longer forcefully pressing against my forehead.
I made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, gave a bite of it to Rex, and scarfed the rest down while I accessed Morelli’s messages.
A photo studio had called with an offer of a free eight by ten if Morelli came in for a sitting. Someone wanted to sell him light bulbs, and Charlene called with an indecent suggestion, did some heavy panting, and either had a hell of an orgasm or else stepped on her cat’s tail. Unfortunately, she also ran the tape out, so there were no more messages. It was just as well. I couldn’t have managed listening to much more.
I was straightening the kitchen when the phone rang and the machine picked it up.
“Are you listening, Stephanie? Are you home? I saw you talking to Lula and Jackie today. Saw you drinking beer with them. I didn’t like that, Stephanie. Made me feel bad. Made me feel like you liked them better than me. Made me angry because you don’t want what the champ want to give you.
“Maybe I’ll give you a present, Stephanie. Maybe I’ll deliver it to your door when you’re sleeping. Would you like that? All women like presents. ‘Specially the kind of presents the champ gives. Gonna be a surprise, Stephanie. Gonna be just for you.”
With that promise ringing in my ears I made sure my gun and my bullets were in my pocketbook, and I took off for Sunny’s. I got there at four and waited in the lot until Eddie showed up at four-fifteen.
He was out of uniform, and he had his off-duty .38 clipped to his waist.
“Where’s your gun?” he asked.
I patted my pocketbook.
“That’s considered carrying concealed. It’s a serious offense in New Jersey.”
“I have a permit.”
“Let me see it.”
I pulled the permit out of my wallet.
“This is a permit to own, not to carry,” Eddie said.
“Ranger told me it was multipurpose.”
“Ranger gonna come visit you when you’re making license plates?”
“Sometimes I think he stretches the limits of the law a trifle. Are you going to arrest me?”
“No, but it’s going to cost you.”
“Dozen donuts?”
“Dozen donuts is what it takes to fix a parking ticket. This is worth a six-pack and a pizza.”
It was necessary to go through the gun shop to get to the rifle range. Eddie paid the range fee and bought a box of shells. I did the same. The range was directly behind the gun shop and consisted of a room the size of a small bowling alley. Seven booths were partitioned off, each booth with a chesthigh shelf. Beyond the booths was known as downrange. Standard targets of ungendered humans cut off at the knees, with bull’s-eye rings radiating out from the heart, were hung on pulleys. Range etiquette was never to point the gun at the guy standing next to you.
“Okay,” Gazarra said, “let’s start at the beginning. You have a Smith and Wesson .38 Special. It’s a 5-shot revolver, which puts it into the category of small gun. You’re using hydroshock bullets to cause maximum pain and suffering. This little doohickey here gets pushed forward with your thumb, the cylinder releases, and you can load your gun. A bullet is a round. Load a round in each chamber and click the cylinder closed. Never leave your trigger finger resting on the trigger. It’s a natural reflex to squeeze when surprised, and you could end up blowing a hole in your foot. Stretch your trigger finger straight toward the barrel until you’re ready to shoot. We’re going to use the most basic stance today. Feet shoulder-width apart, weight on the balls of your feet, hold the gun in both hands, left thumb over right thumb, arms straight. Look at the target, bring the gun up and sight. The front sight is a post. The rear sight is a notch. Line the sights up on the desired spot on the target and fire.
“This revolver is double action. You can fire by pulling the trigger or by cocking the hammer and then pulling the trigger.” He’d been demonstrating while he talked, doing everything but fire the gun. He released the cylinder, spilled the bullets out onto the shelf, laid the gun on the shelf, and stepped back. “Any questions?”
“No. Not yet.”
He handed me a pair of ear protectors. “Go for it.”
My first shot was single action, and I hit the bull’s-eye. I shot several more rounds single action, and then switched over to double action. This was more difficult to control, but I did pretty well.
After a half hour, I’d used up all my ammo, and I was shooting erratically from muscle fatigue. Usually when I go to the gym I spend most of my time working abdominals and legs because that’s where my fat goes. If I was going to be any good at shooting, I was going to have to get more upper body strength.
Eddie pulled my target in. “Damn fair shooting, Tex.”
“I’m better at single action.”
“That’s ‘cause you’re a girl.”
“You don’t want to say stuff like that when I’ve got a gun in my hand.”
I bought a box of shells before I left. I dropped the shells into my pocketbook along with my gun. I was driving a stolen car. Worrying about carrying concealed at this point seemed like overkill.
“So do I get my pizza now?” Eddie wanted to know.
“What about Shirley?”
“Shirley’s at a baby shower.”
