Page 10 of Fire for Effect

I placed my hands on my hips, cocking my head to the side.

He looked confused. His son screamed a guttural, “Get her, Daddy!”

I waited to see if the proverbial lightbulb above his head would ever click on.

He tried again. Click.

Then again, and again, and again. Click. Click. Click.

“You know, the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result,” I said, flatly.

“Fuck you!” he said again as he tried to pull back the slide to figure out what was wrong with the gun.

Click.

“Okay, this isn’t funny anymore.” I pulled my Glock from the holster in the back of my trousers and pointed it right at Kyle’s head. “And seriously? You can’t tell that there’re no bullets? You can’t feel the weight difference?”

Lowell looked confused. That must be his default setting.

“I took your bullets while you idiots were at the supply store,” I said, slowly, for extra emphasis. “You don’t think I scoped you out before I came in here?”

I snorted. Kyle liked to pull out his overcompensating Desert Eagle and show it to his buddies while they partied in the backyard, sitting on fold out, shooting at random trees. It was unsafe and for a minute I was worried he’d accidentally hit me while I lay in the prone position, observing his pattern of life.

“Kyle Lowell, you skipped out on bail, and you’re gonna come with me.”

“Fuck you!”

The guy was a broken record.

“Go quietly, or I shoot the kid,” I said, turning the gun to his boy, who still hovered over his mom on the floor.

I wasn’t going to shoot the kid. I’m not an animal.

“Shoot him, I don’t care,” Lowell said, and the complete disregard in his voice told me that he meant it. The guy really did not give a shit about his own kid. “My guys will fucking end you!”

“Dad!” His son cried, a fat tear rolling down his cheek.

Kyle was already searching around their kitchen, desperate for another weapon.

“Father of the fucking year,” I said, with a sneer.

I hated shitty fathers. Hell, I hated shitty parents in general. But this was beyond shitty.

I turned my gun away from the kid, back to Lowell and pulled the trigger. I struck him and he went down howling, his hand over the gaping hole in his acid-washed jeans.

“Remember this, kid,” I said, putting my weapon on safe and putting it back into the holster. “Your dad’s a piece of shit, and you don’t want to be like him.”

The wide-eyed boy gaped at his dad, then back at his mom.

“Oh, I get it,” I said, squatting down in front of the kid. I placed my finger on his mom’s neck. The kid was too terrified to stop me. When I found a pulse, I got back to my feet.

“Your Ma’s gonna be fine. Hell, she probably really loved this son of a bitch, and that’s what made you. But here’s the thing, a good parent earns their kids every single day. And this mother fucker? He didn’t do a damn thing by you when it mattered.”

My heavy boots stomped along the ground, shaking the whole house.

“Your Ma probably worked a ton of overtime. Might even have two jobs? Dad comes by, sits around on his ass, shooting the shit, and playing games, but never cleans up, and definitely doesn’t hold down employment long enough to pay a bill, huh?” I turned pointing my finger at the boy. “Am I right?”

The kid scrunched his face, and I knew I hit the mark.

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