Free Rest in Pieces by Katie Graykowski Page A

that the receipts multiplied like rabbits when I wasn’t looking. That was the only explanation for all those little scraps of white paper. It’s not because I kept buying things, of course—how ridiculous.
    “I’ll set up at the podium.” Haley pulled a huge pair of earphones out of her bag. She must have paid extra for the clown car version of that purse. Apparently, it held more than my van. “I brought my own ear protection.”
    Haley went to the podium, lined her guns up in some order that clearly made sense to her, pulled one…two…three…four, five boxes of bullets out of her purse and lined them up, one behind each gun. So guns didn’t all use the same kind of bullets…copy that.
    “Before we begin, we should talk about gun range safety.” Daman took the purple gun, popped out the ammunition clip, pulled the slide back, and turned to me. “First, take out the bullets.”
    He held the gun up for me. “There’s a little button to the left of the trigger that releases the clip. See?”
    He pointed to a little round button.
    I took the gun, pressed the button, and the clip popped out of the bottom. The gun was heavier than I thought it should have been. And it was cold. I pulled the clip all the way out and could see that it was empty. So the drug lord didn’t keep his weapons loaded. Or at least not the purple handguns.
    “With the slide back and the magazine out, I know that you’re not going to accidentally shoot me, so hold the gun with the barrel facing down.” Daman took my hand and gently placed it at my side with the gun barrel facing the floor. “Like this.”
    His touch was warm and light, and there were callouses on his palms. Not that I spent a lot of time thinking about drug lord’s hands, but I would have thought they’d be soft from lack of manual labor. Manicured and pampered even. Then again, maybe he was more of a hands–on boss. Probably killing people caused callouses.
    “Walk your gun over to the podium and place it next to Haley’s.” He put a hand on my arm. “Wait, you’ll need some bullets.”
    He turned around, grabbed six boxes of bullets, and handed them to me.
    They were very heavy for such little boxes. I held the bullets mashed against my left breast and walked my gun over to the podium. Because Haley had taken up all of the space with her buffet of firearms, I put my gun and bullets on the shelf right underneath.
    Daman walked Monica through the range safety and then she brought her gun and bullets over to the podium.
    “You’ll both need double ear protection. With an outdoor range, you can get by with just one level of ear protection, but an indoor range is several times louder. I’ve put in some serious noise reduction, but it’s still very loud.” He handed me a pair of small yellow foam stoppers to stuff into my ears and then a pair of earphone–looking–things to put over my ears.
    “Let me show you the proper shooting stance.” Daman took my hand and gently pulled me from behind the podium. He picked up my gun and handed it to me. From behind me, he slid his hands down my arms to my elbows and lightly pushed at them until my arms were out straight. “You’re right handed, right??” How did he know? Do drug lords have handed–ness powers? “So hold the gun in your right hand with your index finger out straight next to the trigger but not on it. Wrap the fingers of your left hand around the barrel over the fingers of your right hand. Then place your left thumb over your right so they sort of crisscross.”
    He leaned into me, slid his hands all the way down my arms and checked my hand placement. His chest behind me was warm and solid and his scent wafted all around me. If I’d known that gun lessons come with lap dances, I’d have learned how to shoot a lot sooner.
    “That’s good.” He stepped out from behind me and touched my elbows. “Don’t lock them. Keep your elbows loose because the recoil is going to cause your arms to