Page 35 of Jacob Michaels Is Not Jacob Michaels

I threw my hands up in the air in exasperation. “What are you gonna do, Oma? Shoot ‘em all like they’re looking for potatoes in your garden?”

Then I had a thought.

“Maybe I should call my publicist? Or manager?”

“While you’re doing that, I’m gonna see how many of these shitheads I can put in the hospital.” Oma waggled her head. “Or the morgue. Depends on how well they get low.”

“Oma.” I stepped in front of her, putting my hand on the shotgun. “You can’t shoot paparazzi. Well, you can’t shoot anyone without good cause.”

“I’m gonna tell ‘em to get off my private property.” She snapped, glancing at the door. “Then I’m gonna count to ten. If they ain’t gone, that ain’t my damn problem.”

“That’s not good enough.” I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Mrs. Wagner,” Lucas added, “you could get into real trouble.”

“From who?” She hooted. “Wesley Fatass Dennard? I know I won’t miss him. Wish to hell he’d come try to do something about me defending my property.”

“Get real, Oma.” I rolled my eyes. “You aren’t shooting the people on the porch, and you’re certainly not shooting the sheriff.”

“I got a golf club in the closet.” She suggested. “I can always go out there swinging with that if you think it’ll cause less trouble. Be fun to watch ‘em all scatter either way.”

“That is absolutely rid—”

Then I had another thought.

I looked over at Lucas, and he frowned at the expression on my face.

“Oma,” I said, “do you think you going out there with a shotgun will make them all run for it?”

“Unless they’re complete morons.” She snorted. “I mean, who don’t run when someone shoves a shotgun in their face?”

“Fair point.”

“You can’t let her go out there with a shotgun, Rob.” Lucas laughed nervously.

“Oma,” I continued quickly, “Lucas and I need to leave for a little bit. But we can’t go anywhere with all of them out there waiting to follow us. If you get them running for it, Lucas and I can jump in Opa’s truck and take off before they know it’s us. Well, me. They don’t care about Lucas. No offense.”

Lucas chewed at his lip while he thought this over.

“I mean,” Lucas spoke slowly, “as long as no one actually gets shot, that is okay with me. And it’ll probably work.”

“Of course it will!” Oma announced. “This ain’t the first time I’ve sent folks runnin’. By the time they know what happened you two can be long gone.”

Nothing like a common enemy to make Oma and I get along. If only for a brief period.

“Good.” I nodded as I pulled Lucas towards the kitchen. “After we’re gone and all of them have collected themselves and taken off, get all the bullets and give ‘em to Lena or Ernst and tell them to hide them. Just in case Sheriff Dennard does show up. Then you can claim you don’t even have bullets for the gun and he can’t get too mad.”

“Shells, ya’ asshole.” She frowned at me. “It’s a shotgun. My Glock forty-five takes bullets.”

“Whatever.” I waved her off and pulled Lucas into the kitchen before yelling back to Oma. “Count to ten and make ‘em scatter, Oma!”

“Like this is my first rodeo.” I heard Oma mutter under her breath.

Lucas stood by the kitchen table as I pulled the “catch-all” drawer out and quickly grabbed the key to Opa’s truck. Hopefully, the thing wasn’t frozen up due to the winter. Of course, Oma had used the truck to make trips into town during nasty weather or to go to Barkley’s, so I was pretty sure it would start up fairly quickly. Lucas and I headed to the backdoor and waited. When we heard the front door open, and Oma scream something unintelligible, then heard the sounds of people screaming, I pushed the backdoor open and pulled Lucas outside with me.

As we were running to the side of the house where Opa’s old truck was, I heard the first shotgun blast. I cringed internally, hoping Oma hadn’t aimed too well at anyone. Hopefully, she had fired the gun into the air off of the porch or just in the general direction of one of the photographers. Worrying about whether or not Oma had shot a trespassing paparazzo was not my business, however. Lucas pulled open the passenger door and jumped inside, slamming the door quickly behind himself. I rounded the truck and climbed into the driver’s seat, mimicking his actions.

As if the Gods of Luck were pissed at us, the truck didn’t do anything when I turned the key. I growled under my breath as I tried turning the key again. Another shotgun blast sounded in the distance.