‘I’m not protesting, Jim, I just want to—’
‘—because they don’t understand that the line of a horizontal shot is affected more by gravity than a shot straight up in the air or right down in the ground. Now just imagine that—’
‘I know all this, Jim. I just have one concrete question.’
‘Now just imagine that you’re lying on a hillside three hundred yards from a deer down on a plain that—’
‘Four hundred yards.’
‘Sorry?’
‘The deer is four hundred yards away from me. And from where I’m standing there’s a fifteen-degree angle.’
‘Sure, but let’s take the example with three hundred.’
‘No,’ I said.
Jim looked a little confused now; he’d lost his place. But I could see his brain looking for a way to continue playing a game he knew to perfection.
‘I don’t recommend that a beginner start by shooting at something that’s over three hundred yards away,’ said Jim. ‘At three hundred you’re already flirting with what we call maximum point-blank range, doesn’t matter what ammunition you’re using. Further than that and the bullet will be affected so much by wind and weather that the beginner will just wound the deer or frighten it off, and you don’t want that, Tomás.’
I took off my sunglasses. Our eyes met.
‘Four hundred yards,’ I repeated. ‘All I need to know is whether my calculations are correct or is there something I haven’t been taking into consideration.’
He took a breath. Blinked. ‘Suit yourself,’ he muttered, pushed his cap back and concentrated, his jaws moving around like he was chewing grass.
I waited. I was in no hurry.
He rolled over on his side and pulled out his phone. Tapped the calculator.
‘OK, four hundred yards,’ he said. ‘You have to aim as though the distance was four hundred yards.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
‘Good. What d’you say, Tomás, shall we try a few shots at the target on the left down there?’
I shrugged. ‘What are the numbers?’
He gave me the distance and the angle, and I told him I didn’t need the cosine, I already knew it for every angle. And I didn’t need any calculator to work out how much to adjust the sight. I looked at the flags on the front of the store behind me. Lay out on the mat, loaded, adjusted the sight.
‘Shoot when you’re ready,’ said Jim.
I took a breath, held it. Saw Cody Karlstad’s face in front of me the way it looked in the picture. A target on his forehead like that Donald Duck. Pointing a gun at me, my wife, my children. I fired. Loaded. Fired. Loaded. She was so pretty when she laughed, and when her heart broke, my heart would break too. And my heart broke often, because hers could break over the slightest little thing, it could be some stranger she felt pity for, or the way light fell, reminding her of a time she would never get back again.
‘It’s empty,’ said Jim.
‘What?’
‘The magazine. It’s empty. You can quit squeezing the trigger.’
‘Sure.’ I put the rifle down and stood up.
We walked down the incline to the target.
‘Not bad,’ said Jim.
All five shots had hit within a radius of five to six inches.
‘Could be better,’ I said, noting that the spread was more horizontal than vertical. ‘Any advice?’
‘You could work on your shooting position and your breathing, but you have a fine natural trigger action. Hang this up at home, Tomás.’ He took down the paper target, rolled it up and handed it to me. I guessed that was something he did with all his customers, gave them a trophy, something to take home from the hunt.
We headed back up the slope. Jim watched as I packed my rifle back in its bubble wrap.
‘What exactly are you going to be hunting?’ he finally asked.
I carried on wrapping. ‘Why d’you ask?’
‘An M24. Not that you can’t use it for hunting, I mean, that’s what it was originally for. With a few modifications.’
‘Beasts of prey,’ I said without looking up.
‘I never heard that,’ Jim said and laughed.
I didn’t laugh.
‘Not that it’s any of my business, Tomás, but you do know that the wolf is protected now, right?’
‘Is it?’
‘Yup. But relax, I ain’t planning to sneak. Wolves have been seen in Cedar Creek, dammit, that’s just a half-hour from downtown, and this is a free country, people have the right to protect themselves, if you ask me. Or am I wrong, Tomás?’
‘Damn right they do,’ I said.
Back inside the store I paid in cash.
‘Don’t see that too often,’ said Jim.
I heard someone enter behind me. Don’t know why I turned, maybe it was something about the footsteps, the coughing, the gravelly voice speaking. Two uniformed cops, a man and a woman. I felt my heart beat faster. I picked up my change, wedged the rifle under my arm, looked downward and marched out. I saw the empty cop car in the parking lot. Nothing strange about police coming to a shooting range, I told myself, they probably come here to practise. All the same I walked faster than I normally would. And when I heard that gravelly voice calling ‘Sir! Wait!’ then I knew that no matter how well you’ve planned things — whether it’s for a family’s future, or for how to handle losing one — you haven’t a hope against the play of chance.
Should I stop? Run? Tear the bubble wrap off the rifle and attack?
I stopped. Turned slowly.
The cop was running toward me. He hadn’t taken the gun out of his holster yet but he was holding something in his hand. I tensed, not quite sure yet what for.
‘Jim says you forgot this, sir,’ he said as he caught up with me.
I saw now what he was holding. The target. I must have left it on the counter.
‘Thank you so much,’ I said. I tried to smile as I wedged the target inside the bubble wrap.
‘Courtesy of the MPD.’ The cop laughed. And I could see then he was a man it would have been easy to like. I laughed too. Because he had no idea he was face-to-face with the man who’d shot a Jordan gun dealer two days before, and in just a few more hours was going to be at work again.
20
The Eyes, October 2016
It was three thirty and the bell over the door of Town Taxidermy rang.
Mike Lunde emerged from a door behind the counter with a pair of reading glasses pushed up on his forehead.
‘Detective Oz,’ he said, wiping his hands dry on his rough blue apron.
‘Lunde.’ Bob looked around. Apart from the animals the place was as deserted as it had been the previous time.
‘What can I do for you?’
Bob smiled and patted a white-tailed deer. ‘I was wondering if I could hang around here for a while this afternoon.’
Lunde gave Bob a look of mild astonishment.
‘We don’t have any other leads on Gomez,’ Bob explained. ‘This is the only place where we can expect him to show up.’
‘You’re welcome to stay,’ said Lunde. ‘But I wouldn’t hold your breath. I don’t have a definite appointment with Tomás.’
‘I know that.’
‘OK then. Coffee?’
Bob followed Lunde through the door behind the counter and into what was evidently a workshop. It was a large room with several workbenches, tools hanging on the walls. The smell, probably glue, reminded him of something from his childhood, recalling Christmas and sweets, only a little more pungent. Lunde moved four yellowish-white figures that looked like they were carved in polystyrene so Bob could sit down. One resembled a deer, the others were smaller mammals, maybe lynxes or wolves.