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“Maybe,” she replies.
“And this is the guy you enticed to help Emily get a gun? I’m guessing you did something sexual for this guy, right? This guy who really likes guns and cartoon girls with tits bigger than any bra could ever contain?” Sophie says. After a moment, she adds, “Fuck, I mean, the back pain alone. How do they manage those things?”
“Yes, I… did things… with Gary. I did what I had to do to help our my friend. I have no regrets, because he said he’d help get Emily what she needs and, after the shit Jay has pulled, you know that we have no better options,” Harper says.
“Thank you, Harper,” I say. “I mean it. This whole thing is scary, but I’m going to feel so much safer knowing I can protect myself.”
“You’re welcome, Em,” Harper says. “Now, both of you, be quiet. I think I see his car’s coming.”
A pair of headlights appears, and as it gets closer, I see those headlights are attached to a boxy station wagon with fake wood paneling.
Sophie and I trade a long look. Harper had sex with this guy?
In a way, I feel grateful knowing she’d go to those lengths to help me, at the same time, I feel terrible for her. It twists my stomach into knots and, if things weren’t already in motion, I’d call them off out of remorse.
The station wagon pulls up near us and out of it steps a man who looks like he’s come right from a movie set. Tall, muscular, hair in a sharp side part, eyes that glitter like the stars, and a smile that could light up the entire parking lot.
“Hey Harper,” he says. “These are your friends? Which one is Emily?”
For a moment, all I can do is just stare at how gorgeous this man is.
“Holy fucking shit, you are one hot man,” Sophie says.
“Thank you,” Gary replies. “That’s the nicest thing I’ve heard in a while. I appreciate it. Are you Emily?”
“I wish I was. I’m Sophie. She’s Emily.”
I nod. “I’m Emily. It’s me. I’m her.”
“And you need this gun for your own protection, right?”
“I do,” I say. My voice shakes a little as I think of the reason.
“A handgun, right? Something small and easy for you to handle while still feeling safe?”
“Yes.”
Gary nods. His eyes are so sharply stunning; out of the corner of mine, I see Sophie wipe sweat off her forehead and mutter the words ‘God fucking damn,’ under her breath.
“Why don’t we step into my store and I’ll see what we can do for you?”
He leads us into his shop. Inside, it is a disorienting mishmash of animation and ammunition; colorful characters and carbon steel creations of death.
“What’s with all the cartoon shit?” Sophie blurts out.
Gary shrugs. “I enjoy them, but, mostly, it was a business decision. I did some market research and noticed there wasn’t a store providing these kinds of products — outside of a few shops in Portland, that is — for anywhere within two-hundred miles. I have a friend in Japan from my time in the Marines who has connections and can get me these things at an excellent price, so my profit margins are huge.”
“And your weird car?”
“It’s my grandfather’s. I was over at his place, helping him rebuild his kitchen. My Porsche has been a little temperamental lately, and I didn’t feel like taking it out to this meetup.”
“Fuck me. No more questions,” Sophie says. She shoots a jealous look at Harper.
“So, how does this work?” I say. “You’re going to help me get a gun, right?”
Gary nods and approaches the glass case at the front of his store, on which sits the cash register, and inside of which is a mixed collection of trading cards and hand guns. As he nods, his hair does this thing where it lazily falls over his forehead and then he casually brushes it away, and both Harper and Sophie quietly gasp. “For starters, I’m going to take you in back, which is where I have a small practice range, and you’re going to try out a few guns to see which one works best for you, feels most comfortable, and so on. I’ll show you how to shoot it, reload it, all that.”
“And then she pays you the money and walks out of here, right?” Harper says.
