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She laughs.
“The pen is mightier than the sword, Ingram.”
“Yeah, they said that before the M16 was invented. Why don’t you give that a try?”
She sighs, removing the pistol’s magazine and setting both parts down. I set up a fresh target sheet and move it back to fifty feet.
“My father abhorred violence,” she says. “He was a pacifist. I don’t think he’d like the idea of me learning to kill.”
“Even under the circumstances?” I ask.
“I think he’d understand, but he wouldn’t be happy about it. Which is fine — I’d rather not be doing this either. Even when I learned on my own, it was out of necessity.”
Blood rushes to my face; I look away.
It was necessary because she made enemies in her line of work. I was one of them.
“If I’d really wanted to enlist or become a cop, he wouldn’t have stood in my way, but I could tell he was happy I chose to follow in his footsteps. That’s probably why I’ve tried so hard to live up to his name.”
“He’d be very proud of you, Kate.”
“What about your father?” she asks. “Was he hoping you’d grow up to run the factory?”
I laugh, shaking my head.
“No, he was thrilled when I enlisted. He felt it would lead to a better life than the one he had. Plus, he was all about self-discipline and hard work, which were lessons I really needed when I was young.”
“I can’t imagine you taking orders and calling someone else ‘sir.’ Telling you to clean the latrine, demanding you get down and give him twenty…”
“Yeah, that part wasn’t easy for me,” I say, remembering Drill Sergeant Skinner. I haven’t thought of him in ages. “I definitely had my share of disciplinary infractions. If I thought I could get away with something, I tried to. It didn’t always work. But in the end, I learned respect for authority and the value of discipline.”
“And also to be very good at fighting, killing and more,” Kate finishes.
She aims the M16 and takes a practice shot. The gun kicks in her grip, but she doesn’t drop it. The next time she squeezes the trigger shes’ ready for the recoil. Her shots hit their marks, leaving holes in a tight spread.
“Very good,” I say.
“So was it your idea to join or your father’s?”
“His,” I admit. “But I liked the idea of learning to be a badass, so I didn’t fight him too hard.”
She goes through a few clips with each gun, learning their feel. Every time I see her target sheets, I smile. She’s a natural, without a doubt. Normally I’d be afraid of arming a civilian, worried that they’d cause more friendly fire than anything else. I have a feeling that won’t be much of an issue with Kate. Though, hopefully she never has to use a gun. I intend to keep her safe; if she ever needs to defend herself, that will be a failure on my part.
When she’s finished, I take her to the cafeteria for lunch. She gets a turkey club sandwich with tomato soup and french fries. I have a grilled chicken salad.
Kate pours mustard all over her fries, practically drowning them. I don’t ask.
“Did your father know about your work, after the military?”
“I was in the SEALs for a while, so he knew about that. I never told him I’d left to start my own outfit. There was little point — either way, my work was a secret. In truth, he wouldn’t have approved. He believed in doing what was right, not just working for whoever can pay. I’m glad he never knew the truth.”
Kate looks down at her food.
“That must be difficult,” she says. “Living with that guilt.”
“I’ve had my share.”
She nods.
