Riley Thorn and the Corpse in the Closet by Lucy Score
8
4:45 p.m., Thursday, August 13
“Uh. What errands do you have here?” Riley eyed the squat concrete building in front of them.
The sign above the double glass doors read Big Johnny’s Guns in red, white, and blue.
“Consider it employee training,” Nick said, cutting the engine.
They’d gone to lunch then dropped off Burt at the mansion so he could supervise Fred and Mr. Willicott as they went back to the drawing board for the ramp. Riley had planned to watch a few of Bianca Hornberger’s 4EvaYoungBitchez videos on YouTube when Nick had insisted she join him for an errand. She’d thought it was code for car sex. She was wrong.
“You’re going to teach me to shoot?” she asked, perking up. This was the first sign that he was actually going to show her the ropes of investigation. Up until this point, he’d seemed hellbent on barricading her behind an impenetrable wall of paperwork.
“I’m going to teach you how to safely and responsibly handle a gun,” he corrected, climbing out from behind the wheel and opening the back door. He picked up a large black bag and slung the strap over his shoulder. Then took her hand. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to Johnny.”
Big Johnny’s Guns had concrete floors, neat displays of ammo, tactical accessories, and the kind of people Riley had imagined would hang out at a gun shop before five p.m. on a weekday. The kind who wore a lot of camo and carried visible weapons on their belts.
Hastily, she silently ordered her spirit guides not to let any stray thoughts through unless they were important. She didn’t want to accidentally end up inside anyone’s head here. Her spiritual garage doors closed on the pretty pastel clouds, leaving her with the relative peace of her own thoughts.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
The muffled sound of gunfire made her flinch.
“Is it weird that I feel less safe surrounded by a bunch of people carrying guns?” she whispered, edging closer to Nick.
“That’s how they make everyone feel,” he assured her with a wink.
He led her to a counter in the back where two guys with holsters on their hips were doubled over watching what sounded like ultimate fail videos on a phone. Behind them, security monitors streamed footage from the indoor range.
Nick dropped the bag on the floor and threw an arm around her shoulders.
“Nicky Santiago.”
A tall, round woman with broad shoulders and graying hair scraped back in a ponytail appeared through a door behind the counter. She was wearing khaki pants and a khaki vest over a Lenny Kravitz t-shirt. There was a rotund black lab on her heels.
“Johnny,” Nick said.
“Haven’t seen your face around here in a while,” Johnny said.
“Been busy,”
“Yeah, caught that bit about the mayor.” If she had any opinions on the gunfight they’d been part of in downtown Harrisburg, Johnny kept her opinions to herself.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Riley jumped.
Johnny gave her a once-over and a raised eyebrow. “Brought a newbie with you?”
Nick leaned an elbow on the counter, perfectly at home with the gunfire and the bearded, gun-toting crowd. “Yeah, this is Riley. Riley, Johnny,” he said. “We’re gonna need a lane and some targets.”
Johnny elbowed the guys away from the cash register. “You’re the one from the fountain. The psychic,” she said, shooting her another look.
Riley really needed to start wearing a hat and sunglasses, she decided.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
“Uh. Yeah,” she said weakly. She braced for the typical reaction. What number am I thinking of? Insinuations about scamming people at carnivals.
“Heard you threw a gun at the mayor.”
Riley winced. “Yep.”
Johnny leveled Nick with a look. “Shoulda brought her in a long time ago.”
“Yeah, yeah. We’re here now. Can we have a lane?” He released Riley to give the lab that had wandered out to sniff them a good scruffing. The dog leaned into Riley’s leg and looked up at her with mournful doggy eyes as if to say everything would be just fine. She stroked his silky ears and didn’t even flinch when someone fired off another few rounds on the range.
“Lane seven,” Johnny said, licking her thumb and peeling off several targets from a stack. “What are you shooting today?”
Nick listed off several words and letter-number combos that sounded more like code than names of firearms.
They turned over their IDs and signed waivers with language that reactivated Riley’s nerves. And then Johnny was directing them toward a door marked Indoor Range. Nick pulled her to a stop before the door and unzipped his bag. He slipped a pair of large headphones over her ears. He grinned. “You ready, Thorn?”
His voice came through the speakers sounding tinny and far away.
She nodded. “Yeah. Teach me stuff.”
“Don’t let her quit ’til she’s got a good target,” Johnny called after them. Nick tossed a salute in her direction and led the way into the vestibule.
The gunfire was louder between the two doors even with the hearing protection. She followed him through the second door and into a long room. At the far end of the range was a middle-aged dad with—judging from the delighted squeals—two teenage daughters. Two lanes down was an elderly Black man in a golf shirt and shorts loading a pearl handle revolver. Each lane had vertical partitions and a waist-high counter. Nick hefted his bag onto the counter and unloaded two serious-looking handguns, several boxes of bullets, and two pairs of safety glasses.
“Okay, Thorn, let’s get you comfortable with a gun.”
He proceeded to provide a concise tutorial on firearm mechanics and responsible handling. Riley did her best to absorb the information. He handed her one of the guns—a Glock if she remembered correctly—and coached her on loading the magazine and racking the slide. They worked on her stance and grip for a few minutes. Then he had her release the magazine and rack the slide again, expelling the chambered bullet. He had her do it until the magazine was empty, then made her reload it with all the bullets.
Professor Nick had her repeat this exercise until her fingers hurt.
“They make it look so easy in movies,” she complained.
“They make getting shot look easier too,” he pointed out.
Thanks to personal experience, Riley had taken to calling bullshit whenever characters on screen got shot and managed to continue performing heroic feats of strength.
“My fingers are numb.”
“Then I guess it’s time to shoot. I’ll go first. Watch my stance and be impressed.”
He clipped one of the paper targets onto the return arm and sent it out five yards. Flashing her a cocky grin over his shoulder, he picked up the Glock and fired off six shots in rapid succession. Riley jumped each time he fired.
He put the gun down and hit the recall button.
“Jeez! Did you even hit anything?” she asked dryly.
“See for yourself.”
The man with the revolver whistled. “That’s some nice shooting, sonny.”
Nick gave him the nod then looked at her expectantly.
There were six neat holes clustered in the dead center of the target.
She blinked. “Wow. You really are good at everything.”
He preened. “Yes. Yes, I am. Now, let’s see what you’ve got.”
She wiped her damp palms on the back of her shorts and carefully inserted the magazine into the pistol. It took her two tries before she racked the slide properly, and by then, her heart was pounding in her chest. Someone in another lane fired off a shot that made her jump.
“Now you’re going to bring the gun up in both hands like you practiced, take a deep breath, and pull the trigger,” Nick instructed.
It couldn’t be that hard, right? The two teen girls at the end of the range were making Swiss cheese out of their target.
She pointed the gun at the fresh target, took a deep breath, and squeezed the trigger.
She yelped and jerked her elbows when the weapon fired. The shot rang in her ears, and her body tightened reflexively as the gun kicked in her grip.
“Oh my God. I hit it!”
“Yeah, baby. If we ever need anyone to shoot the outside of a bad guy’s knees, you’ll be the one to take the shot,” Nick said with affection, eyeing the hole at the bottom left of the target.
So she hadn’t hit the silhouette. But she had at least hit the paper.
“Keep going,” he encouraged.
She did as she was told and slowly fired off the other rounds, yelping each time she squeezed the trigger.
He took the empty gun out of her hands and recalled the target. She’d managed to wing the right shoulder, pierce the silhouette’s ear, and completely missed the paper for her last three shots.
“Where exactly were you aiming for?” he asked.
Riley tapped the unblemished center circle on the target. “I suck at this, don’t I?”
He grinned. “Not going to lie. The terrified squeaking is adorable.”
“I can’t help it. I’m respectfully petrified.”
“Pulling the trigger should be scary. You need to be aware of the consequences of every shot you take.”
“That’s not making me less nervous.” One lesson and she already felt defeated.
“Look at me, Thorn. No one is ever any good at this the first time out. It takes practice. Just like your psychic stuff, right? You have to train to get better until it’s as natural as a reflex.”
She felt a little niggle of guilt in her chest. He had a point. Which meant that her grandmother wasn’t exactly wrong. She hadn’t been a dutiful student. Since the incident earlier in the summer, she’d been spending most of her days with her spiritual garage doors down, just enjoying being a regular person for a change. In the past few weeks, she and Gabe had spent more time going for ice cream and brunch than they had flexing her clairvoyance muscles.
She hadn’t just fallen off the wagon. She’d willingly hurled herself under its wheels. And that was irresponsible, especially since she’d volunteered to help Kellen with his case.
Riley blew out a sigh. “You know what one of the most depressing things about being an adult is?”
He clipped a new target to the arm and sent it down range. “What?”
“I always thought at some point I’d be the best version of myself and that things would come easier then. But nothing is easy. There is no best self. It’s all just hard work and sweaty, painful practice.”
Nick ruffled her hair. “Poor little Riley Thorn. That’s why you gotta make the practice fun.”
“How do you do that?” she asked glumly.
“We’ll start here.” There was a gleam in his eyes behind the safety glasses.
Soon, she saw why. He came up behind her, caging her between the counter and his own body. She could feel every inch of his hard, delicious front where it pressed against her back.
“Pick up your gun, Thorn,” he said. She could hear the smile in his voice.
“Uh, okay.” She did as he instructed.
“Good girl. Now, load it and chamber a round.”
She slapped the magazine into the pistol and managed to rack the slide on the first try. “Now what?” she asked, feeling anticipation mix with nerves. Everything felt better with Nick Santiago pressed up against her.
“Now we do it together.” His hands gripped her hips, holding her against him. “Pull the trigger, Thorn. Practice makes awesome.”
