My Geek of a Fake Boyfriend Works for the CIA?

Chapter 18

 "Carl."

 "Dude, come on. Just say it already and stop acting like a bitch," Carl whined.

 "You're the man," I grumbled.

 "Huh? What's that? I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" he shouted. It was shocking he couldn't hear me gritting my teeth.

 "YOU'RE THE MAN."

 "Damn right I am! Now if only your pretty little-" I growled protectively, and he backpedaled. "Uhh... nevermind. Anyway, Boss is calling a meeting so you better fly back out there tonight."

 "I can't..." I said slowly.

 "What? Why not?"

 "I'm... workingonacasealready," I muttered.

 "Sorry, did you just say you're working on a case already?" He asked incredulously.

 "You heard what I said," I rolled my eyes yet again, wondering if you really could get your eyes stuck from doing this.

 "All I know is, you better come to the meeting or else you won't be a part of this. You know how Boss is," he told me simply. I closed my eyes.

 "He wouldn't do that. He knows how important that case is to me."

 "Even so... Last time, remember what happened? You were suspended for a week, and he was even hesitant about letting you back on once you served your punishment."

 "It's not like he'd kick me off the case, Carl, and that was only one time," I said firmly.

 "One time is a time too many. You never know... it got awfully personal before we lost 'em."

 "I don't want to talk about it right now. What time and day is the meeting?" I asked, trying to calm myself down.

 "Tomorrow, eight a.m. Boss will have your hide if you're not there on time," he reminded me.

 "No, I'm the favorite, remember? He'd make an exception, even though he'd never admit it," I chuckled. Carl grouched.

 "Yeah, yeah, man. Whatever. Look, I gotta go. Meeting some Maria chick at a pub downtown. Wish me luck!" he chirped cheerily.

 "Don't you have anything better to do than collect STDs on a daily basis?"

 "You're just jealous you can't let go and have fun like I do."

 "I really don't care. But if you get a life-threatening one, don't come bawling to me," I sighed.

 "Later Mr. I-Have-A-Permanent-Stick-Up-My-Ass."

 I just shook my head and hung up. Now alone and with nothing to do, I decided to go to the shooting range this city had. It took somewhat of a drive, but I parked above the hill and got out of the car, patting the gun in the back of my jeans to make sure it was still tucked in there undisturbed.

 The building was rundown and crummy looking, with a peeling paint job, but I didn't mind. The more run-down, the more used it was. I went in and carefully chose some bullets, and the gun I wanted to use. (Bear with me, I've never gone to a shooting range so I'm just trying to make it realistic.)

 "That'll be $30.75," the woman at the desk drawled, holding out her hand. I rested the pistol under my arm and paid for the ammo in cash. I had the weird feeling as I walked away that the lady was looking at me, so I discreetly checked over my shoulder to see that she was, indeed, watching me.

 Ignoring her completely, I went to my little section and clapped on the available headphones. There was only one other guy in here, but he was a couple rows down from me. I loaded the bullets into my semi-automatic, and aimed, squinting at the target held up a few hundred feet from me.