BANGERZ 2: WORST BEHAVIOR (2015)

25. Blood In, Blood Out

I came to McCannics to take care of business, but I end up having some fun.

With the pistol I feel like Roxie Hart and Velma Kelly from Chicago - We both reached for the gun! Veronica and Charlie doing number seventeen: the spread eagle! Put me on murderess row.

Then I try two revolvers at the same time, trying to twirl and tuck them into my pockets like in an old western. I fail, of course. One, because I don't have the hand-eye coordination, and two, because I have no pockets. Still I imagine a tumbleweed drifting by and "The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly" theme song playing in the background.

I pretend to be the captain of my black-ops team with the M16 and make sure the coast is clear for my soldiers. With the shotgun I feel like an Australian hunter on National Geographic creeping on my prey, and narrate accordingly.

Oh, man. I'm having way too much fun with this.

I finally get down to the last gun, and I hesitate. I actually don't think I've seen one like it before. My guess is it's a rifle, based on the stock, rear sight, and elongated barrel - but the end is super thin and there's two pieces attached to the front. That's new. I pick it up out of curiosity. I'm immediately surprised; it looks heavy, but it's super lightweight.

I carry it over to the first booth and balance it on my shoulder, preparing for a shot. Something about it feels awkward, so I twist it until I'm holding it sideways. I rest my cheek on the leather piece - that must be what it's there for - and align my vision with the front sight. Peering through it is like looking through a magnifying glass - I feel like I'm staring right at the target. It looks like it's only inches away.

Intrigued, I drop the safety. I curl my finger around the trigger, steel myself, and squeeze. A bullet spits from the rifle, whistles through the air, and strikes the dead center of the target. All in about three seconds.

"Whoa," I breathe, amazed.

Without moving an inch I squeeze the trigger again. The bullet strikes the outline in the exact same place: dead center. It's mesmerizing, and pretty sick. I risk moving out of position to turn off the music from the keypad on the wall. It takes me a minute to perfect it again, resume focus. The rifle seems to have infinite bullets and I'm steadily going through each one. I'm so into it, in fact, that when I hear the door open behind me I swivel around with the rifle still in my hand.

Jason throws his hands up and smirks. "Whoa. I surrender."

I laugh and lower the gun, pulling the safety back up. "Oh, sorry. You scared me."

He crosses his arms over his chest. "You don't look scared to me. You training to be a sniper or something?"

"That's what this is? A sniper rifle?"

"Well, yeah." He walks over to me and takes it, flicking out the two attached pieces. "This is a bipod. It holds it up so you can stand it on a surface, like this. Keeps it stationary if you wanna adjust it." He perches it on the counter. "Then you rest your chin or cheek here." He points to the leather piece and demonstrates, looking through the front sight at my work before rising up. He looks impressed. "But you did a good job." He glances down the row of outlines, all ruptured by precise bullet holes. "Actually, you did a really good job."

At first I flush, thinking of my epic (and silly) escapades before he showed up. I smile shyly. "I was getting in some practice."

He drags his gaze down my body and back up to my face, smirking appreciatively. "I wake up from my nap and my dad tells me you're at McCannics. I figured you were shootin' up - always on your grind."