Look but Don't Choke

Chapter 10

             "You're a piss poor shot, Scooby."

           As I held the gun in my hand, aiming as best as I could, I waited. The warehouse was big and empty. And so dark I had to squint so I could see. I reloaded my gunjust in case and kept moving. I thought I saw something so I crouched behind a crate.

            Out of nowhere a man with a gun jumped out—then another, and another. They began firing in rapid succession with each other. When they reloaded I stood and started shooting. I killed one of them but missed the others. A bullet got me right in the face.

            "Aw shit," I said. "This game cheats."

            He laughed. "It doesn't cheat; you're just really bad at it."

            Manny Juarez had a characteristic presence, one the exuded authority, strength, and a mild uptightness that a part of me was dying to loosen.

            What it did not exude, however, was adult arcade. Seriously. I admit I was a skeptic when he showed up at my place and told me we two adults would spend the evening of our make-up date playing video games, but he's made a believer out of me. There's something oddly soothing about playing classic arcade games while you throw back a couple beers.

            Well, I had a couple beers. He just sort of nursed one.

            Jackson and I had decided to split up. I'd go on my date with Manny, and he'd go back to Palm's Up and infiltrate the private rooms. He'd report back to me tomorrow. In the mean time, I was enjoying the break from the case.

            When we first got here we decided to have dinner at the arcade's restaurant. We'd gotten to know each other a little better over burgers so massive I could only eat half. Then we'd gone over to the race track where he schooled my ass in go-carts. Lastly we'd hit the batting range. That's where I schooled him.

            I think the most impressive thing about him so far is what a good loser he is. I'm relived he doesn't take games as seriously as some other men I've dated.

            After I shot a couple more men I heard him snickering behind me. "And what's so funny?"

            "You're stance. It's a mess. You're sloppy, too slack, and every time you shoot you flick your wrist. It's kind of cute."

            "I guess now's a good a time as any to come clean. I don't really know guns."

            "I can tell, but it doesn't matter. It's not like it's accurate. It feels nothing like firing a real gun."

            I believed him. I'd only held a gun once in my life—last night when I'd stole one from my cousin's car. Even without ever having shot it, I could tell the plastic in my hand was just a shadow of the real thing. Maybe I should learn to use it. It's a useful skill to have, right?

            It occurred to me then that I was standing next to someone who would know guns fairly well.

            "Could you teach me how they work?" I said.

            "What, guns?" He looked at me in the way he does when he's trying to figure out my angle.

            I cocked my head to the side and looked at him from under my lashes. "I just find everything about you so interesting. I've never dated a cop before."