Chapter 3
Marcus stared at the heavy cream-colored paper in his hand, his thumb unconsciously rubbing the embossed gold seal at the bottom corner. The wind rustled the edges, but he kept a firm grip, his eyes scanning the formal paragraphs that bore the signature of the county district court and the stamp of the regional sheriff’s department. It was not a prank, nor was it a child’s drawing. It was a formal dispensation, granting Lucas Henderson permission to access the 300-yard range for the annual memorial qualification shoot—a tradition steeped in local history and strict competitive pride.
The man in the grey shirt, whose name tag read Arthur, leaned in closer. He pushed his baseball cap back on his forehead, revealing lines of weather-beaten skin around his eyes. “Well, I'll be,” Arthur muttered, his voice gravelly and low. “That’s Arthur Sr.’s old signature down there. Or at least the county clerk's attestation of it. Where'd you get this, son?”
May you like
Lucas stood up slowly, brushing a speck of dirt from his jeans before sliding the paper back into the side pocket of his canvas bag. He zipped it shut with a quiet rasp. “My dad left instructions before he passed,” Lucas said, his voice clear and steady, devoid of any tremor. “And my mother said I could try out the rifle. The registration is still valid under his estate.”
Marcus folded the paper back up, his face hardening again, though the initial contempt had been replaced by a cautious, guarded wariness. He looked past the boy toward the firing line, where several veteran shooters were watching the exchange with unconcealed interest. Letting a kid—especially this kid, with his frayed gear and oversized hoodie—onto a high-caliber line was a liability risk. Yet, the legal weight of the document tied his hands. Public ranges on county land operated under strict ordinances, and a valid estate dispensation could not be dismissed simply because the shooter wore scuffed sneakers and carried a bag with holes in it. Marcus let out a long breath, handing the paper back. “If you break a single safety rule, kid, you’re off this property permanently. Understand?”
