32. Bullet for My Valentine
Dora followed Jason down an abandoned street, which was telling of the part of town she was in. It was nine in the morning and supposed to be the height of morning rush hour. They were riding their motorcycles through an industrial park full of derelict warehouses a few blocks away from Morrison Motors and the Street Demonz's clubhouse.
She was feeling more natural riding a motorcycle and was thoroughly enjoying it—especially at night when the streets were clear. She had gotten over her fear of cars quickly, but the regular stop-and-go street traffic of Gotham during the day could get especially tedious on a motorcycle. Jessie had taught her how to weave through traffic, which Dora learned was called "lane splitting." She was, however, wary of doing it because it was illegal in New Jersey, and she didn't want to draw attention to herself. This was in spite of the fact that it was surprisingly easy in the new motorcycle the Demonz had given her.
Well, they didn't exactly give it to her. Jessie said that Dora was basically leasing it. For free. Indefinitely. It pretty much meant she only had to give it back if they ever needed it for a patched member of the club.
Reilly called it a bobber. Though Dora had learned to ride, she still knew nothing about motorcycle models and parts. All she knew was that her bike was a spry little thing and custom-fitted for her, just like Reilly had promised. It had no extraneous features like saddle bags, or a windshield, or a backrest, or a passenger seat, or a fancy console on the handlebars. Trimming off all those luxury parts meant it was smaller and lighter, which in turn meant she could handle it better than the big bike she had learned on. To her, it felt like a bicycle with an engine and gas tank.
To top it off, Jason had gotten her a really cool leather jacket. She felt like a badass.
Jason turned the corner towards a particularly run-down warehouse tucked next to an elevated train railway. The building looked condemned and ready to crumble. It was covered in graffiti and its windows were smashed in. Everything iron or steel in its construction was stained black, or rusty brown, or flaking off.
Dora followed Jason as he circled to the back of the warehouse. He drove up to an open shipping container sitting next to a loading dock and parked his bike inside. He signaled for her to do the same.
"Where are we?" Dora asked, shutting off her bike and taking off her helmet. She had learned that tying her hair into a low pony helped keep the helmet hair under control.
Jason traded his helmet for a baseball cap, but kept his sunglasses on.
"One of our armories."
"You store your weapons here?"
"Yeah, Morrison Motors gets 'audited' and 'inspected' all the time," he said using air quotes. "Cops keeping tabs on us. Best to store contraband off-site." The whole time Jason was explaining, he was rubbernecking, surveying the lot with a keen eye. Dora could not help but give their surroundings a quick scan as well. Appearances told her they were in a virtual ghost town.
They walked up to a heavy steel door located right next to an overturned dumpster a homeless man had made into a shack. Dora slowed her stride and put Jason in between her and the man.
"Good morning, Red," the homeless man said as they approached, looking at Jason with bright, discerning eyes.
"Mornin', Bobby." Jason tipped his hat to him. "Everything good?"
"All clear, boss." On closer inspection, Dora noticed an earpiece coming out of the man's collar and a shoulder holster under his layered jackets. Bobby wasn't homeless—he was an undercover guard. "Everything's set up for you."
"Thanks," Jason said. "Do you have ear protection?"
Bobby pulled out some ratty looking earmuffs.
"Eyes sharp then."
"You got it, Red."
The large steel door was unlocked, and it led into what used to be a ruined office. The room was full of moldy broken furniture, dented filing cabinets, and rotting paper. Paint was peeling off the walls. There was another door beyond the office, made of rusting but formidable looking steel and reinforced hinges. Jason unlocked it and lugged it open with a grunt.
Dora expected the warehouse to be dark. After all, it didn't seem like any power or utilities were coming to this building. However, the main room was brightly lit because half the roof was missing. Dora realized why the warehouse was abandoned and everything was rusty and moldy. This warehouse had once caught fire. Damage from the fire and the water used to contain it must have ruined and condemned the whole building.
"Don't worry," Jason said, following Dora's gaze and looking up. "What's left of the roof isn't going to fall. This building was condemned almost ten years ago, and then the earthquake shook it all loose. If it were going to fall apart, it would have done so by now."
Jason led her to a corner that was laid out with a few tables made of plywood and sawhorses. An old black van was parked nearby.
"Did you bring your gun?" he asked.
"Yeah," she pulled it out of her jacket. That was one more thing she loved about the leather jacket Jason had given her, it had deep pockets on the inside. "But it's not loaded. I don't have any bullets." She had the gun's registration, but not a concealed carry license—or even an open carry license—so it made her feel marginally better that the weapon she was illegally toting around wasn't immediately dangerous. Her father had taught her to be a responsible gun owner, so she was feeling very conflicted today.
He walked over to the van and opened the back, revealing an assortment of plastic and steel cases.
"This is your armory?" Dora asked. "All this space, just to hide that?"
Jason scoffed. "No, this is the mobile armory. We have an assortment of gear loaded up on this van, so we have quick access to it in case of an emergency. The rest is stored in those containers over there." He pointed at the far end of the warehouse—where a dozen shipping containers were situated.
"What's all that?" Dora asked, pointing at a maze of free standing plywood walls deeper in the facility.
"We call it a tactical village," Jason explained. "Something Reilly and I are working on to properly train the Demonz. You saw with Chuck, the guy you and Reilly patched up that one night. They're all brave enough to run into a gunfight, but guts only get you so far and guts alone don't keep you alive. They need to be prepared for any situation. I'll run you through it once it's done being set up."
A shiver trickled down Dora's back. She couldn't even begin to imagine what kind of weapons were in those containers, but if Jason needed at least twelve of them, then that meant he was fit to equip a small militia. And he had the men. And those we're being trained.
Good God, Jason was actually mustering an army. The only thing stopping Jason from taking over Gotham by sheer brute force were his morals.
He saw the look on her face and said, "Don't worry, we'll use rubber bullets in there. But today, we're using live ammunition, so be careful. Trigger discipline, like Monty taught you." He took off his hat and sunglasses and clunked down a canister of ammunition onto a plywood table. "Small note. When the bullet is still in the casing, it's called a round." He grabbed one, holding it between his thumb and fore finger. "This," he pointed at the copper-looking tip of the round, "the itty bitty part that whizzes through the air and does all the damage, is the bullet."
"So, is this what your training is going to be like? You mansplaining phallic shaped objects to me?"
"Hey, it's what you signed up for," he said, smiling. God damn it, he looked so kissable when he did that… Dora snapped back to her senses when he handed her two empty magazines. "Refill while I set up some targets."
She did so as Jason took some plywood boards from a nearby stack and leaned them against some tires. He took a staple gun and large target sheets from the van and stuck them to the boards. They had bullseyes on them.
Jason walked back to her holding safety earplugs. She put them on.
"Alright, show me what you got," he said.
She loaded a magazine and pulled the slide. The gun clicked as it chambered a round. The trigger stiffened. It was armed.
Ready to kill.
Suddenly, Dora's heart began pounding so hard, she could feel it in her temples. The pressure quickly mounted, her chest and head were about to explode.
This was the gun she used to kill the man that had broken into her bar and tried to take Carla. She never learned his name, but it did not matter. He haunted her nightmares almost every night.
She still remembered in all-too-vivid detail where she had shot him. On the left cheek, right next to his mouth. She remembered the halo of red mist sprouting from behind his head as the bullet tore through him, killing him instantly.
She felt sick. Her stomach lurched. She couldn't breathe.
She was having a panic attack.
They didn't happen often to her anymore. She thought she got over panic-inducing anxiety when she quit the clinic… Then Jason showed up.
All of a sudden, the gun was gone and she was in Jason's arms. "Breathe, Dora. It's okay."
She tried, but there was no oxygen in the air she was gulping down and it made her dizzy.
"Close your eyes, focus on my hands." Jason combed his hands into her hair, and massaged her scalp. "Breathe deep."
Steadily, slowly, the pressure in Dora's chest and head backed off. She could breathe again and that's what she focused on for the next few minutes. Eventually, she could think again.
Jason kissed her, whispering, "You got this, Dee. You're strong. I know you are. Stronger than you've ever been. Take this and show me."
He handed the gun back to her and put earmuffs on her head.
Dora swallowed past a dry throat, nodding. She stared at the target, glad she had worn her contacts today. She was far from an expert, but her dad had taught her the basics of shooting a handgun. It was those lessons that had saved her, Carla's, and Holly's lives that night.
Checking her stance, grip, and breathing, she lined up the sights, then fired.
POW! POW! POW! She switched targets. POW! POW! POW! POW! Click.
"Nice!" Jason yelled. "Your aim is off, but your grouping is excellent."
None of her shots hit the center marks, but they were grouped within inches from each other.
"You have good control, decent aim, but you gotta learn your weapon better, zero yourself with it."
"Zero myself?" Dora asked, removing one ear cup, and trying to listen carefully to him.
"Yeah, align yourself. You can't adjust the sights on this gun to make the bullet hit right where you aim it, so you just have to learn how it behaves and adjust yourself to it. Try this."
Next Jason set up a row of seven beer bottles on a sawhorse, one for every round in the magazine.
Dora reloaded. With an okay signal from him, Dora shot them, one after the other, missing only two.
Jason nodded in approval.
"Jay, I know how to shoot stationary targets. I grew up shooting bottles with my dad. The bad guys aren't going to sit still and wait for me to line up a shot."
"True. That was just a warm-up, that's why I have this." He went back to the van and pulled out huge a bulging sack.
"What's in the bag?" Dora said, reloading and cocking.
"Don't think for now, just shoot. We're working on muscle memory, not tactics." He pulled out a bright orange basketball and tossed it across the range.
Now that was a challenge. Dora couldn't hit the damn thing until it stopped bouncing and was just rolling. And even then, it took her a whole seven-round magazine. Jason didn't give her a chance to pause. As soon as one ball was hit, he tossed another one, and while Dora tried to hit that one, he refilled her magazines.
Eventually, Dora found that Jason didn't need to replace the basketballs, because she wasn't hitting that many. They were getting harder to hit the more she tried, or rather it was getting harder to shoot. Her hand was going numb, and her eyes were getting tired from the strain of aiming. Eventually she gave up.
"That's it, I'm done." She put the gun down on the table, noticing how hot it had gotten. She massaged some feeling back into her hand. It felt like someone had given her an overly enthusiastic high five.
Jason ran around, collecting the basketballs and tossing them—quite accurately—into a steel barrel so they wouldn't roll away. "Look, Dee. I know how attached you are to your dad's gun, but I want to suggest something."
"Yeah, what's that?"
"You noticed how much easier it is to ride a motorcycle that's suited to your size, right?"
"Yeah." Ever since Jessie got her the smaller stripped-down bobber, she was starting to feel as confidant riding a motorcycle as she was driving a car.
"We can apply the same logic to a gun, at least until you develop the discipline, skill, and muscle memory to shoot properly and accurately. I got something for you."
Dora followed him to the van, where he pulled out a shoebox-sized plastic case.
She backed off, waving her hands. She was already feeling kind of guilty for accepting a ton of gifts from Jason… first all the financial help for the bar, then her car, then the motorcycle, and the leather jacket, and now this. Jason was not buying her off, but it made Dora uncomfortable to think where their relationship would be if he had not given her all those gifts. It must've been how her mother felt when she was dating her father.
"I can't, Jason."
"It's not some token gift, Dora," he said, holding out the case for her. "It's for your protection. Take it, please."
She took the case and opened it to reveal a pistol, a small boxy one. It looked like it was made of black Legos. "Is this legit?"
"Yeah. On paper, it belongs to Lily. If you want to register it, just say you got it from her. Get a concealed permit if it'll make you feel better."
"Okay…" Dora said, noting with unease that gun laws were too easy to work around in New Jersey.
"It's a Glock. It doesn't pack as much of a punch as your Colt." He picked it up and ejected the magazine, showing her the rounds. "The rounds are smaller, lower caliber."
"Doesn't that mean less damaging?" Dora asked.
"Yeah, the bullets for this gun won't go through heavy cover or armor or even kill as easily as the Colt's forty-fives, but what difference does cover make if the target isn't behind any, or armor if they aren't wearing it? But most importantly, what good is a gun if you can't land a hit anyway? A well-placed shot with this still kills."
"You're saying this is easier to shoot?"
"To quote our last pro-gun mayor, 'so easy it's scary.'" Jason led her back to the plywood table. He loaded and checked the gun, then handed it to her. "The Colt has seven rounds a magazine. The Glock has seventeen. Give it a shot," he said with a smirk.
Dora couldn't help but crack a smile back at him for that pun. She got a feel for the weapon while Jason went over to the barrel of basketballs. The Glock was much lighter and smaller than her dad's Colt, and more modern looking.
Jason tossed the first basketball. It bounced once and Dora fired off her first shot.
Pow!
The basketball abruptly changed direction in mid-air, then landed with a heavy flop, not bouncing, not rolling.
She had hit it. On her first try. And the recoil was nowhere near as bad her Colt.
Dora looked down at the pistol. "Whoa."
Jason smirked and gave her a nod. "Yeah. You've been swinging around a broadsword, when a rapier was enough to get the job done."
He tossed another basketball. It took her three shots to hit it. She had to admit it was beginner's luck that she had hit the other ball on her first try. She was not suddenly an expert marksman, hitting every single shot.
But she could not deny that she was much more accurate… or at least the poor basketballs weren't surviving as long as they had when she was shooting at them with the Colt. It helped that the magazine held more than twice as many rounds, she didn't have to stop tracking her target to reload as often. It was exhilarating.
Occasionally, Jason would chime in with a tip or two, but all she really needed was practice, not lessons. They kept going until all the evil little basketballs were dead and Dora's lungs were burning from the gun smoke.
"Hey, you better watch out. Someday soon I'll be as good a shot as you."
"You think so?" Jason retrieved a tube of tennis balls from the van. Holding two in each hand, he tossed them down the range. Immediately afterward, with almost inhuman speed, he drew both his guns—custom Colts similar to her dad's—from inside his vest, and fired off four shots.
P-P-POW! POW!
The tennis balls spun off in haphazard directions. He had hit all of them. In less than than two seconds.
There was mischievous grin on his face. "Maybe not that soon."
Dora tried to look irritated, but she couldn't help but crack a smile. "Show off."
Jason twirled his guns before holstering them.
Rolling her eyes, Dora said, "Next you're going to tell me you can curve bullets."
Jason tilted his head and showed her his teeth. "Well…"
Dora gasped, "No, that's supposed to be impossible."
"Yeah, you're right," he said, shrugging off her playful slaps as he walked back to the van. "Which is why I'm going to show you how to throw knives next."
He opened a case to reveal a variety of bladed weapons, each with savage-looking edges.
Notes
Reference: "All These Things I Hate (Revolve Around Me)" by Bullet For My Valentine
Filler chapter with more Dora/Jason fluff. When I first planned these chapters, they were just a very quick training montage I glossed over, but then I realized it was a good opportunity to flesh out Dora and Jason's relationship. How am I doing? Do they make a good couple? Do you like this side of Jason? How about Dora?
Or are you ready for things to get amped up and crazy again?
Comments keep me writing so keep them coming! Sit tight for the next chapter!
Version 41.1