Free Look Before You Jump by D. A. Bale Page B

perfect size to fit my
tiny hands and the rainbow purple slide to fit my personality.
    Since I didn’t want to lose my hearing by the
time I was thirty, I usually opted for one of the outdoor ranges.
What I suffered in the heat more than made up for the constant
ringing from the indoor ranges – even with protection.
    Of my ears, silly.
    A quick run home to change into something
more appropriate and gather some gear, then I whipped the Vette
toward the outskirts of the Dallas metropolis. When I arrived, the
shooting was already heavy and the temps already hot. The hefty
bucket of bullets thudded at my feet as I took position in the
assigned lane, checked all four magazines to make sure they had six
bullets each, then snapped one in and chambered a round before
sighting my target. Let the games begin.
    Most instructors will tell you to aim for
center mass when seeking to take out an assailant. That’s why the
paper targets have the bullseye marked in the torso area. But I
always did have a thing for painting outside the lines, and figured
if they didn’t want me practicing headshots they wouldn’t have
included a head as part of the target outline.
    The first shot went high somewhere off the
paper. Anticipating the shot always got me in trouble, and I heard
Zeke’s voice in my head telling me to relax. A roll to loosen my
neck and a deep breath then I sighted again.
    The bullet pierced the paper near the right
shoulder. Damn! At one time I could blackout whole sections with my
tight groupings. Now I couldn’t even get it within the freakin’
outline anymore. I really needed to get out here more often. By the
time I flicked the switch to slide the target back to my position,
it was apparent I needed to get out here a hell of a lot more
often.
    Snickers peppered the nearby lanes before I
ripped down the papier-mâché cutout that had become my target and
popped in a new one. By the time the bullet bucket was barely a
fourth of the way empty, my hands and wrists were aching, and sweat
ran like Niagara Falls down my back. Shoulders I’d feel tomorrow.
Only an hour in and I was already done for. However, I was also a
little more focused as I grabbed my gear and headed for the
car.
    A quick text exchange with Bobby and I was on
track with the necessary interrogation scheduled for noon. Gee, I
was beginning to sound like an investigator already. Must be
something to do with shooting off weapons instead of my
disease-ridden mouth this time.
    “Vic?”
    The familiar voice pulled me out of the
phone, but it only took a few seconds to focus in on the mustache.
“Grady? What are you doing here?”
    My boss set a black duffle on the ground
tucked up close to his boots and pushed back his hat. “Getting a
haircut?”
    I smirked. “Yeah, okay. This is Texas. You’re
at a shooting range. Dumb question.”
    The mustache tilted as he glanced between my
face, down my sweaty t-shirt and shorts-clad bare legs to the gun
and magazines I’d laid atop the bullets in the bucket. “Apparently
ya know what you’re doing, but why haven’t I ever seen ya out here
before?”
    “I haven’t been very regular in awhile.”
    “You might try a stool softener instead.”
    “Grady!” I laughed. “I mean shooting.”
    “Oh,” he chuckled right along with me.
    “I don’t usually come out to this range
anyway. Too many off-duty cops like to come out here.”
    “Like that boyfriend of yours?”
    “Ex,” I clarified.
    The scent of manly-man followed as Grady
leaned in closer, his chocolate brown eyes twinkling almost golden
in the sunlight. “Good to know.”
    All my spit dried up in an instant and headed
toward more southerly regions. My legs went all noodley again. Away
from my place of employment, the subject of this man being my boss
whisked away like a tumbleweed on the leading edge of a hurricane.
Expecting a kiss, I leaned closer.
    Then nearly fell forward in the dust when
Grady stepped backward, cradled his duffle and took off