Chase was apprehensive about entering Darryl and Mary’s shop. Since the first time he set foot on their carpet, Luger in his back pocket and sneaky scheme in his head, he’d lied to them. They’d treated him with generosity and courtesy, going above any beyond what he would have expected.

And then there was Rudy to worry about, too.

He hadn’t spoken to the guy since leaving the Black Market, and he was painfully aware that he still owed him seven big ones. If Rudy watched the news at all he would know that Chase had been otherwise occupied, but it still felt weird.

When he entered, Darryl stood behind the counter, taking apart a pistol. All the pieces he’d dissected thus far were organised into groups. He half expected the man to pull out a blindfold and have a go at rebuilding it blind.

Instead, he noticed Chase enter and immediately clapped a hand to his chest.

“The sting of betrayal!” he cried. “Oh, to think the wool has been pulled over my eyes this whole time! Nought but a fool, am I!”

There was a call from the backroom. “Knock it off, you sod!”

Mary’s voice.

Darryl broke into a grin, gesturing wide and beckoning Chase closer. “Been a while, ain’t it? Was watchin’ the TV, that’un right there when I saw a familiar noggin. Who knew, huh? Who knew!”

Chase smiled, silently letting out a pent-up breath. He’d half-expected a lifetime ban from the place. “I’m sorry I lied to you guys, I really am. It was just safer to keep everyone in the dark, you know? Even my girlfr—”

“Naw, naw, naw, don’t be apologizin’,” Darryl interrupted. “I’da done the same in your sitchy-ation. I’m just glad you came to me in the first place — it’s not bad having a notorious Guild Leader as a repeat customer. And I saw you using the Beretta on TV; seemed like it helped you out of a few sticky spots, eh?”

“Sure did. Sorry I went somewhere else for the MP7, though. Didn’t think it was really your kind of thing.”

He definitely wasn’t going to mention that it was Darryl’s son who was responsible for the purchase. Luckily, Rudy wasn’t in the shop that day.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, thanks to you and a bit of lobbying, I’m now permitted to place orders for those kinds of weapons. Can’t display ‘em, but I can take requests from customers and have ‘em delivered to the store. That what you’re looking for?”

That was good to know. If Chase never had to step foot in the Market again, he still would’ve had his fill of that place.

“Not today, though I will certainly take advantage of that in the future. I’ve actually got a group of new Hunters who’ll need to be kitted out, so I’ll make sure to come to you for that. Think you could get another eight Beretta APXs between now and, say, next month?”

“Sure can do.”

“Great. And one more thing.”

Darryl leaned over the bench, straining the thick sheet of glass separating him from the knife display. Chase could practically see dollar signs reflected in his eyes.

“I was hoping you could come to the range with me and be my personal trainer, of sorts. I’d pay you, and—”

“Done. Absolutely. Don’t say another word.”

That was easy.

“Oh, cool. Do you mind if we, uh, go now?”

“Not at all.” He turned to face the backroom. “MARY, I’M TAKING CHASE TO THE RANGE! I’LL TRY NOT TO MISS DINNER WITH YOUR MOTHER!”

There was a scraping of a chair being knocked back and a frustrated yell as Mary replied. Soon, she was stomping out to the front of the shop.

“Go, go, go!” Darryl bellowed, careening around the side of the counter and bolting for the door.

Chase just followed.

Not my monkeys, not my circus.

*******

They bumped along the road in Darryl’s sedan, watching the endless yellow canola fields rush by.

“And in conclusion,” Darryl said, “if you ever find yourself at the zoo with your mother-in-law, never point to the gorilla enclosure and tell her you’ve found a suitable retirement home for her. You will pay the price for twenty-eight years and counting.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

There was a tattered old bag on Chase’s lap, filled halfway with various trinkets Darryl wanted to bring along for him to try. It included scopes, bipods, flashlights and braces, among other things.

When they made it to the range, Darryl bolted straight in and talked to one of the staff members. Before Chase had even made it across the gravel driveway, juggling all the gear, two people came out to greet him. One was wheeling a long metal table with layers of shelves beneath it.

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

“Good morning, Mr Mendleton!”

“How do you do, Mr Mendleton!”

Oh jeez.

“Hey, guys,” Chase replied. “Can I dump this stuff on that?”

“Absolutely!” one replied.

“Without a doubt!” the other chirped.

It seemed he’d be getting the royal treatment whether he liked it or not, so he dropped the sack on the table and let them at it. One rushed inside with the gear, while the other stayed behind.

“Darryl thought you might be here for a prolonged stay,” he chattered, “so we’ll do everything we can to accommodate your needs. We’ve reserved a lane for you, and there’s a thousand clays unboxed and ready to go in the thrower. You’ll have first priority on all hire weapons, a hot dog and chips delivered every hour, and if you desire, I can prepare the bed in the backroom if you’d like to rest at all.”

Chase was feeling ill at the thought of a hot dog and chips every hour, but he smiled to the staff member and shook his hand. “Cheers, that sounds good. I’ll come to the canteen for food, though, okay? I’m not a huge eater.”

“Absolutely sir, absolutely.”

“And don’t call me sir. Just Chase is fine.”

“Absolutely, s— Chase.”

He scampered off like a shot bullet, dashing inside to prepare whatever he needed to prepare.

When Chase made it inside, Darryl was already waiting for him. He had a shotgun broken over his elbow, and three boxes of ammo under the other arm. His smile was worryingly eager.

“Step up, my young friend!” he called. “We’re gonna start easy with a few clays. I’ll angle it so they throw out in front of you — should give you more time to take your shot, and less sideways movement, okay?”

Chase rushed up and relived Darryl of the shotgun. He’d never held one before, nor shot one.

This would be embarrassing.

“Darryl, you’ll have to show me how to use this. I’m not used to—"

“You just yell PULL! when you’re ready, okay? Just like this. PULL!” He stepped on a button beneath his foot and a bright orange clay target soared across the sky away from Chase.

He hadn’t even loaded the gun, taken the safety off, or put on ear protection yet.

This was going to be a long day.

*******

An hour later, Chase’s shoulder was killing him and there was a nice bruise coming up on his chest where the shotgun repeatedly kicked him. It had a lot more recoil than the weapons he was used to — the light weight of the shotgun in tandem with the sizeable shots they were using was a ripper of a combination.

Also, he was ravenous. Something about the constant apprehension of guessing where the clay would fly, the movement required to take aim, and the moment of expectation before the shotgun jolted into him with a crack was making him eager for the promise of a hot dog every hour. He was starting to regret throwing away the opportunity.

But he’d improved in that half-hour. Part of it might have just been getting used to the gun, but at the start of the session he’d hit maybe one out of every five clays, and at the end he was getting about three of the five. Darryl had noticed a nasty habit of his, which was to move the gun down at the last second as he pulled the trigger. It was a common mistake, and barely noticeable to the shooter since their mind was usually concentrated on hitting the target.

He sat down for a sip of water when Darryl immediately waved him back to the shooting pad.

“New angle!” he yelled. “Let’s take things up a notch, eh?”

Chase rubbed his eyes, groaned, and massaged his shoulder. Now that he’d stopped, the ache was starting to set in. Maybe going back to shooting would fix it.

“Got a bit of a challenge for ya,” Darryl said. “I’m gonna move the clay thrower so it goes more across your sightline rather than along it, okay? This’ll test your aim a lot more, and you’ll need to lead your shot just the tiniest amount, alright? Those babies you’re shooting don’t fly as fast as a nine mil, alright?”

Chase saluted his coach. Darryl thought it was hilarious the first time he’d done it, so he kept it up.

“Aye, cap’n,” he said. “You got anything to help this bruise I’m sporting?” He pulled down the section of his jumper hiding the sore spot.

Darryl whistled. “Oowee, that’s a good’un, ain’t it? Let’s put you on a lighter round for now, and I’ll get our mate to find us a heavier gun. Would that be alright?”

“Anything to keep my arm attached to my body.”

*******

When Darryl said, ‘a heavier gun,’ Chase was not expecting a sniper rifle.

He shot clays for another hour or so, struggling to have much success at all with the more difficult trajectory Darryl had set them to. It was a real struggle trying to account for a split second of bullet travel time whilst also keeping an eye on where the clay was actually flying. Even towards the end, he was hitting so few clays that Darryl made him go out on the field to collect the unbroken ones to be reused. With no one else at the range, he didn’t have to worry about bullets whizzing around him.

But when Darryl finally called him away from torturing his bruise, Chase was greeted by the same staff member who’d wheeled in his belongings on the metal table.

The sack of attachments had been replaced by a mean-looking sniper rifle, which the staff member hefted up and handed to Chase. He didn’t know what to do with the thing other than look it over and nod as if he could appreciate the workmanship.

“This is the Blaser R93 Tactical,” Darryl said. “I got Reily here to procure it especially for you. I reckon it suits your purposes.”

Chase looked it over again. He couldn’t see anything about it that suggested it was too much different from any other sniper rifle. “How so?”

“Well for starters, it’s German made,” Darryl said, “but look here.” He pointed to the action. “It’s a straight-pull bolt action, rather than a side-pull.”

“Right.” It felt like he was supposed to react to that reveal in some way, but he didn’t know what was appropriate. “And what exactly does that do for me?”

Darryl cackled and relieved Chase of the heavy weapon, pointing it out at the field. “This bad boy ain’t like your other guns. Obviously, you can’t just pull the trigger and have a spray of lead come out. Every time you shoot, you’ve gotta pull back the action, like so.” He yanked it back and then pushed it forward again, then demonstrated a few more times while the chamber was empty. “Basically, since you’re going to have a lot of targets in your line of work, you want to be able to take as many shots as possible in a short amount of time, and the straight-pull action helps you do that even faster than the side-pull, once you’re good with it.”

“I see.” It all sounded good coming out of Darryl’s mouth, but he really had no frame of reference. He felt like he needed to shoot every gun the range had in order to begin understanding all the intricacies.

“Are semi-automatic snipers a thing?” he asked.

Darryl laughed, and the staff member went red in the face. “Yes, they are, and you’re correct that they might be even better for you, but the range doesn’t keep any on hand.” He pinched his thumb and forefinger together. “You’d need a lot of berries in your basket to afford one of them. And I will say, there’s a lot more going on in those guns — lots more to go wrong at an inopportune moment.”

Chase nodded. Consistency was key for him — if his gun jammed or broke during a Raid, he didn’t have Darryl there to take it apart for him and work out the problem. He needed weapons that would never let him down if he was going to become the Hunter he wanted to be.

“So what’s next?”

Darryl smiled.

“Now you shoot this one until you can hit an apple from a kilometre away.”