Wake up, Tony.
You hear that sound? That’s the safety lock being pulled back on my Semi-automatic Glock nineteen, perfect fit in my tiny hand. Feels nice.
Remember the time we spent at the gun range? You teaching me the basics. Me scared like a kitten visiting a lion’s den. But I’m doing fine today. No tremble in my hands. No sweating.
What were the big three again?
One: treat every gun as if it were loaded. Don’t worry, this one is.
Two: gun always pointed in a safe direction. In this case that means away from me.
Three: Finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot. Oh, I’m ready.
And four: Don’t point at anything you’re not willing to destroy.
And then there’s the proper stance: elbow slightly bent, leaned forward to absorb the weapon’s recoil. I’m ready, motherfucker. Are you?
Remember how spooked I was when you bought me the gun for my birthday. Too scared to touch it. You told me I needed it, living in this shitty neighborhood. Never know who’s going to be lurking in the bushes late at night, watching, waiting. You never know what kind of harm some creep like that can do if you’re not ready for him.
But now I’m ready. Because now I know the creeps don’t only come with crowbars and handmade shivs. Sometimes they come with big smiles and shitty lies that almost make sense. And sometimes they get busted coming back from office parties that didn’t happen. Because they forget their cell phones at home. Wake up, Tony. I really need to empty a few rounds in your skull. But I’m waiting until you’re wide-awake because I need you to know why.