“What is this thing anyway,” Fanning said. “What make is it, like, what type?”
“That’s a good one,” said Cully. “Now’s as good a time as any to tell you, I suppose. What you are holding is a replica.”
“You’re joking.”
Cully was beside him now. He took something from his trouser pocket. A narrow beam of bluish light poked about the forest floor by their shoes.
“No, I’m not joking.”
“What’s the point then, what are we doing here?”
“It’s a replica that’s been converted.”
“So it’s real?”
“It’s a real replica of a proper gun.”
“It’s safe then?”
“If it was done right.”
“How will we know it was done right?”
“If you still have all your fingers when you fire off a round.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“No,” said Cully. “It’s research, isn’t it.”
“The innits were coming thick and fast now, Fanning reflected.
“Why didn’t you say when you looked in the bag back then?”
“I knew already.”
“Why didn’t you…?”
“Ah that’d spoil it,” Cully said. “There you were, your heart going bang bang with the adrenaline ready to break open your ribcage, you’re all done up pro with a disguise — and I should have wrecked that experience for you? I don’t think so.”
“But you’ve got bullets there. That clip of ammunition.”
“They’re compressed air.”
“Air.”
“Here, I’ll show you. Give me the gun.”
The flashlight beam gleamed dully on the blackened metal.
“See? See that nail there. That’s the maker. There in England. Lots and lots of these around, and coppers really don’t like them. They’re trying to get a ban on them.”
“There’s no way I’m paying a hundred and fifty Euro for twelve hours with this piece of crap.”
“You wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t told you.”
“But you let it happen anyway.”
“It’s not a big deal. Think about it.”
“I have. It sucks. It’s stupid.”
“What do you know about the likes of this? It feels the same. It sounds the same. It will get you what you want most of the time. You stick this in someone’s face, are they going to say hold on a minute let me check if that’s the real thing?”
“So the guy knew back there in the shop, the guy who gave it to me.”
“He did, he didn’t. I don’t know. He just hands things over. He’s like a go-for. The one who runs the show, he’s not out delivering is he.”
“But it’s just a colossal rip-off.”
“Are you going to do this or not?” Cully asked.
The beam from the flashlight carried far but was narrow. Fanning’s eye followed it over pine needles glistening with raindrops and down the trunks where roots showed from the carpet of dead needles. The ground was soft and springy, and the sharp twigs and branches Fanning had expected would block their path through the trees had been cleared. The ground sloped and dipped, revealing the odd boulder.
Cully was whistling quietly under his tongue and moving the flashlight beam up from their feet to the darkness ahead in a routine arc.
“Here is good,” he said.
He slowed to let the light play on the tree trunks ahead. He stopped when he found the plastic shopping bag attached to a tree. He took the clip from his jacket and held out his hand for the pistol.
“There’s banks here that will catch the noise. Hold my torch will you.”
“We’re going to fire the thing here?”
“Yes,” said Cully. “Here. Better here than O’Connell Bridge, I say.”
Fanning tried to hold the light steady on Cully’s hands but it kept wavering. A small glint came back up to him from the edge of the light spilling out onto the undergrowth. Cully shoved the clip home with a sharp click, followed by another.
“There are footprints here,” said Fanning. “They’re new.”
“Are they.”
“See how the heels are dug in, the little pools of water from the rain? They’re recent.”
“Could be, I suppose.”
“You don’t care?”
“No,” said Cully. “Now, you’re ready. Give me the torch, I want to show you something. The details on this are spot on, they have a working safety switch here. See it? Watch my thumb.”
“Do I have to fire the thing?”
Cully stopped.
“We’re all the way up here, on a crappy wet night and you’re backing out?”
“What’s the point, I’m thinking. It’s not a proper gun. It’s just a waste of time.”
“You get everything except the lead flying.”
“Well you go ahead then.”
“Me? I don’t need to. I don’t want to.”
“Really.”
“I’ll fire one off then you. Okay?”
When he got no reply from Fanning, Cully walked over to where the bag had been pinned to the trunk. He yanked it and tore it open and unfolded a piece of paper.
“Orienteering,” he said. “Some club. Geo caching. Ever hear of it?”
“No. Maybe.”
“GPS?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, I’m gonna put this bag over here. Watch. I’m gonna aim at it and shoot. Take my word for it. It’s easy at ten feet. You shine the light on it. It won’t budge. Air. See? But it will make the same bang. Ready?”
“Okay.”
Fanning let the torch play on the tree trunk. Cully spread the bag against the trunk and he stepped back.
“Two hands,” he said. “Shine it on me for a second. Look. You see? One over the other, fingers like this. It’ll pull up if you don’t and you’ll miss.”
“Miss what? There’s nothing coming out, you told me.”
“If it was a real one, I’m saying. You ready?”
This pistol bucked immediately. Fanning felt like he had been smacked with a newspaper on both ears. He could almost see the shock-waves of air around him. The beam jerked but he could see that the plastic bag hadn’t moved.
“Loud, isn’t it?”
“That’s for damn sure. Let’s go.”
“Give it one. Come on. It’s your turn.”
Fanning watched as Cully readied the pistol, moving the safety forward and back twice. He handed over the torch.
The grip was warm. The weight of the pistol seemed to pull it forward and down.
“No,” he heard Cully say as his heart sped up again. “Really grab hold of it. The left over the right. Straighten
