The kids ride a few more of the rides, but Derek won’t go on the Wonky Caterpillar because he says it’s for babies. Billy goes with Shan, and the fit is so tight that Jamal has to yank him out like a cork from a bottle when the ride is over. That makes them all laugh.
They are walking back to find the Raglands when they come to Dead-Eye Dick’s Shooting Gallery. Half a dozen men are having a go with BB guns, shooting at five rows of targets moving in opposite directions, plus tin rabbits that pop up and down. Shanice points to a giant pink flamingo atop the wall of prizes and says, ‘I’d love to have that for my bedroom. Could I buy it out of my allowance?’
Her father explains that it’s not for sale, you have to win it.
‘Then you win it, Dad!’ she says.
The man running the shooting shy is wearing a striped shirt, a rakishly tilted straw boater, and a fake curly mustache. He looks like he belongs in a barber shop quartet. He hears Shanice and waves Jamal over. ‘Make your little girl happy, mister, knock over three rabbits or four of the birds in the top row and she’s going home with Freddy Flamingo.’
Jamal laughs and hands over five bucks for twenty shots. ‘Prepare for disappointment, sweetie,’ he says, ‘but I might win you one of the smaller prizes.’
‘You can do it, Dad,’ Derek says stoutly.
Billy watches Jamal shoulder the rifle and knows he’ll be lucky to wind up with one of the stuffed turtles that are the consolation prizes for two hits.
‘Go for the birds,’ Billy says. ‘I know the rabbits are bigger, but you can only take snap shots when they pop up.’
‘If you say so, Dave.’
Jamal pops off ten shots at the birds in the top row and hits exactly none. He lowers his sights, pops a couple of the lumbering tin moose in the bottom row, and accepts one of the turtles. Shanice eyes it without much enthusiasm but says thank you.
‘What about you, hoss?’ the barber shop quartet guy asks Billy. Most of his other customers have drifted away. ‘Want to give it a try? Five bucks buys you twenty shots and you only need to hit four of the birdies to make your pretty little pal the happy owner of Frankie Flamingo.’
‘I thought it was Freddy,’ Billy says.
The concession guy smiles and tips his straw boater the other way. ‘Frankie, Freddy, or Felicia, make a little girl happy.’
Shanice looks at him hopefully but says nothing. It’s Derek who convinces him to do the stupid thing when he says, ‘Mr Ragland says all these games are a cheat and nobody wins the big prizes.’
‘Well, let’s test that out,’ Billy says, and lays down a five-spot. Mr Barber Shop Quartet loads a paper spill of BBs and hands Billy a rifle. A few other men and two women are currently at the shy’s counter. Billy moves down partly to give them room, but also because he’s noticed that the tin birds – plus the targets on the other four levels – slow down a bit before they turn out of sight. Probably the chain drives need to be oiled. Which is lazy. The shy’s proprietor should pay for that.
‘Are you going for the birds, Dave?’ Derek asks. It’s been quite awhile since they stopped calling him Mr Lockridge. ‘Like you told Dad?’
‘Absolutely,’ Billy says. He takes a breath, lets it out, takes another and lets it out, takes a third and holds it. He makes no effort to use the little rifle’s sight, which will be wildly out of true. He just snugs his head against the rifle’s stock and fires quickly – pop-pop-pop-pop-pop. The first one misses; his next four knock over four tin birds. He knows he’s doing a stupid thing and should quit, but he can’t resist knocking over one of the rabbits when it rises from its hole.
The Ackermans applaud. So do the other shooters. And, to his credit, so does Mr Barber Shop Quartet before grabbing the pink flamingo and handing it over to Shanice, who hugs it and laughs.
‘Wow, Dave!’ Derek says. His eyes are shining. ‘You rock!’
Now Jamal will ask me where I learned to shoot like that, Billy thinks. And then he thinks, How do you know you’re an idiot? Because if everyone is looking at you, like they are now, you’re an idiot.
It’s actually Corrie who asks him, as they resume their stroll to the Bingo tent. Billy tells her it was in ROTC. That he was just naturally good at it. Telling her he killed at least twenty-five mujin in Fallujah, shooting from rooftops during the nine days of Operation Phantom Fury, would be a bad idea.
Oh, you think? he asks himself with a sarcasm that’s very unlike him – in his thoughts or aloud.