With his index finger and his thumb, Martin Zipper turned his hand into what an adult would consider an “L” turned sideways but what he knew was actually a six shooter, the likes of which John Wayne once used to rule the West. He could still recall the films, could still smell the weird stench that plagued his grandparent’s trailer home, could still hear his grandfather quoting each and every line, could still quote the lines himself. It was hot then; it was hot now, the trailer serving as a metal can that concealed the intolerable Arizona heat with them and the insects that flew in from the open windows. “Bang!” he shouted, “Bang! Bang! I know you’re back there, Johnny!”
“Your bullets can’t go through walls!” a faint voice retorted, failing to even project at the necessary volume.
“Yes, they can!”
“No, only Phil’s can! You already have invisibility!”