Toby Neal: Blood Orchids

“You were lucky. They only had one left.”

She popped the clasps and opened it. Nestled in the gray foam was the clean, matte black shape of a new Glock. 40.

“Oh,” she said, sighing, “so pretty.”

She took it out, checked that the magazine was removed, racked the slide a couple times to make sure the barrel was empty, and dry-fired it, disengaging the slide and setting the grip, slide and firing pin mechanism in a neat row.

Stevens watched, sipping his wine as she got up and brought a small zippered carryall to the table out of one of the drawers. She took a moleskin rag and rubbed each piece of the gun; padded a steel rod with a cloth patch and rammed it back and forth in the barrel; and lightly touched the top four points of the slide track with gun oil, polishing the excess off. She blew the interior of the grip out with compressed air. Her movements quick and economical, she reassembled the gun, racking the slide a couple more times just to hear the smooth snick it made, dry firing and enjoying the fat muffled click of the trigger. Grinning, she turned to him.

“I love this gun. Nothing works for me like a Glock.”

“Works for me too,” he said, hooking her neck to pull her into a kiss that left the Glock dangling, forgotten, from her hand. “That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered.

The crowing of wild roosters heralded the morning. Mynah birds squabbled in a nearby mango tree and wafting plumeria perfume tickled her nose as Lei misted her orchids, savoring being in her little backyard and the well-being that filled her body in spite of its injuries.

The orchids were a little dry and leathery, but they looked like they would recover from the brief stint of neglect when she’d been too distracted to care for them. Keiki sniffed around the edges of the yard, checking the perimeter.

“Good morning.”

She turned, mister in hand, and smiled at the sight of Stevens in the doorway, a mug of coffee in his hand and jeans riding low on his hips. It was a replay of a scene not long ago, one she’d been too distracted by Mary’s death to appreciate.

She didn’t realize she was still staring until he came down the steps, set the coffee on the orchid bench and kissed her thoroughly.

“You can’t look at me like that without paying the price.”

“Okay,” she said meekly, and let herself be led back inside. It was the first time she remembered ever being meek, and it felt damn good.

Later, Stevens got out of the shower, sighing as he toweled his hair.

“I hate to go to work,” he said. Lei watched him from the rumpled bed. He put on his low-key aloha shirt, chinos, a pair of tan running shoes. Threaded his belt through the loops, holstered his weapon, clipped his badge on, pocketed his cell phone and wallet.

“Duty calls,” he said. “Get some rest.”

She continued to watch, fascinated by the brisk, economical movements. He put his hands on his hips.

“You okay?”

“Can’t remember ever watching a man get ready for work before.”

“You telling me this is your first morning-after experience?”

“Yeah.”

“Damn. I got to be sure to do things right then,” he said, and crawled across the bed to kiss her some more. She was still smiling when the door clicked shut behind him.

That afternoon, Lei held her arms straight out, the new Glock level, sighting down the barrel. Fortunately her trigger finger was on her good hand. She squeezed and shot out the center of the hanging target in a circle of neat round holes. Both the kickback and report were more than she remembered, and her broken wrist thumped a protest.

Fuck physical therapy, she thought. This will strengthen my wrist just fine, and boy, do I love the practice.

She lowered the weapon, expelling the empty clip, ramming in a full one. Felt a tap on her shoulder, turned. It was Ray Solomon from class, hazel eyes crinkled in a smile behind clear safety goggles.

“Hey, there.” She pried up the soundproof earmuffs, dropping them around her neck. “Howzit going, Ray?”

“Hey, yourself. Where you been, girl?” He gave her a brief hug, pointed to her cast. “Problems?”

“Long story,” she said. She holstered the Glock. They exited her booth into the foyer area. “Didn’t know you came here to shoot.”

“Not many places besides here,” Ray said. “Hilo Gun Club’s the only show in town. So what’s the story?”

“Tangled with a perp.” Lei shrugged. “I’m on recovery leave.”

“Hope he got the worst of it.”

“No worries there. So what’s new?”

“Not much. Still trying to get on the force. Can you put in a word for me? I’ve got an interview with Lieutenant Ohale next week.”

“Maybe.” She cocked her head. “Anything I should know about your shady past?”

“No.” He laughed deprecatingly. “I got busted selling weed as a senior in high school. They decided to make an example of me, sent me to juvie for 6 months.”

“That’s too bad. Learned your lesson, did you?”

“Of course.”

“So where you been? Haven’t seen you at class lately.”

“Family problems. Had to work some things out.” She wished she could see his eyes, but it was hard to tell behind the safety goggles. “Hey, I’m about done. Want to get something to eat?”

“Thanks,” Lei said, “but I just put in another clip. I’ve got to get in at least an hour. I’m so rusty.”

“Some other time.” He swung his equipment bag up onto his muscular shoulder. “See you around.”

“Bye.”

She watched him go, frowning a little as he brushed out through the double doors of the firing range and crossed the parking lot, heading toward a charcoal-dark Toyota Tacoma.

No way. Another dark Toyota truck?

Her heart slammed against her bruised ribs. Oh yeah, she’d killed the guy, and it wasn’t Ray Solomon.

He looked back as he climbed into the cab and she quickly bent over, pretending to be tying her shoelace. She then ran to the window and looked at the license plate as the truck pulled out, memorizing it and taking her cell phone out of her windbreaker pocket.

“Pono. You at your desk?”

“Yeah. What’s up?”

“Can you run a plate for me? HLMGH44.”

“Just a minute.” She heard keys clicking. “Ray Solomon, age twenty-six. High school record for dealing in California-nothing current.”

“Would that keep him off the force if he tried to become a police officer?”

“Probably. It’s a felony conviction at age seventeen. Looks like they gave him maximum sentence. What’s this about?”

“Not sure. Ran into him here at the firing range.” She put her finger in her ear against the muffled thump of shots from the soundproofed booths. “He’s in my Criminal Justice class. He’s asked me out a couple times, and he’s just-a little off.”

“You got the stalker though. Not every guy in a dark Tacoma is a criminal, sister. Sure you don’t need to go see Dr. Wilson again?”

“Already did. Never mind.” She shut the phone abruptly. Her gut was out to lunch on this one. She went back in to use up her ammo.

She put Keiki on her leash and set off on an afternoon walk, her cast stabilized in the sling the doctor had sent home. The straps from the sling and the holster rubbed uncomfortably and her stride was slow as she made her way down the block, keeping her casted arm clamped over the gun and handling the leash with her good hand. Leaving the gun home had somehow seemed like a bad idea.

The prevailing wind that usually blew Kilauea Volcano’s belching smoke out to sea had changed direction today, and thick ‘vog’ had settled over the town, a gauzy haze that softened the edges of everything.