Remi Bone by William L. Myers

Author:William L. Myers
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Oceanview Publishing
Published: 2023-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

A WEEK AFTER the killing under the bridge, Remi’s at the Double Eagle Indoor Firing Range. It’s a modern facility, twenty-five-yard shooting lanes, concrete flooring, cinderblock walls, electric target retrieval system, armor-plated shooting stalls.

Remi lifts the gun off the counter, extends his arms, and fires. Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop. Six shots, smooth as silk.

He lays the six-shooter on the counter, barrel facing downrange, then reaches up for the button to bring the target back. It stops and he quietly curses. Not a single hole in the target. Again.

This is the third time he’s brought the gun to the firing range. He was going to throw the gun in the river—that’s why he took it from Virgil’s car. But he’d come to figure it didn’t matter how many deaths the gun had on it if he was caught. One or three, he’d go away for life—what was left of it. And the truth is he’s come to feel an affinity for the weapon, like he and the gun are in this together now. Partners.

It started the Saturday after the double-homicide. Kayla was out with her friends, and he was sitting in his chair watching the ball game. After a while, he caught himself rubbing his right hand. It didn’t hurt, exactly. It was more of an itch. Yet not an itch, at least not the kind you scratch. He looked at his hand and didn’t find any cuts, or scratches, or even redness. What he did see was that the hand was empty. And just that fast the idea popped into his head that he needed to put something in it and he knew exactly what that something was. So he walked out to his truck and retrieved the gun, took it to his basement, and pretended to practice firing.

The gun felt good in his hand. The weight of it. The heft of the handle as he squeezed it with his palm. The smell of oiled steel.

He decided to take the gun to a firing range. He went online, located one only a few miles away. The front desk guy at the firing range about blew a gasket when Remi opened the bag and he saw that the gun inside was loaded. Thirty tense minutes followed, during which the front desk guy made Remi watch a safety video and then had the range officer personally escort him to the firing stall and repeat everything the video taught about how to safely handle a gun inside the range.

The range officer stood behind him and watched him practice. Three times he emptied the cylinder, and each time he brought the target back to find it untouched, even when the target was out only twenty yards, then fifteen.

“You might want to consider some lessons,” the range officer said after the last time.

He saw a couple guys in other stalls smiling, and his face grew hot.

He’d returned to the range twice since—during his lunch hour—and the results were always the same.

Leaving now,

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