I laugh. “What makes you think there’s some kind of back room deal going on?”
“You came in with a hunter,” she says, nodding to the back room where Merc disappeared. “Hunters make deals. And since you’re out here and not back there, you’re not making the deal, that other guy is.”
“What makes you think we’re hunters?” I have no camo on and neither does Merc. “Do you see an orange vest on me?” I flap my jacket open and turn for her.
She smirks at my joking and points her finger to my face. “Not that kind of hunter,” she giggles. “You know,” she whispers, “the hunters.”
I raise my eyebrows at her.
She raises hers back. “Your friend is buying guns from my dad, doofus. Do I look stupid? I know what you guys do.” And then she takes her attention back to the box and removes an absolutely gorgeous Snubby CQC and presents it to me on her flattened palm.
I take it from her outstretched hand and admire it, try the weight, then flip it open and inspect the blade. “Yeah, this is nice. How much?”
“Wellllll,” she says drawing out the word with a smile. “Since it’s Christmas Eve, I can give you that for two-seventy-five.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Two-twenty-five is more like it.”
She smiles. “Two-fifty.”
“Two-forty.”
“Deal.” She sticks her hand out and for a moment I just stare at it. “Shake, doofus. That’s how you seal the deal.”
I look at her again, then her hand. “This knife is only worth two-twenty-five, the rest is a tip for entertaining me.”
Her hand remains outstretched. “Shake.”
I shake and she flashes her braces at me. I open my wallet and grab the cash and hand it to her.
She shoves the bills in her pocket and takes the knife and places it back in the box. “Gift wrap?”
“Nah, I might use it today.”
She nods conspiratorially. “Oh, big job on Christmas Eve. Must be someone important.”
What the f**k? Who lets their twelve-year-old daughter in on their secret arms dealing business?
“What did you get your girlfriend for Christmas? Maybe you need something else while you’re here?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Yeah,” she says with a sigh. “You guys never have girlfriends. I used to think your work looked exciting, but then I figured out you had no lives. No offense,” she says with a shrug.“I have a life. I’m not a hunter, I’m just a helper. I have a girl who’s a friend. She counts.”
She squints her eyes in disbelief. “What’d you get her for Christmas?”
“Nothing. I don’t do Christmas.”
“Oh, boy.” Her breath comes out in a half laugh. “You really need help. Did you at least get your mom and dad something?”
“My dad’s dead and no, I just told you I don’t do Christmas.”
“Oh, sorry about your dad. I have a dad but no mom. Wouldn’t it be nice to have both?”
She says this like one parent families are normal. That makes me a little sad. “I did have both, but my dad died two years ago.”
Her head bobs in understanding. “My mom died when I was born. So…” she waves her arm around at the hunting supplies. Outdoor gear fills every bit of space in her dad’s booth. As if to say, This is what my childhood was like. All hunting, all the time. “We’re the same almost, you and I. Only opposites.” She pauses to look up at me. “And I do Christmas, so that’s different too. I got my dad a new longbow. We’re gonna bow hunt next year if I do well at State.”
“Do well at what?”
“Archery. I’m the Wyoming State champion in both trap and .22 rifle but I’m not a good enough archer yet.” She looks wistfully at a bow on the wall. “There’s always next year.”
I just stare at her. She’s like a twelve-year-old La Femme Nikita.
Fucking Wyoming. What do I expect? Shooting is practically the state sport.
She shakes herself out of her funk and looks back to me. “Wanna buy your mom something while you’re here? Make her happy this Christmas?”
“I’m pretty sure my mother would not appreciate the finer points of an Emerson folding knife.”
She laughs so all her braces show. “No, doofus. I have that booth over there. I have jewelry your mom might like. Wanna see it?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, just grabs my new knife, pushes past me, and walks across the aisle where she sets the knife down and busies herself pulling out some jewelry. She lies it all down across the glass counter top and then looks up and smiles.
It’s infectious, so I smile back as I walk over. What a cool kid. If all kids were like this girl, I might like them more.
“I’ll help you pick. Is your mom earthy or fancy?”
“Definitely fancy.”
“OK, then these ones are out.” She removes a beaded necklace and some feather earrings. “How about this one?”
It’s a string of pearls. “My mom would love it, but she’d never wear it. They’re not real.”
“Oh, then she’s classy, not fancy.”
“Yeah, that’s about right.”
“Hold on,” she says as she raises her pointing finger. “I have classy stuff too.” She reaches into her pocket and produces a key for a tall metal cabinet, then unlocks it and brings out another box. “This is the good stuff. And I know just what you need.” She shuffles through it and places an antique bracelet on the glass. “Those pin pricks of silver? Those are marcasite. It’s not expensive, but it’s pretty don’t you think?”