Page 12 of Sam to the Rescue

“Thanks.” Thinking this might be my only chance to ask, I hold out my phone. “One more thing. Do you recognize this guy? He’s a friend of my dad’s and went missing.

“Nope. Never saw him.” His eyes stare straight at me, never down at my screen.

Asshole.I cough loudly and if you listen carefully, call him a dick.

A blue tattoo in the shape of a gear throbs on his neck as he glares but like I said, I’ve been practicing.

After he leaves, my cousin frowns. “You really shouldn’t piss off guys like that. No wonder the bum thinks you’re a trouble magnet.”

“Hey. It’sdangermagnet and besides, the dude was being a real douche.” Annoyed, my first shots go wide but I soon calm and hit the center of shadow man’s chest every time.

Pleased at my progress, I take a photo and hit send but my phone’s battery is dead. “Damn it. My charger’s been flakey ever since Catrina chewed on the wire.”

“Crazy cat. You should put it down.”

“Joey! She’s family.”

“Yeah, and?”

Not wanting to discuss the ethics of murdering relatives, I push the button, the paper man flies forward, and I fold him up. I’ll hang him on our bedroom wall as proof positive I am no longer a DM.

While in the process, my bladder signals I shouldn’t’ve had the second glass of decaf so I tap on Joey’s shoulder, lift his ear protectors, and point toward the restrooms. “Be right back.”

Nodding, he turns and fires off another round. He’s good, but my aim is better. Recalling how we used to compete as kids, I grin. I guess we did go out and play.

The urge to pee worsens as I hurry down the hall and pull on the female clown door. Locked, it refuses to give. Are you kidding me?

Crossing my legs, I wait for a second, and knock. “Hello? Anyone in there?”

When no one answers, I consider my options and crack open the little boy’s room. Inside, a man grunts.Gross.Releasing the handle, I return to door number one.

An old credit card does the trick, the latch clicks, and I’m free to go, so to speak.

Holy Mother of God.The girls room is filthier than when I was a kid.

Squatting without touching, I do my business, flush, and as I wash my hands, notice three industrial green barrels marked cleaning fluids. At first, I laugh at the irony, then stop to wonder. Why store a ton of detergent in a disgustingly dirty gun club?

It’s probably nothing. No big deal. Right? I open my jackknife, pry off the cover, and put a handful of crystals in my jacket pocket.

“Yo. Anyone in there?” The big desk guy pounds on the wood, rattles the handle, and the floor bounces under my feet as he waddles away.

I count to twenty before peering down the hall, and returning to my practice. Once we’re done shooting, we stand outside, and Joey searches my face.

“You don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine but my God, the restroom smelled rank. I thought I was going to hurl.”

“Reminds me of your sixth birthday party.” Laughing, he glances up at the clearing sky, holds his stomach and pretends to puke in a bush.

“Jerk. Let’s go home.”

Chapter 7

Suds

My phone vibrates and I glance down at my wife’s text.

Sam: Talk soon. All good. Me and J at the Circus Pizza Gun Range.