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Wes deposits the protective glasses on the counter beside the headphones and guns. “Okay, so I’m assuming none of you smokes, ’cause we got a strict no-smoking policy. Those things’ll kill you surer than anything we sell in here. Right, Doc?”
“No arguments from me on that score,” Nick concurs.
“Nasty, nasty habit. And no chewing gum once you pass through those doors.” He points toward the doors leading to the shooting range. “You want to know why?” he asks, directing his question to Tyler and Ben.
“Why?” Ben obliges him by asking.
“It’s because of the lead in the ammunition. You don’t want to be opening and closing your mouth too often, letting all that lead poison in. You can talk and stuff. Just try not to open your mouth too wide.”
“Won’t be a problem,” Ben tells him. “We aren’t allowed to chew gum.”
“My wife’s a dentist,” Nick explains.
“Is that right? Well, good for you,” Wes says, as if Dani has just received an A on a spelling test.
“A damn good one, too,” Nick says. “You ever need any work done, she’s the one to see. You have a business card you can give the man, honey?”
Seriously?Dani wonders, thinking that this morning is becoming increasingly surreal. “No. I didn’t bring any with me.”
“Should always carry some with you. Just in case. I’ve told you that.”
“I know. I just keep forgettin’. Forgetting,” she corrects.
“I gotta admit, I’m not too fond of dentists,” Wes says, winking at Dani. “But it’s nice to see a husband so proud of his wife.”
Dani forces a smile onto her lips.
“Can we go shoot now?” Ben whines, pulling on Nick’s arm.
“Hold your horses,” Wes admonishes. “First you gotta pick out what kind of target you’re gonna shoot at. You got two choices. This one”—he holds up a shiny laminated square containing a small, bright orange bull’s-eye in the center of a series of black concentric circles against a lime-green background—“or this one.” He offers up a larger sheet, this one displaying the outline of a man’s head and torso against an all-white background.
“I want that one,” says Ben.
Nick chuckles. “You heard the man. We’ll take two.”
“Then you’re all set,” Wes says, watching as everyone grabs their headphones and protective glasses and Nick retrieves their weapons. “Just remember to wash your hands real good with the special soap in the bathrooms when you’re done,” he warns, “ ’cause you don’t want any of that lead sinking into your skin.”
Does no one else see the irony here?Dani wonders.
“Stalls seven and eight,” Wes says. “Now go in there and…”
“Let ’em rip,” says Ben, racing for the door to the shooting range.
“Do we have to?” Tyler whispers to Dani.
“Is there a problem?” Nick asks.
“No problem.” Dani pushes her older son gently forward. “Let’s just do this real quick like a bunny,” she whispers, as Nick opens the first of two doors leading to the range. They wait in the small glass enclosure for the first door to fully close before the second one opens.
The shooting range itself is mostly concrete and predominantly black and gray in color. A long gray rubber wall at the far end serves as a buffer for the bullets to bounce off. The area is well ventilated, air-conditioned, and soundproofed to the outside world.
A red-and-yellow sign on one wall states:!!Warning!! Tracer and Incendiary Ammunition Are Not Permitted.Another advises:For your safety and the safety of others, No Tracer Ammunition, No Reload Ammunition, No Armor Piercing, No Exceptions.
Inside, the noise from the weapons being discharged is overwhelming. “Quick, put on your headphones,” Dani says, securing her own and remembering to press the button on its side so they can communicate with one another. They dodge an explosion of empty bullet casings as they hurry toward stalls seven and eight, the smell of gunfire reaching so deep into Dani’s nostrils that she has to fight the urge to gag.
“You and Goldilocks take stall eight,” Nick instructs his wife. “I’ll get Ben started, then come back.”
Tyler appeals to Dani with his eyes, and Dani replies with a silent plea of her own.Just go along,her eyes say.You know that if I had my druthers, we’d be anyplace but here.
“I don’t need help,” Ben announces. “I already know what to do.”
“Easy there, cowboy,” Nick says, clipping the targets to their respective wires and adjusting their distance. “That should do it. Okay, tough guy,” he says to Ben, his voice filled with unmistakable pride. “Show me what you’ve got.”
