This time, it was a rejection from a Des Moines recruiter. They didn’t represent people enrolled in training programs.
Fuck it all.
Chapter 5
Kira adjusted her grip on the cardboard box containing two sets of ear protectors, a misappropriated dueling pistol, and sixty rounds of stolen ammunition. Chloe studied the darkened break area between their position and the entry doors of the Advanced Firing Range as if it were a linoleum-clad no-man’s-land. Two hours before the range’s official opening time, shadows filled the place, and Chloe jumped at all of them.
Under the circumstances, Kira couldn’t blame her roommate for hesitating, but they needed to get moving. Kira pitched her voice to an urgent whisper. “Remember, if anybody asks, a tech told us to carry this stuff over and put it in Firing Point Two. We don’t know anything else about it.”
It was a plausible story if you didn’t think about it too hard. Trainees who hadn’t even cleared their six-week test were fair game for a menial assignment from just about anyone. The door guard hadn’t even bothered to ask when he checked the access tokens on their handsets.
Chloe wavered now, though, peering into the farthest and darkest corner over by the restrooms to see if anyone lurked in the shadows. When she finally nodded, Kira led the way through the neat checkerboard of steel-legged tables surrounded by spindly plastic chairs. Were professionals that much neater than trainees, or was the cleaning service more diligent with them? For the benefit of anyone watching via camera, Kira maintained the slow meander of a person sent on a pointless errand and resisted the urge to look back to see if Chloe followed. At last, they reached the puddle of light near the firing point doors. Chloe fumbled with her handset for the key token.
“Hey! What are you doing there?” The harsh voice belonged to a short, compact man in a green range manager uniform.
Why the hell was he at work so early?
Kira responded with wide eyes, a warm smile, and a soft voice. “Oh, we were just—”
“It’s OK, they’re with me.” All three of them turned to face the voice. A tall, muscular woman emerged from the darkness of the break area, a set of ear protectors hanging around her neck. The three red slashes on her tunic’s right sleeve identified her as a senior instructor. The name stitched on the uniform identified her as Reynolds.
The range manager faced the instructor, fists on his hips. “You’re supposed to escort trainees in the professional area at all times.”
“I’m sorry. I was in the restroom.” Nothing in the instructor’s tone or body language conveyed the smallest suggestion of regret.
The manager looked toward Kira and Chloe as if they were escaping prey and pushed his sleeves up to his elbows. “Can we talk about this?”
The instructor keyed her handset, and a green light flashed on the firing point door. She nodded toward Chloe and Kira. “Go on in and set up. I’ll be along in a minute.”
Kira and Chloe entered the firing point vestibule, and the outer door clicked shut behind them. Chloe hissed. “We are in for it. That was Diana Reynolds.”
Kira dredged her memory for the name. Nothing. Chloe stared back at her, wide-eyed. “You’ve never heard of her? She killed somebody.”
“The instructors are former gunfighters. They all killed somebody.”
“I don’t mean like an opponent, I mean like an actual person. They say when she was a Marine in Iran she—” Stirring at the outer door cut Chloe off, and they moved from the vestibule to the firing point, closing the second door behind them and leaving the mystery of why Chloe was so flummoxed by the idea of a Marine who killed people for another time.
Unlike the open range where trainees practiced, each station of the professional facility was fully enclosed by solid, slightly curved walls running all the way from the firing point down to the target area, like a vast hallway coated with sound deadening, bullet-absorbing material, open at the top to give the noise someplace to go. The firing point had enough room for two people to stand comfortably among the controls, a storage shelf, the pistol safety stand, and the hanging gun belts that shared the space. It would be tight with three. Overhead, a ventilation fan pulled so hard it stirred Chloe’s hair. The space felt like a generating station Kira had visited as a kid—immense, clean, and quiet. Ms. Reynolds entered, and the generating-station illusion became complete. The unmistakable thrum of power now vibrated through every particle of air.
Kira and Chloe pressed together to make room. In the confined space, the senior instructor seemed even taller and more imposing than she had outside. She had to be at least six feet tall, maybe a little more. Kira searched for an opening in the older woman’s expression or bearing. Nothing but calm gray eyes, a widow’s peak of dark hair setting off a stern expression, a strong jaw, and a relaxed, all-business posture. Whatever Ms. Reynolds had planned for them, Kira wasn’t going to flirt their way out of it.
She pointed to the box in Kira’s hands. “Go ahead.”
Chloe confirmed her view of their change in fortune as a trip from the frying pan straight into the fire by crossing herself and looking down. Kira opened the box.
The instructor leaned forward to inspect the contents and leaned back against the storage shelf. “So, how much did Pete charge?”
Chloe shot a panic-stricken look at Kira.
There was no way out of this but the truth. Kira responded with her best matter-of-fact tone. “Twenty unidollars for the pistol, twenty-five cents each for the bullets. An extra ten if we don’t clean it and return all the brass.”
“The access tokens?”
Kira swallowed hard. “He threw those in for free.”
“He must like you. He usually charges five.” The instructor turned her attention to Chloe. “Or maybe it’s because he’s friends with Niles LeBlanc. Niles sent you to Pete, right?”
Chloe seemed to be making a serious attempt to disappear into the floor.
Ms. Reynolds prompted. “Upperclassman doing his girlfriend a good turn?”
Chloe’s voice came out in a whisper. “I’m not exactly his girlfriend.”
“Ah.” The instructor folded her arms. “So those 2:00 a.m. check-ins from his apartment are friendly visits?”
Chloe remained silent.
“It’s your life, and I’m not telling you what to do, but this job attracts psychopaths.” Real warmth flowed into Ms. Reynolds’s voice as she tried to make eye contact with Chloe. “Be careful, OK?”
Chloe responded with a single nod of her head.
“All right. Explain to me why a couple new fish are sneaking into the advanced training area at oh-dark-thirty with stolen gear.”
Kira squared her shoulders and plunged in. “We’re afraid of getting cut in the six-week trial. We heard we’re below the cutoff, but we think we can make up for it if we do some extra work.”
“Hmmmm . . . And who told you about your position?”
“We . . .” Kira hesitated. Was she saying anything that might get someone in trouble? “We heard some guys talking at break. One of them saw a class rank, and they said we were down in the bottom fifth.”
“I see.”
“They said we were old and slow.” Chloe seemed almost surprised she’d spoken.