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“Hi, there, Doc,” the older of the two clerks says in greeting. The name tag on his orange vest identifies him as Wes. He’s about fifty and sports a barely there brush cut and a tiny diamond stud in his left ear. “I see you brought the whole family with you this morning.”
“Been meaning to do it for a long time,” Nick tells him, motioning toward Ben. “Just waiting for this one to get tall enough to see over the railing. Ben, get over here. Say hello to Wes.”
“Hi,” Ben says. “This is a really neat place.”
“Thank you, son. You gonna learn to shoot like your daddy?”
“Yup,” Ben says proudly.
“And this is my wife, Dani, and my older son, Tyler.”
“Very pleased to meet you,” Wes says. “We all gonna hit the range today?”
“That’s the general idea.” Nick hands Wes his membership card. “We’ll need four guns for one hour. Two stalls should do it.”
Wes glances toward the shooting range behind the glass wall opposite the counter. “I think we can manage that.”
“How much do I owe you?”
“I’m assuming both kids are under twelve?”
Nick nods.
“Then it’s seven-fifty each,” Wes says. “Fifteen for the missus. You should come on Mondays,” he tells Dani. “Ladies shoot free on Mondays.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Think these .22 handguns would work best for the wife and kids,” Wes says to Nick, laying three such guns on the glass countertop, along with the appropriate ammunition. “They’re lightweight, not a lot of recoil. Should be pretty easy for them to fire. Just got to line your sights up to the target,” he says, leaning over the counter to demonstrate to Dani and the boys how it should be done, “and then just let ’em rip. And watch out,” he warns, “ ’cause the bullet casings go flying all over the place.”
Ben laughs. “Let ’em rip,” he repeats.
“And I got your favorite .38 right here, Doc.”
“Thank you kindly, as my wife would say.” Nick puts his arm around Dani’s waist, pulls her close. “Right, sweetheart?”
“Right,” she echoes.
“You got a real good man here,” Wes tells Dani. “Not everyone is as concerned as the doc here about his family’s welfare.”
Dani nods. He’s right after all. Her husband is a real good man. Everybody says so.
“Are these animals real?” Ben asks.
“Well, theywere,” Wes explains. “Till someone shot ’em and stuffed ’em.”
“Cool,” says Ben. “Hey, I have an idea. We should stuff our fish.”
“Shut up, Ben,” Tyler says, the first words out of his mouth since they entered the place. “That’s not funny.”
“Is, too,” Ben says, doing a three-sixty surveillance of the premises.
Dani follows her son’s eyes with her own. Mixed in with the seemingly endless display of guns and rifles are cabinets filled with knives of every shape and size.A regular cornucopia of death,Dani thinks, as Wes lays four sets of headphones on the counter.
“What are these for?” Ben asks.
“They’re to protect your ears,” Wes states, warming to his role as instructor. “Guns are really loud and we got ten stalls back there, most of them occupied. Wouldn’t want you going deaf and suing us. So, you put these on,” he says, “and when you get inside the shooting range, you press this button here on the side. You’ll hear a beep, and then you’ll be able to hear talking but not the gun shots. You got glasses? ’Cause you need to protect your eyes, too. If you don’t have any, I got some here.”
“We’ll need three pairs,” Nick says. “I brought my own.”
