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“We’re also getting to know each other in a very special way. And I think being forthright about our religious differences is bringing light. I’m not a practicing Muslim, Kell. I’m letting you know this because I watched you say grace before your lunch and your dinner. You love your God. You have a relationship with him.”
Kell nodded, kind of shyly. “I like to think so. I try to be a good person and remember the teachings I received my entire life. I don’t go to mass every Sunday, but I go sometimes. I enjoy it.”
“That’s really good. And I like that you do. Very much. But, I don’t pray.” Ty sought Kell’s touch. He linked their fingers together. “After the death of my father I never got on my knees again. I wanted to tell you about my religion and how I was raised, so you’d understand me a little better, not a religion. My ways aren’t the same as a lot of these other men. I was born here. My father was born in Kenya. He used to tell me American men did some things very differently than African men.”
“Like what?”
“Mainly relationships and partnerships. Love. Man’s role in those relationships.”
“Oh.” Kell was chewing on his lip again. He seemed to do that when he was hesitating on how to say what he wanted.
“Can I get you two anything else? Dessert maybe?” The waitress popped up out of nowhere. She refilled their waters.
“No, thank you. You can leave the check, please,” Ty told her, needing her to go quickly, not wanting her to completely kill their vibe.
She cleared their plates then left them alone.
“‘Oh’ what? You were about to say something,” Ty prompted.
“Muslim men don’t believe in gay relationships. It’s male, female only for them. Am I right?” Kell challenged him. Looking him dead in his eyes.
“I have strong beliefs, Kell. Some of my beliefs are my own. I have a lot of my father’s teachings in my head. Words that I live by and that still guide me every day. But, again. I’m not a practicing Muslim. In any sense. My father would tell me when I was younger that a man had the right to choose any religion in the world, that I didn’t have to follow his path. He told me to just always be a good man. So, that’s what I strive to be. That’s why I talk like I talk, it’s why I walk and style like I do. I’m a good man, Kell.” Why did he feel like he was trying to sell himself? Well, because he was. He had to earn this remarkable man’s faith just like he’d have to earn the trust and respect of a woman.
He was making his intentions fully known and it appeared Kell was open to giving him a chance at earning even a degree of his affection. Therefore, Ty had work to do.
Kell
“The trigger pull—in my opinion—is the most important aspect of shooting well,” Dana told them, pacing back and forth while he lectured. “Discharging your firearm is your absolute last resort. When it’s either your life or theirs. Then you draw. And you shoot to kill.”
Kell hated the sound of that, but it was the world they lived in and the job he’d signed up for. These men worked as a unit, which meant Kell would be responsible for the man beside him. His partner. Ty.
Kell listened intently. Their field commander really knew his firearms. He’d entered multiple marksman competitions before becoming a bounty hunter and had won or placed in each of them. Kell felt privileged to be learning from someone of Dana’s caliber. While he prayed daily that he’d never have to pull a firearm on anyone, he knew Duke needed them to be fully prepared. Ty was three partitions away, firing off rounds from a M9 semiautomatic. He was so fluid and calm with it Kell found himself staring more than once. The firearm had become an extension of Ty’s long arm as he hit the target center from twenty yards away.
“Kell. You’re still flinching a bit when you fire. Hold the grip a little tighter and lean forward just a bit…” Dana pushed his palm between Kell’s shoulder blades and inched him forward. “Widen your stance. Shoulders forward of the hips, bending slightly at the waist, remember. This position allows you to be more active against the recoil.”
“Maybe I need something smaller.” Kell shrugged, removing his protective earmuffs. He pointed the .45 down while Dana pinned-up another paper target and pressed the button until the marker was at ten yards.
“We often use less-lethal weapons. We carry tasers, pepper spray, salt guns, anything to get a violent offender down without severe damage. The goal is to get them back in lock up, not six feet under. Just like officers that come to arrest, we have to protect ourselves too, so we don’t use anything less powerful than a .45 caliber on the streets, Kell. Otherwise, if you got someone firing a Desert Eagle at you or a machine gun and their closing in, what do you wanna pull out… a baby .380? A flintlock pistol? If you do you’re gonna get your head blown off. Some of these guys have put up their last stand in their living room, because they weren’t going back to jail no matter what. You have to be prepared for anything out here and you gotta know how to even the field. You’re a disciplined fighter, like Quick. Even he’s learned the hard way that none of these criminals are disciplined, so they’ll turn the fight dirty real fast.”
