“Old,” she whispered. “I'll show you old.”
“Shove the drawer back in,” Kenny said to Spiro. “And fix the freezer setting.”
Spiro started to roll the tray in, but Grandma kicked out with her feet, stopping the slide. She had her knees bent, and she was pounding against the steel with her feet, clawing and knocking inside the drawer.
Spiro grunted and rammed the tray home, but the tray was inches short of clicking into place, and the door wouldn't close.
“Something's stuck,” Spiro said. “This won't go in all the way.”
“Open it up,” Kenny said, “and see what's wrong.”
Spiro eased the tray back.
Grandma's chin appeared, her nose, her eyes. Her arms were extended over her head.
“You making problems, Granny?” Kenny asked. “You jamming the drawer with something?”
Grandma didn't say anything, but I could see her mouth working, her dentures grinding against each other.
“Get your arms down at your sides,” Kenny told her. “Stop fucking with me. I'm gonna lose my patience.”
Grandma struggled to get her arms out, and finally her bandaged hand popped free. The other hand followed, and in that hand was the .45 long-barrel. She swung her arm straight from the shoulder and squeezed off a round.
We all hit the floor, and she fired again.
Silence followed the second shot. No one moved but Grandma. She elbowed herself to a sitting position, and took a moment to settle.
“I know what you're thinking,” Grandma said into the silence. “Do I have any more bullets in this here gun? Well, with all the confusion, what with being locked up in a refrigerator, I plum forgot what was in here to start with. But being that this is a forty-five magnum, the most powerful handgun in existence, and it could blow your head clean off, you just got to ask yourself one question. Do you feel lucky today? Well, do you, punk?”
“Christ,” Spiro whispered. “She thinks she's fucking Clint Eastwood.”
BAM! Grandma fired and knocked out a light.
“Dang,” she said, “must be something wrong with this sight.”
Kenny scrambled to the ammo cases to get a gun, Spiro ran for the stairs, and I inched toward Grandma on my belly.
BAM! She got another shot off. It missed Kenny,
but it tore into one of the cases. There was an instant explosion, and a fireball rose to the basement ceiling.
I jumped to my feet and dragged Grandma off the tray.
Another case exploded. Fire crackled across the floor and traced along the wooden casket casings. I didn't know what was exploding, but I thought we were lucky not to have been hit by flying fragments. Smoke roiled from the burning boxes, cutting into the light, stinging my eyes.
I yanked Grandma to the back door and shoved her out into the yard.
“Are you okay?” I yelled at her.
“He was going to kill me,” she said. “He was going to kill you too.”
“Yes.”
“It's terrible what happens to people. That they lose respect for life.”
“Yes.”
Grandma looked back at the house. “Good thing not everyone's like Kenny. Good thing some human beings are decent.”