Part 57 (2/2)
”No kidding.”
”Dad's gonna make me move up to a .38 one of these days. He thinks I need to have more stopping power. I've always tried to talk him out of it, but ...”
”Why talk him out of it? It'd be neat to have a bigger gun.”
”Yeah, but I like this one. I don't wanta change.” She slipped the full magazine into the pistol and slammed it home with the heel of her hand. ”Watch me, not her. I'm making you do this next time.”
”I'm watching.”
”Okay. You've gotta make sure the magazine is all the way in and locked into place. Then you push this gizmo and the slide rams forward and chambers the round that's on top. Watch.” She did it. ”Now it's loaded and ready.”
”Except for the safety,” Andy added as he accepted the pistol from her.
”Right. You're learning.”
Her father, she noticed, had stepped over close to Sharon. They were talking softly as she fed more cartridges into the magazine.
”Should we go ahead and shoot?” she asked.
”Fire away,” Dad said.
”My can's gone,” Andy complained.
”Pick a different one,” Jody told him. ”Any of those four in the front.”
”Is there any special way I should stand?” he asked.
”Any way that feels comfortable. I prefer the Weaver stance, myself.”
”What?”
”Never mind. Spread your feet and crouch a little bit so you're good and balanced. Then just stick out your arm and shoot. If you want to really take careful aim, you can use your left hand as sort of a platform under your gun hand.”
”Like this?”
”Yep.”
”Here goes!” He squeezed off a shot. A can hopped straight up and dropped back to the ground. ”Hey!”
”Great!”
”I wish I could really send it flying.”
”The main thing is. .h.i.tting it, not seeing how far you can make it fly.”
”Yeah, but this little peashooter might not even kill somebody.”
”It'll kill just as good as that big cannon of Sharon's.”
”Oh, yeah, right. Every day and twice on Sunday.” He fired again. This time, he missed.
”I'm not kidding. I happen to know that a lot of professional a.s.sa.s.sins use .22 caliber pistols. Like the secret Israeli hit teams that go after terrorists. They use them. At close range, a .22 is just as good as anything. And it's quiet enough so that it makes almost no sound at all when it has a silencer.”
He fired again, winging a can so that it fell over but didn't jump. Then he looked at Jody. ”Have you got a silencer for this?”
”You can't have 'em. They're illegal.”
”Guys on TV always have them.”
”Yeah, and guys on TV are always putting silencers on revolvers, too. TV is stupid about guns. They never get it right. After this out here, you'll spot crazy stuff every time you watch something.”
”Really?”
”Sure. Movies are like that, too, most of 'em. Just wait and see. Uh-oh.”
Andy fired and missed. ”You made me miss.”
”Sharon's about to go.”
Andy turned his head to watch.
”You don't have to stop,” Jody told him. ”I'm still waiting for my first turn, you know.”
”I don't want to miss Sharon.”
Sharon glanced over at them. ”Go ahead. I'll wait till you're empty.”
Andy emptied his gun with four quick pulls of the trigger. His first shot knocked a can spinning backward. The next three missed, but none by more than a few inches. ”Nuts,” he said.
”That was good,” Jody told him. ”If you'd been firing those at a bad guy instead of at a little Pepsi can, you would've caught him in the chest every time.”
”Really?” He grinned. ”Hey, yeah, I bet you're right.”
”Everybody have your ear plugs in?” Sharon called. ”Okay. See that dried stump of wood sticking up, way out there? There, just in front of the hill?”
Jody spotted it. Not a very large target, and quite a distance beyond the farthest of the cans that Sharon had set out. To Jody, it appeared to be less than a foot high, and not much bigger around than her arm. It looked like the remains of the trunk of a small, dead tree.
”Do you see it?” Andy asked her.
”Yeah, do your ”Yeah, I think so.”
”Okay,” Sharon said. ”Here goes. I'm gonna let her rip.”
Taking a few steps back, Dad yelled, ”Rock *n' roll!”
Sharon's gunshots hammered the air.
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