropped. It wasn’t like Jake had come crawling out from under a rock to fix my air conditioning. I should have known he’d recognize my last name at the very least.
He stopped at the front desk. The lobby was a small, cramped room with an orange vinyl couch and a small side table with a scattering of gun enthusiast magazines strewn across it. The front desk was a five by four rectangle that had been cut into the far brick wall, and was covered in what I assumed was bullet proof glass. The attendant, a short, thin man in his early thirties, spoke through an intercom that squawked from the bottom of the glass.
“Hi, Jake…you have a guest to sign in?”
“Sure do, Hal.” I smiled. I’d never met a Hal before. I wondered if it was short for Harold. “This is Lila…” he didn’t give my last name. “I’d like to show her some basic safety standards, and maybe shoot a few rounds.”
“Sure, sure…you need any ammo?”
“Not for my forty-five, but I’m gonna start her out on my Browning, and I only have a couple rounds for it. So can I buy a box of twenty-two’s? Remington’s if you have them.”
He nodded and stepped away, disappearing through a doorway to a back room.
“You should let me by those,” I said.
“You can’t. Unless you’ve got a gun license on file here and are a member.”
“Oh…” I mumbled, but then I pulled myself together again. “I’ll add it onto your payment for today.”
He didn’t look at me, just leaned back on his heels and smiled with bemusement. “You do that.”
I amused him…
After he paid for the box of bullets, we passed though another buzzing door into a small room that held an assortment of black plastic earmuffs hanging from the walls. Jake took a set off the wall that was bundled together by a plastic tie. He undid the tie and handed a set to me.
“Put these on.”
They looked silly, but I did as he said. He put his set on and then reached over toward my head.
I flinched away. “What are you doing?”
He smiled and pointed to his set of earmuffs and his lips moved.
“I can’t hear you,” I said before the absurdity of it hit me. We wouldn’t be able to hear each other at all with these things on.
Jake held up a finger, signaling me to wait for a moment, and then he reached out to me again and flicked on something on the earmuffs. There was a low buzzing, and then I heard him say, “Can you hear me now?”
I smiled. That was rather ingenious. I nodded and then said, “Now I can.”
On him the earmuffs looked okay. But I was sure that on me they looked absolutely ridiculous.
“So why do we need these?”
In answer he opened the next door. It didn’t need a buzzer, it seemed, but it must have been soundproof, for the moment it opened I heard muffled roars of guns being shot. And even through the earmuffs they were loud enough that it was a struggle to hear Jake’s voice. Of course, the two way headsets made his voice sound even more gravely than it already did.
“Because you can injure your hearing in a place like this without them. Follow me.”
We entered a long, well lit hallway with doorways cut into them, but no doors. The sounds of shots got louder, but they weren’t deafening. I guess the silly earmuffs were necessary.
Today we’ll go over some basics,” Jake said pulling a large, black hand gun from his gym bag. I didn’t catch the name of the gun, but I did take note of how he removed the clip and showed me that it was loaded with bullets.
“They’re smaller than I expected,” I said.
“As I said, this is a forty-five caliber. There bigger out there, but this…” he pulled a bullet from the clip and held it up to me. “This is big
enough to put any man down.”
I gulped. Something so small could put any man down… Did that mean kill them? I stared at the little piece of metal and felt a shiver run up my spine. This was enough to put Tom down…maybe for good.
I felt cold just thinking the thought. Killing my husband had never even entered my mind before. Killing anyone had never entered my mind before…so what the hell did it mean that I kept thinking about killing him?
That I was losing my mind?
Suddenly Jake reached out and touched my shoulder. “Are you sure you’re up for this? I can get started on that roof of yours today…maybe do this some other time?”
I swallowed the sour taste in my mouth and shook my head. I felt a steely resolve rise up into my spine, burning out the cold shivers from before.
I wanted…no, I needed to learn how to do this…and I would start learning it today!
He looked into my eyes again, his grin crooked. He seemed to like what he saw…did he know what he was looking at? A woman on the edge of a nervous breakdown?
He closed his eyes and shook his head.
“Then let’s bang out a few rounds.”
Chapter Thirteen
Marcus
Spending the afternoon, naked and sweaty with Tom had really worn me out…but in a very good way. I was as relaxed as I’d ever been in my entire life, and the fact that my asshole ached in that really good way, and my cock was spent to the point of not even stirring at the thought of Tom naked, proved that I was as sated as I would ever get.
I lounged in the living room, the house blessedly free of the parents—they had left early for their annual fuck-fest/anniversary weekend vacation—and my kid sister was holed up in the basement working on her “science project.” I was watching some Food Network show, which was making me hungry, while I had the ear-buds of my iPod in my ears listening to George Michael’s “Father Figure.”
I’d never even heard of the song before, but when I did a search on iTunes for a “Daddy” song, I got some country hillbilly twanging about Who’s your Daddy? And George Michael’s Father Figure.
For a song recorded in the eighties—which was probably around the time my parents were just starting to date—it was kind of elegant. Lots of exotic background music that made me think of Egypt or The Arabian Nights.
Suddenly the view of The Food Network was blocked by a guy’s jean clad crotch. I looked up warily. It was a pretty nice crotch, but as I scanned up the thin yet toned body, I recognized the guy before I even got to his face.
I pulled out my ear-buds and sat up on the couch. “Hey there, Mikey.”
Michael Long cringed half heartedly. He acted like he didn’t like being called Mikey, but I knew by the way his cheeks flushed that he really, truly did.
I frowned at him and looked over to the front door. I knew I’d locked it when I came home.
“How did you get in?”
“I had to let him in!” My sister’s voice boomed from the kitchen. “He was banging on the door for like ten minutes, and you couldn’t be bothered to detach from your stupid music long enough to let him in, so I had to!”
I heard her sigh and could tell she was shaking her head at me. She was like that. I irritated my little sis like nothing else.
“I was going to order us some pizza,” she said, a put upon quality to her voice. “You want pepperoni and sausage on your half, right?”
“Sure,” I said. She knew me so well.
“You want to stay and have some, Mike? I’ll order an extra large if you do. I get bacon and pineapple on my half.”
Mikey shrugged, looking embarrassed. “Sure, thanks. Both sound good.”
Liar… Nobody but my genius freak of a sister liked pineapple on pizza.
“Pay the delivery guy when he gets here,” she commanded. “The parental units left the money on the mantel, so don’t forget to tip him, okay?”
“Yes, sir!” I chimed in a fake military tone of voice.”
“Dick…” she muttered before I heard the door to the basement slam shut.
“Natalie’s at that difficult age,” I said to Mikey. He smiled and forced himself to look away, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand—he’d been staring at me the whole time he’d been here.
I was shirtless and wearing only my too tight swim trunks. And he was gay. So I guess that was explanation enough.
“So what can I do for you?” I asked.
His mouth fell open and his eyes glazed over. I guess I’d put a little too much innuendo into that question. And from the tightly wound body language he had from his head to his toes, he was still a virgin.
I mentally sighed.
In a city as big as Tempe, with over three thousand students going to Crest View High, he couldn’t find one gay guy to screw around with?
That was just plain laziness. Mikey was cute, in the boy-next-door kind of way, with that creamy complexion and big, brown puppy dog eyes. And if you could get the guy to smile, he had great dimples and could light up a room.
Plus he had a nice, tight little body—all that running in track and cross country kept him pretty fit. And now that I was looking at him, he’d filled out a little too…must be hitting the weight room some—and I think his shoulders were filling out pretty well too…
I closed my eyes and mentally cringed. Mikey wasn’t my type. And I’d vowed when I first came out to him that I’d never let him be my type. He was like the little brother I’d never had…I felt protective as hell about him, and liked him plenty…but he was so…
I couldn’t say irritating or always bugging me, because I usually had to seek him out—he was that shy. So for him to be here in my living room, uninvited, it had to be pretty important.
I reached for my discarded black tank top, wishing it was the too big t-shirt I’d had on earlier, and pulled it on over my naked torso.
“Let’s go out on the front porch and wait for the pizza.”
Chapter Fourteen
Lila
Walking out of that firing range, I’d never felt so good in my life.
I felt seven feet tall, young, beautiful, strong…no, not just strong, powerful! It was a feeling I hadn’t found at the beauty salon, self-improvement seminars, or at the bottom of a bottle of “Happy Pills.”
I felt high…and I was actually turned on.
The wind blew hard and right through me. Usually I’d cower from it, but not today, I stretch into it like a cat wanting to be petted. It blew through my hair, over and around and through me, touching every single inch of me, like an ardent lover.
I laughed, and caught myself looking at Jake with hungry eyes. That made me come down to earth a little. But as I looked harder, and saw more and more of him that I liked—like how he walked. He was slightly bow-legged. And how he rubbed his neck after he would look at me. I got the impression there that he was enjoying looking at me as much as I was enjoying checking him out.
I had a flash of him being behind me at the range, his arms over mine, his hands folded lightly about mine, as he instructed me on how to aim and pull the trigger. That had been nice…hell, it had been goddamn hot.
But then something really wonderful happened in that narrow but long shooting gallery. I suddenly became one with that gun he’d brought in for me. He’d said it was a Browning high power, and it was a twenty-two. Which I guess was smaller than the big old Dirty Harry like gun he was using.
And right there and then, I started shooting like I’d been doing it my entire life. I hit the target every single time. Jake chuckled at first, and then when I actually hit dead center on the target, he whistled.
I think I blushed, but I kept shooting. I lost count how many times I shot that gun, and I didn’t stop until my hands went numb. Jake took the Browning from me, and shook his head.
“Lila…I’ve never seen anything like that before,” he’d said. He did that thing where he scrubbed the back of his neck, turning his gaze away, pointedly not looking at me. “You sure
you’ve never fired a gun before?”
“Yeah,” I chortled, breathing in the smell of cordite like it was the aroma of prime rib. “I’ve never even touched a gun before.”
He stopped shaking his head and looked me in the eye. He smiled, and I liked how when he smiled it always touched his eyes. Not many people actually meant it when they smiled. But he did. He meant every smile.
“Then you’re the first natural shooter I’ve ever seen.”
Natural…I was a natural.
“We need to celebrate,” I said, excitement in my voice.
Jake looked up at the sky, and then back down to me. “I know just the place.”
*****
Mama’s was a little bar and grill about seven blocks away from the shooting range, and it was all but empty at this time of day; in limbo between lunch and happy hour. There was saw dust and peanut shells on the floor—and it took everything in me not to request a broom and dustpan to clean it all up.
But I didn’t want to seem all crazy to Jake. I didn’t want him to know how extensive my cleaning obsession was. I wanted him to think I was “normal.”
That was a laugh!
He ordered us a pitcher of beer, a rack of ribs with fries to split, and a cheddar chili dog a piece. Just looking at the food when it came gave me heartburn. But the smell was a smoky, spicy amalgam of deliciousness.
Plus the mugs that came with the pitcher of beer were spotless.
I took a first tentative bite of my cheddar chili dog and nodded my head when Jake asked if it was to my liking. I’d never liked hot dogs, no matter what was smothering them. But this dog was firm, not soggy, and tasted of honest to goodness beef.
I devoured the hot dog, dipping the fries in the left over chili and cheddar. And then I started in on my half of the rack of ribs. This I was especially squeamish about. I didn’t like barbeque sauce of any kind, and I’d always found the physical look of ribs repulsive—they are the actual ribs of a pig, yanked out off the swine’s corpse and simply shrink-wrapped until someone decides to roast them over an open flame.