Show Me How You
He'd expected a kick, a stone bitch of a recoil sending his wrists flying like every cheap crack he's ever heard, but no, it just jumps a little. The noise though, God, brass knuckles on his hungover head. Flapping and cawing from up above. He winces. And the bottle that Eddie set up on a convenient stump is still there, untouched, intact. And Eddie standing behind him. Everheard anyone roll their eyes?
– Try again, Eddie says.
He fires again, misses again. Eddie sighs quietly. That old cold ache climbing up Mink's throat, for however safe he feels what if one day he pisses him off what if one day he really pisses him off and then -
– So I shoot like a pansy, he says, he says it too shrill, too sharp, – Christ, you can't have everything, I got other good qualities.
– Yeah?
– Yeah. He spins round and slips a hand into Eddie's coat. – And bad.
Eddie's face clouds. Getting friendly anywhere other than a bedroom seems to rattle him. It's so strange; him being rattled, at anything, at all, ever, and Jesus, all the bathrooms and backrooms and bathhouses and back alleys and parks Mink used to do the business in back in the day but if he ever so much as mentions that Eddie gets – well. Rattled.
He spins him back. – Square your shoulders. That's it. Feet apart. He kicks them gently into the right position. Concentrate, Mink chides himself.
Eddie's arms come round and bracket his own. His hands on Mink's hands on the gun, almost enveloping it.
– Steady. Thing with a .22, he says, – is you have to be sure. Then you just-
Mink breathes in and feels himself rise and fall against the man at his back. Be sure, he thinks, you can be sure, yeah, you can.
He squeezes the trigger. The bottle – just – bam. See ya. One little choice and it's splinters, it's dust. A big stupid smile stretching his face.
– Yeah, says Eddie, like glacé gravel. Then they kiss, soft, the weight and heat of the gun satisfying in their shared grip. No point having it if you can't use it Eddie'd said earlier, hauling him out of his death-doze on the couch and out here to practice which is true, sure it is. But in these arms Mink can almost forget why he thought he'd need it. The trees creak above them.