Page 62 of Hoofin’ It

It wasn’t magic like most thought of it; I couldn’t whisper flame into being, knit bones back together, or do anything most viewed as magical. For a brief period of time, when my world narrowed to the feel of a gun in my hand, my target, and the resistance of the trigger on my finger, I understood Ed and his adoration for firearms.

My limited field of vision didn’t hamper me as much as I feared, even in motion. My hand and eye still worked together, I could still judge distances, and from my first step and first shot, I forgot about Michelle, Porter, and the other cops. The feel of the concrete on my back when I rolled, the sting on my knees when I found my balance and surged to my feet, and the recoil of the gun in my hand consumed all my attention, my rhythm broken only when I dumped an empty magazine and caught a fresh one with my left hand.

I had missed eleven targets after forty-nine shots. When I rolled to a halt on one knee, I twisted and closed my right eye out of habit rather than necessity. I emptied the magazine behind my back, one of Ed’s favorite tricks, which he’d taught me to force an awareness of the gun in my hand. My grip on the weapon and the way I pulled the trigger factored into my aim, and when I kept my hold proper and true, I simply needed to see my mark to hit the target.

The first two rounds went wide, but the rest of the clay targets shattered, leaving behind shards and little else. Rising to my feet, I checked the chamber was clear and strolled to Porter, picking up the four magazines I’d abandoned on my run from one end of the range to the other. I removed my mufflers and held out my hand. “Pay up, buttercup.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be crippled and rusty?” Porter complained, digging out his wallet and slapping a ten dollar bill onto my hand. “I was sure two months off the range would have put an end to that nonsense.”

I chuckled and pocketed my prize, handing over Porter’s gun so I could retrieve my Rugers. “It’s only nonsense because you can’t figure out how I do it.”

“You weren’t extending all the way, and you were slow.”

Maybe instead of buttercup, I should have addressed him as Petty Porter. “You said nothing about timing me for the bet.”

He glared at me. “You’re a smug bastard sometimes, you know that?”

“Only when he’s earned it,” Marian said from right behind me, close enough her breath tickled my neck.

I headed for orbit, landed several feet away, tripped on the turnaround, and hit the concrete hard. At least I didn’t smack my head into the floor, although my shoulder was rather unhappy with me. “Jesus Christ!”

“That was some nice shooting, Mr. Gibson.” While FBI agents didn’t have specific uniforms, I recognized the slacks and suit jacket as something they often favored on duty. Marian canted her head and smirked. “You’re a bit flighty.”

Porter turned on the woman, straightened to his full height, and barked, “Who let you back here?”

Marian flipped open her badge and shoved it in Porter’s face. “FBI. The gentleman at the counter pointed me in this direction. I need a few minutes with Mr. Gibson.”

Too many questions rattled in my head, with wondering how Marian had found me topping the list. I got to my feet, dusted off, and checked to make sure my wallet, keys, and both of my new guns were in my pockets where they belonged. I glanced at Michelle, who was targetting Marian with her worst glare.

“Thanks for the company,” I said, nodding to Michelle. “Give Ed a call. If he can’t teach you how to do that, no one can.”

Michelle scowled, and I tensed, expecting to hit the floor again. Instead of indulging in one of her usual tosses, she clapped her hand to my upper arm. “I think I’ll do that. I’ve learned one very valuable lesson today.”

“Which is?”

“Don’t underestimate the quiet guy in the back of the class.”

I snorted. My low rank in the police department had been the equivalent of being stuck in the back of the class with no way to advance. I chose against sighing over the confirmation Michelle had misjudged me along with everyone else and gave her shoulder a gentle bump with my fist before giving Marian my full attention. “I’m parked in the back.”

“Conveniently, so am I. After you.”

Marian fell in step with me and waited until we were outside the building to say, “With accuracy like that, you should’ve been bumped up to SWAT or put on a specialist team.”

“Porter was right; I am slow and rusty, and my field of vision is a lot less than it used to be.”

“I’m going to book you an appointment with one of the FBI qualifiers and see what you can actually do. I see you found your presents.”

“You should’ve seen Porter’s expression when I showed him the nationwide concealed carry permit. He’s been after one for years. It seems I owe you a great deal of thanks for that.”

“With your professional record, your filed qualification records, and the fact you’ve already been targeted once for your unintentional involvement in a dangerous case, it wasn’t hard to get the approval. I thought it would be a decent start to showing my thanks for the assist.”

“And the Rugers?”

“I didn’t know if you had any concealed carry guns, so I thought I’d nudge you in the right direction.”

“I do like them. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You’ve been making some waves since we last saw each other. Was that your girlfriend?”