Grandpa’s Nerve Gun – Part 4

Glen called Doug at work the following day to say he found the nerve gun. Doug checked in at home, then went over to get it. He knocked on the Lytles’ front door and waited, hearing the heavy footfalls of children running past him several times on the other side.

A look of surprise crossed Glen’s face when he opened the door and saw Doug standing there. “Doug. What brings you here?”

“I told you on the phone I’d be over after work.”

“Riiight . . . the faucet.”

“No Glen, you’re on your own with that. I came here for my son’s nerve gun.”

“Your son’s guuuuunnn. Gimme a minute, I’ll be right back.”

Glen disappeared from the doorway. Doug could hear him rummaging around in the hall closet, muttering to himself. He reappeared across the entryway and stopped dead in his tracks. His two youngest sons screamed past him on either side. He continued to the doorway and rolled his eyes. “That was a close one.”

“They nearly took you out.”

“I’ve been lucky so far.”

“Yeah, lucky you.”

“Here you go.” Glen handed Doug the gun. “One nerve gun, as promised.”

“Thanks, Glen.”

“You’re welcome. Now about that faucet, I was think—”

Doug turned on his heel then stepped off the porch. “Goodbye, Glen.”

He cut across the yard turning the gun over in his hands, looking for damage. It appeared none the worse for wear. He passed the Bests’ house then took the right turn into his yard, toward the waiting Roddy.

Doug handed him the gun. “Here you go.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“I agree with your mother. You need to take a break from playing with the Lytles for a while.”

“That’s okay. I’ll be stuck here doing homework anyway,” Roddy said, opening the front door. “I’m gonna go up and put this thing away.”

“And I’m going to squeeze in one more car wash before the weather turns bad. I’d appreciate the help if you want to come out and give me a hand.”

Roddy stopped on the fourth stair and a smile crossed his face. “Sure. I’ll be down after I change.”

“Perfect.”

Roddy thought the same thing as he climbed the stairs. He swapped his school clothes for a T-shirt and a pair of shorts. He pulled his water shoes on, threw on a baseball cap, then crept back downstairs with the nerve gun.

The sound of water running through the pipes in the walls told Roddy his dad was already hosing the car down. He turned down the hallway and made for the back door. “I’m going out to help Dad wash the car.”

Lacy looked up from the book she was reading. “Then why are you going out that—”

“Can’t talk, Mom. I’m on a mission.” Roddy said, before letting the back door close hard behind him.

He ran down the path, slipped through the back gate, and walked in a crouch along the back fence. Once he made it to the protection of the Lytles’ fence, he ran to the end of the alley and turned right.

Doug had heard the back door close and saw the reflections on the large front window wobble. He had a hunch Roddy was up to something. He moved around to the back of the car to give himself a good view of both corners of the house.

He soaped up the trunk with one hand and held the spray nozzle at the ready in the other. The taillights received three complete cycles of sudsing and rinsing as he waited for Roddy to make his move. He glanced at each corner of the house then went back to the trunk for a fourth time.

Roddy rounded the street corner and slowed to a walk to catch his breath. It was a dangerous move to pass in front of the Lytles’ house. But he was willing to risk Grant or one of his brothers calling out to him and spoiling the element of surprise.

He made it past the Lytles’ and all the way to the Bests’ mailbox. From there, he slowed even further. He slunk along the edge of the sidewalk, mindful of the Bests’ lawn. His dad was none the wiser of his approach.

Doug continued to wash the rear of the car but remained vigilant of Roddy’s impending attack. He stood back and rinsed the car off again. He hoped a neighbor wouldn’t become concerned for his well-being after watching him wash the same area over and over again.

Roddy was at the edge of the driveway when his dad stepped back to rinse the car. This was the perfect time to pounce. He didn’t hesitate. He advanced a step, then assumed his shooting stance.

Roddy pulled the trigger and shouted. “Pew, pew, pew! Gotcha!”

Doug grunted like a bad guy in the movies. His hands flew up and he collapsed to the ground. The wash mitt spun to the side in a pinwheel of soap suds, and the spray nozzle hit the ground on its trigger handle. Water sprayed straight upward, providing the final flourish to Doug’s theatrics.

“Wow! That was cool, Dad!”

Doug didn’t move, but he muttered something.

“Dad? Knock it off! This isn’t funny!”

Doug muttered again.

Roddy knelt and put his ear by his dad’s mouth. “What are you saying?”

Doug’s voice was weak. “Go get Mom.”

Roddy stood and yelled toward the house. “Mom!”

He bent over and shook his dad’s shoulder. “Dad! What’s happening?”

Lacy came out to the porch. “Did you call me, Roddy?”

“Come help! I shot Dad!”

Lacy raced across the yard, still holding her book. Mr. and Mrs. Best came out and stopped at the edge of their immaculate lawn. Even Glen Lytle left his house. He stood on Roddy’s bike ramp as if the extra four inches of elevation would give him a better view.

Lacy dropped her book. “Roddy, help me sit him up.”

She pulled on Doug’s arms while Roddy knelt behind him to lift his shoulders. Doug sat upright for a couple of seconds before slumping forward. Roddy leaned against his dad’s shoulder blades to hold him up.

“Everything alright, Mrs. Bostwick?” Mr. Best said with grandfatherly concern.

Lacy looked over at the Bests. “I think so. He’s still conscious.”

“Should we call 911?” Mrs. Best said.

“That won’t be necessary,” Lacy said, “but thank you.”

She squatted over her husband’s legs, still holding his arms. “Can you hear me, Doug?”

“My ears are ringing.”

“How about your eyes?” Lacy said. “Can you see me?”

Doug struggled to open his eyes. “Yes, but it’s hard to focus.”

“That’s okay, keep ’em closed and tell me what happened.”

“I was washing the car and waiting for Roddy to come help me. I heard the back door slam—”

“I didn’t slam it!” Roddy said, his emotions running high.

Lacy stood, her hands sliding down Doug’s arms until she let go at his wrists. “Not now, Roddy.”

“I washed the back of the car what must have been four times, waiting for Roddy to come around the house. I stepped back to rinse the soap off and lost all control of my body.”

“Did you trip over the hose?” Lacy said.

“No. The hose was in front of me, wedged under the tire.”

“I shot him,” Roddy said.

“Maybe you fainted.”

“I felt fine up until then.”

“I shot him!” Roddy repeated.

“Could it be a stroke?”

“I don’t think so,” Doug said. “Not that I know what a stroke feels like.”

“You’re not listening! I shot him!”

“Your gun doesn’t work. Dad tested it.”

“It feels different today.”

“What do you mean?” Doug said.

“I felt it do something when I pulled the trigger.”

Doug raised his arm over his head. “Let me take a look at that thing.”

Roddy handed Doug the nerve gun, but held on to it in case his dad didn’t have the strength to hold it on his own.

Doug scrutinized the gun with a slight case of double vision. The pin was still there. He flipped it over to inspect the other side. Something was different. “Remember when Roddy opened his present?”

“Sure.”

“What did you say about the serial number?”

“They could have at least sent number one back.”

“Instead of . . . ?”

“Number four.”

“Well, this is number two.”

The Bests had gone back inside, but Glen remained on the sidewalk in front of his house. Lacy whipped her head in his direction. This caught him by surprise, and he froze.

Lacy shouted across the Bests’ front yard. “Hey Glen! Got a minute?”

Glen walked like a guilty dog toward the Bostwick family and stopped at the end of their driveway. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know Glen,” Lacy said. “why don’t you tell me? What’s up with this nerve gun?”

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean, Glen, is that it’s not Roddy’s nerve gun.”

“But it’s the exact same thing.”

“No it’s not, Glen! You wanna know how I know? I know because Roddy’s gun doesn’t incapacitate people!”

“How did you get one of my dad’s guns?” Doug said.

“My three oldest said they each got one for doing yard work and taking his trash and recycling bins out to the alley.”

“I doubt he gave them working nerve guns. It looks like somebody broke into our garage through kid sized hole in the wall,” Lacy said.

“You think my boys stole them?”

“All I’m saying is somebody’s been in there.”

“But that doesn’t explain what happened to Roddy’s gun,” Doug said.

“Turns out Grant took it,” Glen said, looking at his feet, “and hid it somewhere. He had seen Glen junior, Gerald, and George playing with them last year and wanted one of his own. We never let him play with one because we thought he was too young. I guess he saw his opportunity to get one when Roddy was over at our place.”

“I don’t care how old your kids are. None of them should have a working nerve gun,” Lacy said.

“They didn’t work until after the boys stopped playing with them. I ran across them in the closet one day and curiosity got the best of me. I opened one up and noticed it had been tampered with and I saw how easy it would be to undo what was done to them. So I repaired all three. Then I put them into one of my wife’s old shoe boxes and stuck it on the top shelf of the front closet. I can’t believe I forgot I did that.”

“I can’t believe you gave my son a working nerve gun but didn’t remember one very important detail,” Lacy said.

“And I can’t believe you got these guns to work again but can’t figure out how to redo the faucet to your liking,” Doug said.

“Yeah . . . about that.”

Lacy reached for the nerve gun. “Goodbye, Glen.”

*** The End ***

Copyright ~ Terrence Campbell ~ 2023