Chapter Twenty-Four
Twenty-Four
When he picks me up at Grand’s, I attempt to pry our destination out of him but his lips remain sealed.
It’s not until we pull up to a squat concrete building on the north side of 9th Avenue that I tune all the way back in. While Luke backs into a space between two shiny Ford F-150s, I take in our surroundings.
“You brought me to a gun range,” I say quietly when I spot the sign that dangles between two wooden posts. “Our date is going to involve firearms.”
“Yeah.” He looks at me. “This is kind of the guy version of a mani-pedi. Is that a problem?”
I can tell he’s waiting for an objection or a complaint. Or a rant about gun control. Or something that will prove I don’t have the “balls” to fire a gun at a target.
“But I don’t have a gun,” I say as we climb out of his car.
“No problem. I’ve got you covered.” He pops the trunk open, pulls out a large canvas bag, and hefts it over one shoulder. Then he motions for me to follow him.
Inside, it’s dark and cool. The pings and pops of gunfire echo off the hard surfaces and reverberate in the windowless concrete space.
Shooting stations are spread across the width of the room. Vertical concrete pillars separate the lanes, each of which has a chest-high table and a direct line of sight to the lane’s target hanging from a pulley system about forty-five yards away.
Most of the lanes are occupied.
A tall, heavily muscled Black man around Luke’s age steps up, flashes a smile, and claps Luke on the back.
“Hey, man. Good to see you.”
“Same here.” Luke grins. “Sydney, this is Tank Barnes. We were on the force together for a while. He owns this place. Tank, this is Sydney Ryan.”
“Nice to meet you, Tank.” My hand disappears into Tank’s meatier one.
“Glad to meet you, too,” the aptly nicknamed Tank replies. “Though I don’t know what you’re doing with this troublemaker.”
“Yeah, I’ve been wondering that myself.”
“Ha!” Tank laughs. “Glad to see you with someone who can see you for who you are, my man.” Tank looks at me more closely. “Hmmm. You look awfully familiar.”
I shoot Luke a “don’t you dare” stare, but it’s Tank who snaps his fingers and points one at me. “I’ve got it! You’re Cassie Everheart. Man, I couldn’t believe it when they sent you off to rehab like that. Hope you’re doing okay now.”
The way he says this makes it hard to know whether he believes I’m actually Cassie just out of rehab or understands that I was only the actress playing her. But at least he’s not hostile like some of the fans and law enforcement officers I’ve encountered.
“That was a tough exit from the show,” Tank continues with a shake of his head. “I liked the way you played Cassie, though. You were way better than the actress they brought in after you left. Much more authentic.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that.” My shoulders unhunch a bit and I begin to truly relax for the first time that day.
“Right,” Luke says. “It looks like lane ten is open.” He points to a nearby shooting station. “Okay if we set up there?”
“Absolutely,” Tank says. “In fact, I held it for you. Just let me know if you need anything.” Tank shoots me a grin. “And if this guy gives you any trouble, Sydney, all you gotta do is give me a shout.”
“Thanks.” I smile. “Will do.” But all I can think about is making sure Luke understands exactly who he’s dealing with. And this is the perfect place to do it.
When we get to lane ten, Luke opens his duffel and pulls out two pairs of headphones, two Glocks, and two boxes of bullets. He’s just starting to explain where the bullets go when I take the smaller handgun from him, release the magazine, and check it to make sure it’s empty. Then I chamber a round.
“So I’m taking it you’ve loaded and fired a real gun before.”
“Yep.”
“But don’t you only use blanks on a TV show or in a movie?”
“Yes, of course. But I was taught never to fire or point even a prop gun without first checking the magazine.” I do not bring up the deadly mistakes that took place on the set of Rust , though it remains a stark reminder of just how horribly wrong things can go when even prop guns are involved. “And as far as I’m concerned, looking like you know how to load and shoot a dummy gun requires knowing how to load and shoot a real one. Or at least it should.”
We both make sure our headphones are secure. Then Luke takes a step back and motions me to go ahead. Although he now knows that I know how to load a gun, the cocky grin on his face tells me that he still doesn’t really believe that I’m capable of hitting a target with one. And I have a ton of residual anger that I have to aim somewhere.
“Thanks.” Tuning him, and everything else, out, I step up directly behind the table, face the target, legs spread shoulder-width apart. Then I raise my gun, place my left hand under the heel of the hand that holds the pistol, and take a deep breath, which I exhale slowly. Then I fire all six bullets in rapid succession.