Page 14 of The Boy Who Cried Bear
“You said you’re a big-game hunter,” Dalton says.
“I am.”
“You wanted to test your marksmanship against Casey.”
Louie doesn’t answer. We exchange another look.
“Get up,” Dalton says.
Louie takes his time. He knows something is up.
Dalton holsters his sidearm and removes the shotgun from his back. “You’re going to shoot this. You make one move to swing it in our direction, and I will fire.”
“You’ll shoot me?” Louie says, his voice rising in equal parts concern and outrage.
“Yeah.” Dalton holds up the can of bear spray. “With this. Now, take the gun.”
Louie does. Then he looks down at it. “What kind of rifle is this?”
“It’s a shotgun,” Gunnar says. “Even I know that.”
Louie hands it back. “I can’t shoot that.” He waves at me. “Give me what she’s got. That’s a rifle.”
I look at Dalton. Obviously, we hadn’t expected to test Louie’s marksmanship with a shotgun, but the fact that he didn’t recognize it casts some doubts on his big-game-hunter story.
When Dalton nods, I hand over the hunting rifle. Louie starts positioning it awkwardly.
“You’re going to need the magazine,” Dalton says.
Louie blinks at him.
“We don’t carry them loaded when we’re not actively hunting,” Dalton drawls as I hand over the magazine.
Louie fusses with the rifle and magazine, frowning and obviously having no clue how to put them together.
“It’s not the sort I’ve used,” he says, a touch of a whine in his voice. “You’ve got some really shitty gear out here.”
“Shitty for what?” Dalton says. “Taking down an elephant?”
“If it’ll take down an elephant, it’ll take down a grizzly.”
“When’s the last time you went hunting?”
Louie bristles. “Last winter. Up in Alaska hunting wolves.”
Now I’m the one bristling, I can’t help it. I glance at Dalton. His mouth is set in a firm line.
“From a plane,” Dalton says.
“Got two.”
“From a plane.” Dalton’s lip curls now, contempt rolling off him.
“Wow,” Gunnar says. “People actually do that?”
“If they can afford it, they do,” Louie says. “Not that any of you would know about that.” He hands me back the rifle and magazine. “Screw this. I’m done.”
I look at Dalton. We can’t force Louie to prove his shooting skills. Dalton had asked because neither of us likes Louie’s story, and now we like it even less.
