“This was not your fault,” she said, rubbing my shoulder absently.
I bounced up. “Oh, no, not this. This was totally your fault. A gun?” I asked, astounded. “No, really. A gun?”
She gaped at me a solid minute before conceding with a long sigh. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Three Mile Island, Cook.”
“I know. Geez. I can’t believe I didn’t kill anyone.”
If she only knew.
She waved it off, then asked, “So, what did you fail at?”
“I failed my cardiology test,” I said, watching Reyes’s interrogation, his every move pure perfection, his every feature stunning. Like he’d been Photoshopped. I suddenly felt gypped.
“Cardiology test?” Cookie asked. It was fun to watch her, with her face kind of lopsided from the swelling. “You went to see a cardiologist?”
“Yes. And he refuses to do open-heart surgery based on my insistence that something is wrong with it. According to Dr. Quack Head, the tests have all come back normal. I just think he needs a bird’s-eye view, you know? A hands-on kind of thing.”
She pressed her mouth together. “Damn it, Charley, you scared me. And there is nothing wrong with your heart.”
“Yes, there is. It hurts.” I poked myself in the chest several times for dramatic effect. “Having Reyes so near is painful. I think it has apoplexy.”
“Do you even know what that means?”
“No, but it sounds serious. Like Ebola. Or hives.”
“You’re going to wish you had Ebola after I’m done with you.”
“What? What the hell did I do?”
“I don’t know, but all of this has to be your fault.”
“You just said it wasn’t.”
“I was lying.”
“You’re the one who brought a gun to the party.” When she refused to address that little elephant in the room, I took out my phone and dialed an old friend of the family’s.
“Who are you calling?”
“Noni. You’re taking his class. The next one starts tomorrow morning at eight o’clock, and you’re going to be in it.”
“What?” She grabbed for my phone, but I dodged her attempts like Mr. Miyagi dodges the punches of his enemy. “I don’t need a concealed weapons permit.”
“It’s also about gun safety, Cook,” I said, holding up an index finger to put her in pause. “And if you carry a gun in a concealed way, you need a permit. The class is eight hours tomorrow and seven on Sunday.”
She lunged for the phone again. She missed. “That’s my entire weekend. I had plans.”
“A Vampire Diaries marathon is not plans.”
She looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “Have you even seen the Salvatore brothers? Holy mother of ginger snaps. And I was going to make a pan of enchiladas for us to eat next week, too.”
Gah! She knew that would hurt. I sighed in defeat. “Then clearly we are both making a huge sacrifice here.”
Noni picked up, saying something grumpy about the time. It was weird. I charged forward, explained the situation to him as Cookie watched Uncle Bob’s every move. Or, well, drank in Uncle Bob’s every move. He was consulting with one of the off-duty officers, and Cookie seemed to find his actions mesmerizing.
That wasn’t disturbing at all.
“Thanks, Noni.”
“I hate you right now,” he said.
“For gravy’s sake, it’s nine thirty. Who’s asleep by nine thirty on a Friday night?” I hung up and said to Cook, “You’re in.”
“Fantastic.” She said it, but I didn’t think she meant it.
“Right? Okay, so he’ll ask you a lot of questions to determine your mental stability. How good are you at lying?”
She scowled at me. “As good as you are at staying out of trouble.”
“Crap. Well, just do the best you can. He’ll also give you a handbook on all the gun laws in New Mexico. And Noni is —” How did I put this without making him sound like a fanatic? “Noni’s enthusiastic. He takes his gun with him into the shower, but he’s a good guy and you’ll learn a lot. More important”— I took her shoulders to get her full attention; then I shook her a little for good measure – “everyone will be a lot safer.”
She nodded, then shook her head, changing her mind mid-shake. “I don’t know, Charley. I don’t think I can shoot a gun in front of other people.”
“What were you planning on doing with it tonight? Seeing if Tidwell was interested in buying one?”
“No, I just thought that showing it would get him to calm down.”
“And how’d that work out?”
“Charley,” she said, her voice sharp with warning.
“Okay, okay. But for future reference, never pull a gun unless you’re willing to use it. Anyway, firing your sidearm is only a small part of the class. By the time you get to that point, you’ll be comfortable enough with everyone to take off your bra. Don’t. Trust me. It never ends well. Before that, he’ll go over specific laws and give you real-life scenarios, self-defense situations to mull over. You know, everyday things.” I scooted closer to her. “Cook, he’s going to ask you if you’re ready to kill someone.”
“What? Like right now?”
“No, he’ll probably give you a scenario and ask if you’d be willing to pull the trigger.”