In contrast, the tone of Anna’s response was warm and genuine. “Oh, you do?”
“Yeah, I wore it to the fair two years ago. Good for you for trying to bring it back.”
“Well, it just seems to me that only a complete moron would throw away a perfectly good thing.” She shot Albert a sly wink that made him feel suddenly, strangely protected and looked after. She turned her attention back to Foy. “Now. how ’bout that shooting gallery, huh?”
“I’m game,” said Foy. “And I say we make things interesting. A nickel a target.”
“That’s, uh—that’s a little rich for my blood,” Albert objected. “How ’bout a penny?”
“What’s the matter, Albert?” Foy sneered. “Is business ba-a-a-a-a-a-ad?” He laughed at his own joke. “Very well, then, a penny it is. Good Lord, Albert, you’re such a sheepskate.”
This time, Louise laughed with him.
“Louise, get ready to shear me on!” A big, mustachioed guffaw.
“I really love your humor,” Louise whispered sweetly to Foy.
Before Albert could drop to the ground and shrivel up like a dying insect, Anna took his arm again. “Then let’s get to it, huh?” She smiled, pulling Albert toward the booth.
He whispered furiously into her ear. “What the hell are you doing? I suck balls at the shooting gallery!”
“Relax, it’ll be fine,” she said, giving his hand a little squeeze.
They stepped up to the booth, where Foy paid the vendor. True to character, he tossed Albert a smirk that seemed to say, I’ll take care of this. I know money’s tight for you. The vendor handed Foy a gun. Foy reached into his pocket, took out a small tin of wax, and smoothed the tips of his moustache with preening, peacockian flair. The vendor pulled a lever, and the targets popped up. There were twelve of them, each one depicting the same caricature of a bug-eyed black slave in tattered overalls, posed as if on the run. Jesus Christ, Albert thought, what the hell’s wrong with rabbits or ducks? The targets appeared and disappeared at random intervals and with aggressive speed. Foy aimed his weapon and fired six times, emptying the chamber. Six targets went down.
“Six hits!” the vendor called out. “Quite a marksman!”
The crackle of applause filled the air from the small group of spectators who had gathered close by. Foy smugly handed Albert the gun. “This should be amusing,” the moustachier chuckled.
Albert took the pistol and raised it with obvious reluctance. Why the fuck would Anna do this to me?
He fired six times. Not a single target went down. The crowd laughed derisively as he lowered his head, trying to avoid eye contact with anybody. In his peripheral vision, standing among a cluster of townsfolk, was the twelve-year-old girl with whom he’d had the awkward dinner date.
Another girl about the same age turned and whispered to her, loudly enough for Albert to hear, “Didn’t you date that guy?”
“Yeah, but it didn’t go so well.”
“What was the problem?”
“Eh, he was kind of a loser. Plus it just sorta felt like I was dating my dad.”
“Wait, aren’t you dating your dad now?”
“Yeah.”
“How’s that going?”
“It’s going good.”
Foy folded his arms and stared at Albert with triumphant arrogance. “Looks like that’s six cents you owe me, sheepherder.”
Albert glumly fished in his pocket for the six cents that would be meaningless to Foy but that Albert would sorely miss. He counted the pennies and held them out in his palm.
But, to his surprise, Anna intercepted the money with a quick swipe. “Hang on a second,” she said, giving Foy an odd smile. “You wanna make this more interesting?”
Foy folded his arms with smug curiosity and waited for her to continue.
“If I can shoot all twelve targets on Albert’s behalf, you owe him a dollar,” she said. “If I can’t, he owes you a dollar.”
Albert’s head whipped around to face her with alarm. He most certainly did not have a dollar to squander on such an uncertain endeavor.
“Whoa, hang on—” he began, but the crowd was already catching the fever. They began to holler with excitement. “A dollar?!” “I’ve never seen a dollar!” “Nobody has a dollar!” “Let us see the dollar!”
Foy, however, never shifted his gaze away from Anna. “Well, now, that is interesting.” He smirked. “All right, then. It’s a bet. Do your best… ma’am.” The last word was heavily greased with derision. He handed her the pistol, and she turned back to the vendor.
“May I have a second gun, please?” she asked. The vendor hesitated briefly, then handed her a second pistol. She held one in each hand as she aimed up at the targets. “Oh, one more thing,” she said. “Can that machine go any faster?”
“Well, yeah, you can play double or triple speed, but that’s—”
“Fastest speed you got,” she said.
He nodded reluctantly and turned a metal crank on the underside of the gallery. For the first time since the beginning of the afternoon’s encounter, Foy did not look entirely sure of himself. His eyes narrowed with suspicion and just a touch of what looked to Albert like fear, though he could not be sure.
During the initial two salvos, the targets had appeared and disappeared at a rapid-fire pace. But it was downright leisurely compared to what was happening now. No sooner had the little cartoon black guys popped up than they were gone again. The whole gallery looked to be one continuous blur of motion, too fast for the human eye to register.
Anna hit every target.
The vendor looked stunned. The boisterous crowd had gone utterly silent. Anna shot Albert a secret little smile that came and went as quickly as the gallery targets, then casually set down her guns.
Albert became aware that his jaw was hanging wide open. “Holy shit,” he whispered to no one in particular.
“That’ll be one dollar,” Anna said. It was now her turn to flash a smug grin at Foy, who looked properly humiliated. He reached into his coat pocket with a scowl and removed a crisp one-dollar note. The crowd went into an uproar.
“There it is!” “Dear God, look at it!” “It’s beautiful!” One father scolded his young son, “Take your hat off! That’s a dollar bill!”
Clearly looking to salvage at least one finger of the upper hand, Foy turned his attention back to Albert.
“Well, well. A man who lets his girlfriend do his shooting for him. Isn’t that a fine how-do-you-do.” The crowd tittered but without enough gaiety for Foy to feel redeemed. He repeated himself with more volume. “I say, isn’t that a fine how-do-you-do!” The crowd dutifully upped their laughter in response.
Albert glared, feeling a worm of anger gnawing at his insides, but he could not for the life of him come up with a topper. “That’s not funny,” was his flaccid response. “You’re not funny.”
Foy put an arm around Louise’s slender waist. “Your ex-boyfriend doesn’t seem to have a sense of humor,” he said. “I can see why you dumped him.”
Albert had never been timid about expressing feelings of displeasure, but he did have a relatively long fuse. Foy had lit that fuse the first day Albert saw him walk out of the moustachery locked arm in arm with Louise. The pompous bastard had stolen the one true love of Albert’s life, and the fuse had been growing shorter day by day since then.
It had finally reached the powder keg.
Albert lurched forward, putting himself two inches from Foy’s face. “You wanna back up that attitude, asshole?”