“How long will Jackson Clary be in jail?”
She snorted. “They paroled the fucker six months ago. ‘Compassionate release’ they said. He was supposedly diagnosed with inoperable cancer. My dad sent me an e-mail about it. He doesn’t send me anything by snail mail unless he drives a ways to send it.”
“He stayed out there?”
“Lots of small airports, bush pilots, lots of work for a certified aircraft mechanic out there in that region if you know your stuff and can get planes back in the air fast.”
He let the silence lay between them for a moment, broken only by the sound of a dog barking off in the distance and cars over on US 41. “But why no concealed carry permit? I’d think you of all people would want one.”
“I can’t risk them running my prints and background check and it tripping a flag somewhere about my past, in case he or one of his asshole buddies is still in a vengeful mood. He might be a convicted felon, but he had a lot of friends.”
“Don’t you think that’s paranoid?”
A sad smile curved her lips. “I did naïve once, chief. I won’t do it again. Ever. Kind of had it beaten out of me.”
Sachi led him to the pro shop. An older man stood behind the counter. He smiled when she walked in. “There’s my favorite instructor.”
Ellis was a little surprised to see Sachi look…embarrassed? “Hi, Bob. He’s a total noob. Can you get him set up with paperwork, charge him for two rounds, get him a vest, and the Lanber twelve-gauge rental gun? He’s got ear and eye protection of his own. I need to hit the john.”
“Shells?” Bob asked.
“Nope. I’ve got reloads.”
“You pulling for him?”
“Yeah, if you’ll get me the key to the shed to get the remote. Unless it’s already out there on field one.”
“I think it’s out there. Alex was out there earlier.”
“Cool.” She headed around the corner.
Another man appeared from a back office as Ellis was filling out standard liability waiver paperwork. “Was that Sachi?” he asked Bob.
“Yeah.”
The man turned to Ellis. “Ah, so you did catch up with her, I take it?”
“Excuse me?”
The man looked confused. “John said there was a man in here earlier looking for Sachi. You aren’t him?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Sachi’s a friend. She works for my girlfriend. She offered to bring me out and let me try skeet.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Bob looked at the man. “Didn’t John take a message for her?”
“Guy didn’t want to leave one.” He shrugged. “I suppose he’ll come back or call. John said he took a card.” He looked at Ellis. “She’s our most popular instructor. People usually have to wait weeks for her to have an opening.”
“Really?”
Bob snorted. “Heck, yeah. And the juniors love her. The kids would lynch us if she wasn’t their coach. Never seen anything like it. We’ve got parents bring their kids all the way up from Tampa to be coached by her.”
Sachi and kids wasn’t a mix Ellis could easily envision. “Does she compete?”
“No. We’ve tried. She could probably make nationals if she wanted, maybe even the US Olympic team, but she says she’s too busy. Just wants to teach.”
Ellis would have wondered about that statement if Sachi hadn’t confided in him just a few minutes earlier.
When Sachi finally returned from the bathroom, Ellis wasn’t sure, but he thought she looked like maybe she’d been crying.
He was also more than smart enough to not mention it.
She slipped her sunglasses on and adjusted the brim of her baseball cap. “Ready?” Before he could answer, she’d grabbed the shotgun from the counter and balanced it on her shoulder.
“I can carry that,” he said.
She smiled. “I know.” She headed out the door, leaving Ellis to gather up his vest and follow her.
They stopped by her car, where she popped the trunk for him. “Grab that black bag for me, please.” She walked over to the shelter by the first skeet field, closed the gun’s breech, and put it in the gun rack.
“Rule one,” she said as she walked back to the trunk. “Gun stays open and unloaded until you step up to the station. You don’t load shells into it until you’re ready to call for a bird. One for singles, two for doubles.”
He nodded.
She reached into the trunk and unzipped a padded rifle case. From it, she pulled a shotgun.
A cold shiver raced through his stomach as he recognized it from the one in his dreams. Straight down to the engraving on it and the customized stock. He couldn’t take his eyes off it as she broke it open and carried it that way until she got to the gun rack, where she closed it and stood it next to his.
“Where do you want this bag?” It was far heavier than it had looked.
“Just sit it on the bench.” She fastened a belt around her waist, from which hung a leather pouch.
“Where’s your vest?” he asked.
She snorted. “You kidding? It’s too freaking hot for a vest out here.” She grinned.
He looked down at his. “Then why make me wear one?”
“Because I said so. Duh.” She cocked her head. “And they have extra padding in the shoulder. I don’t need it for my gun. I have a recoil reducer on it. I don’t even feel it anymore. You, however, are shooting a shop gun and might want the extra protection.”
“Ah. Okay. Thanks.”
She closed the trunk and walked to the bag. Inside, plastic boxes held twenty-five shells each. She handed him one. “These are lead shot. There are a couple of fields I shoot at around here where you have to shoot steel because of environmental regs, but here we can shoot lead.”
“Is there a difference? I mean,” he quickly added when he saw her winding up for a snarky comment, “I know the difference between lead and steel. But I mean how you load them.”
She smiled and pointed a hand at him and mimicked shooting a gun. “Smarty pants. You catch on quick. Yes, I have different calibrations for whether I’m shooting steel or lead. Different shot and powder bushings I use. I’ve got everything written down at home, spent hours patterning the gun and with the chromographs to make sure the mix is just right. Not something we need to get into today. If you decide you like doing this, we can talk about teaching you that.” She shrugged. “Or you can just buy boxes of shells from wherever you shoot.”
Once they were ready, she swapped out her sunglasses for shooting glasses and put her ear plugs in. Once he was similarly equipped, she handed him his gun, grabbed hers, and led him to the far left end of the field.
She quickly oriented him, pointing as she talked. “High house behind us. This is station one. Left to right, it’s stations two, three, four, five, six, seven by the low house, and eight in the middle. Got it?”
He nodded.
She grabbed a remote control connected to a long cable snaking from a bunker at the middle of the field.
“I’ll throw you a high and a low first, just to show you.” She did and he watched as the orange clay disks zoomed over the field.
“They move fast,” he said.
She grinned. “You ain’t seen nothing yet. They seem to move a lot faster when you’re trying to shoot them. Hold this. Don’t hit the buttons yet.” She swapped places with him on the small concrete pad. “When I call, hit the button for the high house.” She showed him which button. Then she popped a shell into the lower chamber, closed it, and took her stance.
He watched as Sachi seemed to change into another person. A quiet calm overtook her. “Ha!”