The Broken Clock is Right Thrice: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective #4

Chapter 12 - George Washington's Forehead

"Complainant alleges a psychic at a business called Sneak Peek did not provide services as described and refused to refund. Complainant apparently initiated divorce upon advice from said psychic. However, spouse was not cheating as the psychic described. Law enforcement advised complainant that psychics are for entertainment purposes only, as covered in downtown zoning regulations."

~ Stevens Point Police Department, report 14C2727

Zandra jerks backward in time with the explosion of the guard's scout rifle. Despite knowing the shot is coming and wearing special earmuffs, she can't help the reaction. The shot is more pronounced than in the movies, where gunfire sounds like toast popping out of a toaster.

Sunglasses remains against the wooden support, accompanied by his notebook and scribbles.

"Open your eyes, child," Zandra says and returns her hand to the guard's back.

The guard leaves the bolt open on the rifle and sets the firearm down on the bench. He stretches like he just woke up from a long night's sleep.

"I don't know if I hit anything, but I'll tell you this. I haven't felt this relaxed since the doctor gave me painkillers for my foot," the guard says.

Sunglasses searches the shooting station, eager to see whether the shot connected. He says, "Is there a spotting scope around here?"

The guard walks to the golf cart and comes back with a short telescope tailored for shooting ranges. He points it toward the 200-yard target and adjusts the focus. Surprised, he says, "The quarter is gone."

Sunglasses, perhaps a little too eager to confirm whatever it is he wrote in his notepad, takes the spotting scope. He's astonished by what he doesn't see.

Zandra remains cool and calm. "Why, what else did you expect, child?"

"Golf cart," the guard says and leads the way back to the miniature vehicle.

"I'm coming this time," Sunglasses says.

It's a cramped fit in the golf cart, but the three make it work. The guard says something into his walkie-talkie. The green lights turn off and the red lights turn on across the shooting range stations.

This time, the guard takes care to ensure a smooth ride out to the 200-yard target. The three exit, and Zandra leads the way for the inspection. Sure enough, the quarter is missing. In its place is a tear in the target that a quarter could slip through.

"We've got to find it. If I don't have proof, no one is going to believe me," the guard says.

I appreciate your enthusiasm.

Zandra stays close to the target as the other two fan out, eyes glued to the grass for the shine of a quarter, or at least the remnants of a quarter. Zandra lights up a celebratory cigarette as she squints at the ground while standing in place.

I'll give them a minute.

Zandra finishes the cigarette and then takes a step. She looks down and points at where she was standing, calling out to the others, "Over here, children."

The guard and Sunglasses hurry to the target. Zandra leans down and plucks a damaged quarter from the ground. She holds it up for the others to see. It's folded at a 90-degree angle, looking every bit like something powerful forced it into its new L shape.