I FOUND Doris standing by an industrial-size dumpster, a shotgun dangling from one hand. I cursed myself for being so goddamn dumb, for tagging along after a woman I’d met five minutes ago as if she was some kind of savior, as if she didn’t have her own set of problems that sixty grand might fix. Whether she was planning to kill me or just rob me, I had it coming.
“Perfect day for target practice,” she said, glancing up at a cloudless sky. “Can see a hundred miles in any direction.”
I took a slow look around. She was right: no point in running.
“Guess I won’t be taking that shower,” I said.
There’s a calm that comes with having lost all control. I set the bag full of money that wasn’t really mine on the ground at my feet, raised my hands, and backed away. It became suddenly clear to me how far I was from anyone and anything I knew.
Doris looked at me and lost it. She laughed until her gut couldn’t take any more.
“You’re no career criminal, that’s for sure,” she said. “Hell, I’m not even pointing this thing at you. What is it? Abusive husband? Handsy boss? You can tell me—I’m familiar with both.”
I lowered my arms—slowly, in case the situation might still go sideways.
“So am I,” I said.
She sauntered over to me, held out the gun.
“Take it,” she said.
For a long beat I just stared.
“Are you serious?”
“Is the trouble you’re in serious?”
I nodded.
“Yeah, I thought so,” she said. “Look at you, meetin’ a stranger in a Texas back alley here where no one can see, all ’cause you got some seat-of-the-pants notion that you might hide out and play waitress. You see what I’m sayin’?”
“I think so,” I lied.
“I’m saying we need to get you ready.”
She thrust the gun at me so hard I had no choice but to accept it. I thought I understood then: she was looking to make a sale.
“How much?” I asked.
She ignored me, pointed across the yard to a wooden trellis with old coffee cans hanging from its frame. A makeshift shooting range.
“Think you can bull’s-eye one at this range?”
I pushed the gun back toward her. She refused it.
“I wouldn’t know how,” I said.
“Well, that’s what we’re doin’ here, ain’t it? I once taught a twelve-year-old girl to fire that thing, and she wasn’t exactly what I’d call precocious. I figure I can teach you, too.”
The question was, did I want to learn? Sean was always after me to take up shooting. He booked sessions at a firing range, gave me a Glock for my thirtieth birthday. I made him cancel the sessions, return the gun, and buy me a new set of stainless ware instead. I’m not the killing type. That isn’t me pleading my innocence—it’s just the truth.
But things had changed since I turned thirty. There were people who wanted to hurt me. Professionals who inflicted pain for a living. Even sixty-one miles outside of Kerens, Texas, there was a chance I’d end up serving one of Vincent’s men. Maybe Vincent himself, if his stomach started growling at exactly the wrong spot on the interstate.
“Okay,” I said. “Maybe you’ve got a point.”
“You ever fire a gun before?”
“No. But I’ve been around guns.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means I know how. I’ve just never had a reason to.”
She pointed to the trellis, which was maybe twenty feet away.
“Knowing and doing are two different things,” she said. “Let’s start with a coffee can. They’re small, but at least they don’t fire back.”
I pressed the butt plate against my shoulder, shut one eye, and stared down the front sight with the other.
And then I froze.
“If you believe Sun Tzu, the battle’s won before it’s fought,” Doris said. “Visualize the Maxwell House guy’s face exploding and then go on and pull that trigger.”
I took a deep breath, aimed, and froze some more. I’ve never performed well in front of an audience. As a kid, I wanted more than anything to be a singer. Aunt Lindsey bought me some lessons, and by the time I finished with them I could carry a tune better than most sixth graders. What I couldn’t do was make myself walk out onstage come talent night. The vice principal tried to shove me out of the wings, but I grabbed on to her leg and wouldn’t let go. Sometimes I think that’s what drew me to the kitchen: the chance to work quietly behind the scenes.
“I’ll make you a deal,” Doris said. “Hit the target and you win a free shower.”
I adjusted my grip.
“And if I miss?”
“Then I get to laugh at you guilt-free. That’s a twelve-gauge—it’ll be like hitting the side of a barn with another barn.”
“That’s it? You get to laugh at me?”
She thought it over.
“And I get a night’s free labor. You cover the dinner shift for nothin’. Sound fair?”
“Plenty fair.”
Come on now, Sarah, I told myself. You can do this.
And I did. I held myself steady and squeezed that trigger. And Lord knows if I hit the target, because the recoil landed me flat on my ass. I looked up to see Doris holding her sides.
“Hot damn,” she said. “I didn’t know it was possible to miss from this close. I mean, you must’ve hit something somewhere, but I’ve never seen those cans so still.”
She reached out to take the gun back.
“I was gonna let you have it for two hundred, but—”
I held on to the barrel.
“Let’s up the stakes,” I said. “One more shot. If I make it, you put me on as chef for a day. If I miss again, you get a free waitress for a full week.”
She backed up a step.
“Go for it,” she said. “But I can’t say I like your odds.”
I took careful aim, concentrated with everything I had, promised myself the battle was already won…and then fell on my ass a second time. When I got back up, I saw the coffee cans hanging undisturbed.
“Well,” Doris said, “you better nap some after your shower, ’cause Thursday’s a busy night at the Diner Things in Life.”