“Is that thing real?” Dan asked Marty, praying the answer was no.
“Pretty sure!” Marty switched the assault rifle’s grip to his left hand so he could free his right to fish for something in his pants pocket. “I mean, he gave me this extra clip for it—oh, shit.”
As he pulled a boxy ammo clip out of his pants, his wad of cash fell out along with it, tumbling to the floor.
Marty bent over to pick up the money, and the barrel of the rifle swung down in Marty and Marina’s direction.
They both screamed.
“Marty!”
“Martin!”
He straightened up, startled. “What?”
“Don’t fucking point it at us!” Dan jumped up and backed away, putting the kitchen island in between himself and Marty. “If you don’t know how to use it, maybe you shouldn’t have it.”
“Dude, relax! It’s not rocket science. There’s, like, three moving parts.”
“Is the safety on?”
“Lemme check.” Marty turned the rifle in his hands, looking for the safety. “Where do you think it’d be?”
“Ohmygod, Marty. Please put it down.”
“Settle! I’ll figure it out.”
Marina had also moved out of the field of fire and was now downrange to her husband’s left. She pointed past his elbow to a spot on the rifle above and behind the trigger.
“Is that it? There?”
“I think?” Marty raised the gun closer to his eyes.
“Point it down!” Dan yelled, ducking underneath the island.
“Dude! Quit yelling! You’re making me jumpy.”
Dan slowly straightened up. Marty was squinting at the safety switch.
“I mean, it’s pretty basic,” Marty observed. “‘Fire.’ ‘Safe.’ So, like, I just push it toward ‘safe.’ Right?”
“I don’t know! Is it on now?”
“It should be.”
Marty pulled the trigger.
What followed was the loudest noise Dan had ever heard in his life, accompanied by a fluttering of his pajama bottoms and a sharp prick of pain on the top of his right foot.
“JESUS CHRIST!”
His ears ringing almost to the point of temporary deafness, Dan looked down at the source of the sudden pain.
A razor-thin, inch-long line of blood was rising on the top of his right foot. Clinging to the calf of his flannel pajama bottoms just above it were dozens of wood splinters.
Just past his foot, the bottom right cabinet door on the island had blown open. When he reached out and pulled it toward him, he discovered an eruption of mangled wood the size of his fist blossoming out from the lower end of the door.
“Oh, fuck! Sorry, dude!”
The ringing in Dan’s ears was so loud that Marty sounded like he was talking under water. Behind him, Marina had both hands clasped over her mouth in horror.
Mercifully, Marty managed to keep the rifle barrel pointed down as he approached Dan, rounding the corner of the island to survey the damage.
“You okay . . . ? Holy shit, look at that exit hole!”
Dan bent over to inspect his foot. A second thin line of blood had appeared, bisecting the first one.
“You fucking shot me!”
“No, dude, that’s just cabinet shrapnel.” Marty pointed his rifle barrel at the ragged exit hole in the door. “If that bullet actually hit you? Your leg’d be splattered all over the floor right now.”
Dan probed the top of his foot with his hand. To be fair, the wound did seem superficial. In fact, his hearing damage might be the more serious injury.
Marina’s ears had suffered the same insult. “It was so loud!” she cried. “I cannot hear myself!”
“Marty.” Dan glared at his boss. “Get that thing out of my house right fucking now.”
“Dude, I’m so sorry. I’m totally good for the repair on this.” Marty jiggled the rifle barrel in the direction of the disfigured cabinet door. “Do you have a guy who can swap that door out?” He pointed backward, to the opposite side of the island. “’Cause the point of entry’s pretty clean. But this exit hole is nuts!” He gazed at the weapon in his hands, impressed with its power. “No wonder they want to ban these things.”
Chloe raced into the room, followed by Max. When she saw Marty’s gun, she shrieked.
“AAAIIEEE!”
“It’s cool! The safety’s on!” Marty assured her.
Chloe did not seem reassured. Neither was Dan.
“Kids—go back upstairs,” Dan told them. “Now.”
Max stared in awe at the assault rifle. “Is that an AR-15?”
Marty shrugged. “I guess?”
“Go back upstairs!”
Chloe and Max did as they were told.
“I am seriously sorry, dude. Really. It won’t happen again.”
“I think you need to leave,” Dan said.
“You mean the gun? Or, like, me?”
“Both.”
“Oh.” Marty pondered this for a moment, then shrugged. “That’s cool. We’ll just go to Eddie’s.”
“Really?” Dan hadn’t expected ejecting Marty to be this easy.
“Yeah. It’s fine.”
“What are you saying?” Marina was tugging on her earlobes in a vain effort to restore her hearing.
“We’re gonna move over to Eddie’s!” Marty explained in a loud voice.
Marina nodded. “Oh! That is good. They are kind.” She turned to Dan. “We will leave. I am sorry about your kitchen.” Still tugging at her ears, she turned and headed back to the den.
Marty began to follow her, then paused at the kitchen table and stared down at the hundred-dollar bill he’d left there. After a moment’s consideration and a brief glance back at his soon-to-be-former host, he dug into his pocket, produced a second bill, and added it to the first before exiting the room.
Dan lurched over to the table and sank into his chair.
Marty almost shot me.
In my own kitchen.
Is this real? Is this actually happening?
At least I got two hundred dollars out of it.
Then Dan looked at the second bill Marty had just laid down and realized it was only a twenty.