Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Bam, bam! Bam, bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!
She goes at it, tearing the shit out of her target until both guns are empty.
Sure enough, Jack and Jake, two brothers who work here, come running in, but when they realize that Mary is with me as I step up beside her, they back off, saying nothing and edging away slowly. Ugh. If it weren’t for my dad, I’d probably be banned for life from this place. As it is, I know he’s going to hear about this, and since I haven’t told him anything yet, I hope he doesn’t come here for a while so I can have a bit of a grace period to get my head together.
We’re presented with our targets soon after. Mary’s is completely destroyed. There are holes blown through it everywhere. Mine is much neater, but there’s no doubt in my mind now that Smoke’s granny isn’t any old granny. She’s a pistol-happy, badass of a granny.
The range has its own parking lot, and it’s not close to anything in particular. I’m not surprised when Mary pauses beside her sleek black sedan. It’s an imported car, and the crazy thing is, it looks strange. Like someone’s tampered with the glass and sheet metal. I only know that because there are a few car guys in the club, and I’ve spent way too much time with them. Their love of anything with wheels has kind of rubbed off on me. The vehicle looks like it’s reinforced, but I’m no expert.
“Coffee?” Mary grunts at me. Just that one word after shooting the hell out of her Glocks in there and demolishing her target.
“Uh, sure.” I only agree because we need to talk, and it couldn’t be done in there. I pretty much made a promise to Smoke that I would start here. However strange his granny is, I have to also remember that this isn’t just about him or me anymore. It’s about a heck of a lot more than that, which is the whole point.
“Good. There’s a place a few blocks over. Joe’s Rotten Beans.”
“Oh my god, why do they call it rotten? Do people actually go there?”
Mary winks at me and lets out a cackle that doesn’t sound like it’s coming from a granny but from someone who seriously gets too much joy out of being just a shade…off. Okay, I’m being nice here. I’m going to go with that word, but a few others do cross my mind.
“They call it rotten because it’s not rotten. It’s literally one of the best places in the city.”
“Does a guy name Joe own it?”
“No, it’s actually a woman. Her name is Sue-Anne.”
“Huh. Well, okay. I’m sure there’s only one, so I shouldn’t have a problem finding it. I’ll meet you there in ten?”
“You bet.” Mary slides into her car, slams the door, guns the engine, and peels out of the parking lot.
She either drives the way she lives, and she seems to live the way she shoots, which is over the top, out of this world, super wild style, or she’s putting on a show for me. An act. A you think you can get involved with my grandson…well, you don’t scare me sort of act.
Surprisingly, Joe’s Rotten Beans smells pretty good when I walk in. It’s a little coffee shop off the beaten path, but it’s currently packed. Every seat is taken, and there is barely room to file in and get into the line that nearly backs up to the door. Somehow, Mary beat the sound barrier and arrived so far ahead of me that she was now near the front of the line. She doesn’t wave me over, and I don’t feel okay with threading my way through the thick line to get to her. I’m even more astounded when she brushes past me a few minutes later carrying two black coffees.
“Come on. Let’s drink these outside where we can actually take a breath and hear the sound of our own thoughts.”
I gladly step out of the coffee shop. Thus far, I haven’t had any nausea—I think it’s too early yet—so the scent of other people, the heat of the shop, the closeness, and the roar of conversation all permeated with the rich smell of greasy beans isn’t churning my stomach one bit, but I’ve never been a fan of crowds.
The place has a few bistro tables that circle all the way around. It’s a small shop, but they have a pretty good spot. The street isn’t overly busy, so, impossibly enough, people must come out of their way to get here. Maybe the name actually attracts customers because they’re intrigued by it. Anything with such a bad name must be somewhat decent. Or perhaps it’s reverse psychology at its best. Anyway, the parking lot brackets the small brown building with the big windows and the bright red metal roof, and thankfully, the bistro tables set up all around outside are fairly comfy.