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“When my sister reconnected with Che, her husband now, he was working for the biker club. Eventually, she got me to change career paths.”
“But, ah, whatisthat career path?” she asked. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that. I get that you might not be able to… you know… talk about it.”
So she’d already come to the conclusion that it wasn’t exactly legal.
“I should probably tell you that when I was finally making my own money, I found myself really getting into a… hobby.”
“What hobby?” she asked.
“Shooting. Marksmanship. Guns. Turned out I had really good natural aim. And I was into developing that. Sass knew that, so when she got to know Che, and the club, she thought I would be a good fit.”
“The club… they’re in… uh, the arms trade?” she asked, choosing her words very carefully.
“Yes,” I said, nodding.
“Is that as much like an action movie as it sounds?”
“Most of the time, no. Sometimes… yes.”
“Is that why you like it? For the moments of action?”
“Actually, no. That’s more of the downside of it. The found family of it is a big perk. The money is good. It’s not a fuckton of work.”
“So… on a daily basis, is there work to do?” she asked.
“Not necessarily every day, no. I’ve been working on doing some evaluations of the prospects lately.”
“Prospects…”
“Guys who want to join the club. They get a probationary period where they do lots of work around the clubhouse, and we get a feel for if they would be a good fit or not.”
“And they need to know how to shoot to be a good fit.”
“Pretty much, yeah,” I agreed. “Or at least be able to be taught.”
“Can that be taught?” she asked, dubious. “I’ve never been able to toss a ball of paper into a garbage can from any sort of distance.”
“In general, yeah, I think it can be taught. Obviously, if there are issues with vision or something like that, that’s a different story. But with enough practice, most people can get at least a fair amount of accuracy. I could show you.”
“Teach me to shoot?” she asked, brows raising.
“Yeah. Why not? It’s fun. Cathartic, even.”
“So you just go to a range and…”
“We have a private range,” I told her, sensing she would be anxious about other people watching her fail her way toward accuracy.
“Oh, huh. Maybe,” she said, nodding.
The conversation kept going from there, talking about mostly little things, but they helped to create a full image of Siana. Her likes and dislikes. Her interests and icks.
By the time we were done, I realized I’d eaten three slices of pizza without even thinking about it.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten that much ‘junk’ food without obsessing over it, without telling myself that I would add an extra hour to the next day’s workout to burn it off.
Interesting.
After dinner, Siana was excited to take Frida for a walk in the neighborhood, curious if she would be more comfortable away from all the sounds, sights, and smells of the city.
