Chapter 47
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Dvora listened intently and then asked, “If you and Lee were nearly killed after looking into these stocks, what’s going to happen when we actually do something? Isn’t Meghan going to be in more danger than she is now?”
“The answers are yes and yes. We will have to be careful to keep out of jail after we kick off the plan. This care should also keep us alive. Meghan has around-the-clock guards. I fortunately forgot to cancel them. Why don’t we improve the odds a little by working on those shooting lessons? First thing in the morning?” He asked.
THE range was crowded, mostly with groups of burly young men, each trying to out-macho the other. Law enforcement attracted many of the same types that went in for combat arms. Not many special operations types went into law enforcement. And, he never saw the same crowd rock-climbing. The answer should have been obvious, given the waist size of the average cop.
Many of the young women competed at a very high level. Some of them looked as if they were trying to be burly young men, and some looked like fitness models. The wind that forced its way in from the north was dry, carrying a real chill. The colder weather promoted much wearing of leather. Appropriate.
Jack’s favorite gun was an old J-frame .38 Special. He’d bought it used right after his 21st birthday. He opened the sealed pouch to show the clerk that all the guns were unloaded and walked Dvora through the paperwork.
The clerk carried a nine-millimeter SIG in a quick-draw holster at his waist. He had trouble filling out his part of the forms, and stuck his tongue out when he had to write a word longer than one syllable. He stared at Dvora the whole time she read the hold-harmless agreement they made her sign. His lips sagged open far enough to let a little rope of spit slide out of the corner of his mouth before he absentmindedly wiped it on his sleeve.
The stare would have pissed Jack off if he hadn’t known the nine-millimeter was unloaded. The vacuous stare was from a bullet that had taken a chunk out of the young man’s brain. The young man had been a clerk in the convenience store three blocks away, working nights because it gave him time to study before taking the MCAT. The young man covered a little girl with his body during a holdup gone wrong. The owner of the range said, in writing, as long as he and the boy were alive, the young man would have a job.
Different groups of young men found reasons to crowd around the counter as they outfitted Dvora with ear and eye protection and filled out forms. A background rumble of bass cop-talk mixed with muted explosions coming through the soundproofed glass wall that looked down onto the range.
He and Dvora walked through the security doors leading from the lobby into the sound barrier area before they were buzzed, one at a time, into the range itself.
Jack said, “Think of shooting as a being a combination of body and gun. Of the two, your body is the most important part. That’s with modern weapons. The most important part of the body for stability is the hand. The hand is complicated, but when you shoot you mostly use it to hold and stabilize the gun. This makes the shape of the handle and the gun important.”
“Questions?”
“Nope,” she said.
“A strong grip on the handle, firm wrist, and trigger finger control-all very important. Good eyesight and knowing what affects your ability to see are extremely important.”
He talked to her about the importance of balance and equilibrium. “Physical conditioning, especially hand strength, reaction time, and stamina, are some of the things that made a great shooter.”
“What I’m going to teach you today are techniques for short-range shooting. Shooting’s like any other activity. Natural ability and perfect practice combined with good coaching and you get better.”
Dvora was a good student-no she was a great student. Even though her hands were large and strong for a woman, she still felt better using a two-handed, wraparound grip. She tried the J-Frame, Browning, Sig P239, and Glock. The Sig fit the best and after fifty rounds, she started having fun. With each bit of instruction, her shooting improved. The discipline and focus, the will to do well that made her a great dancer, showed in her shooting.
She didn’t get mad at herself, or distracted, or proud of her achievements. She simply ground away at it until she was good. Her shot groups climbed up the target and she corrected by applying more force to her grip. She was erratic on one clip.
“My guess is you’ve let your sight picture change.”
She simply nodded her head firmly, made the adjustment, and achieved a tight shot group on the next clip.
They’d been at it for an hour and a half, having stopped twice to get more ammunition, when Dvora’s shot groups scattered again. He thought at first it was a loss of concentration and was going to suggest a break. When she reloaded her next clip, her hands trembled and she dropped two bullets on to the growing pile of empty shell casings on the floor.
“Are you tired?” he asked.
She had the self-confidence of the great athlete. Instead of denying her fatigue she nodded her head. He checked the guns in for cleaning and an overhaul on the Browning. He hated having someone else touch his guns, but this range usually did a better job than he did. And it was sure a more efficient use of his time.
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