A Casual Weekend Thing by A. J. Thomas

Author:A. J. Thomas [Thomas, A. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B00CR930WW
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2013-05-11T12:00:00+00:00

“THATwas just pathetic,” Christopher declared, gesturing in frustration

at the line of six beer cans that sat, untouched, on the wooden fence. Christopher reloaded the revolver, adjusted the fingers of his left hand on the grip, and raised his armto fire.

“Use your right arm for support,” said Doug. “You’re allowed to qualifywitha two-handed grip, aren’t you?”

“It’s allowed. I’ve never had to do it, though.” Despite his complaints, Christopher brought his right hand up to support the butt of the handgun. He raised the gun and tried to sight along the barrel. Even fromhis perch on the fence five feet behind Christopher, Doug could see the barreltrembling. Two hours oftryingto shoot left-handed had worked the weaker muscles of Christopher’s left arm to exhaustion. Trying to shoot any more would be futile in terms of training, but Christopher seemed intent on continuing. During those two hours, Christopher had gone from effectively shut down to smiling and twitching again, so Doug was willing to let himkeep going so long as he had enough ammunition to keep his service weapon loaded. Shooting definitely seemed to make Christopher feelbetter, and just watchingChristopher smile and laughwas all it took to make Doug feel better, too, even if he knew that Christopher’s smile was just maskingmore misery.

“Maybe it’s anomen,”Christopher said at last.

“An atheist talking about omens?” Doug laughed. “That can’t be good.”

“No, no, think about it…. My physical ability to do my job”—he wagged his nearlyuseless fingers—“myreasonfor doingmyjob….”

“Your brother,”Dougfilled inoncue.

“Yes. And my trust in my partner…. All gone in less than a month. I think the universe might be tellingme it’s time to become a teacher.”

“A teacher? Why?”

“I don’t know.” Christopher shrugged. “It’s another job. Does it reallymatter what it is?”

“You wouldn’t be in law enforcement if it didn’t matter,” Doug pointed out.

“Well, obviously, but I’msure teaching’s not that bad….”

“What did youstudyinschool?”

“Secondaryeducation.”

Dougwas surprised. “Not criminology?”

“No. My foster parents—the good ones, that is—were teachers. They were great teachers. Until I met Caleb, I thought I was going to teachtoo.”

Doug had to smile at that. At least Doug understood how Christopher had picked up on his Shakespeare reference. “Who was Caleb? Hot criminologyprofessor?”

“He was a hot guy on the track team. Maybe not so hot,” Christopher admitted, leering at him. “He was a criminology major. He wanted to get onwiththe SanDiego police, but he was nervous about the tests. I went along….”

Doug was very familiar with the employment tests most police departments required of applicants. He had taken several, both when he was first out of school and when he came back to Montana. He had applied with practically every department within two hours of his home, and they’d all required applicants to take the same tests. He must have takenthe same writtentest tentimes before SheriffBrubaker called to ask when he could start. Most people assumed the tests were fairly easy, but most people assumed that they were being tested on traffic laws and safe decision-making, not grammar. Eighty percent of applicants failed the written test, even among college graduates, because they didn’t have strongenoughwritingskills to tackle the grammar sectionofthe test.

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