Page 59 of Hoofin’ It

“What sort of scenario?”

“Pretend you’re Dad or some macho man for a minute. Let’s say you’re single, you go to a bar, and you meet a girl. You part ways, but later she sends you a gift. What would you do?”

“Depends on what the gift is?”

“A pair of Ruger LCRx compact handguns and a nationwide concealed carry permit.”

“Marry her.”

Chapter Seventeen

Since carrying two guns around in my pocket would inevitably lead to disaster, I acquired an ankle holster and hid the second one in my boot. Carrying them would take a while to get used to, but I appreciated having a backup plan in case something went wrong. With no way to contact Marian to thank her—or make an idiot of myself and follow my mother’s blurted advice—I kept the mutant deformed badger stuffed animal on my bed and thanked it instead.

I even obeyed the woman’s orders and acquired ammunition for both guns and their spare magazines.

My next step would be going to the firing range and dumping hundreds of dollars down the drain practicing with both weapons and adjusting to shooting with only one eye. Before the accident, I’d been a good shot, but I hadn’t touched a gun since.

I was able to read between the lines. If Marian thought I needed two compact handguns and a carry permit for them, she was worried. Instead of a thank you, I would repay her by honing my shooting skills.

Bright and early the next morning, I took both guns to the range. My resignation from the force meant the range had been notified I was no longer a police officer, which earned me skeptical looks from the range’s manager and the handful of cops getting in their mandatory hours.

“Thought you resigned, Gibson,” Porter barked at me.

I tried not to take offense at his tone. The idiot had taken his mufflers off too often at the range, impairing his hearing, so he barked at everyone because he couldn’t hear himself. I dug out my wallet, pulled out my concealed carry card, and dropped it on the counter in front of him. “I’m looking to get in a couple of hours. I’ll need ammunition for a pair of .45s.”

“Someone likes you a lot, buddy. How the hell did you get one of these?”

“Christmas came early for me this year.” I pulled my Ruger from my pocket and slid it across the counter. “It’s got live ammo in it, safety on. A gift from a friend.”

The man’s bushy eyebrows rose. “Your friend really likes you a lot. That gun’s tiny but fierce. You’re going to like it, Gibson. Your second?”

“Matched set.”

“All right. I can fit you in for two hours. That permit puts you in the rotation with the cops, so play nice with your former buddies, all right?”

“I intend to work on my shooting, get my slips showing my hours, and keep to myself. Don’t worry about it, Porter. I can handle myself.”

“You know how these girls gossip.”

I snorted, glancing in the direction of the loitering cops, most of whom I recognized though didn’t know by name. “Don’t let the actual girls hear you say that. Most of the ones I know might hesitate before they teach you what it feels like to be punched in the kidney. After the first few times, you learn to stay quiet.”

“It did only take me three or four times to teach you,” Michelle agreed from directly behind me, giving my side a gentle tap.

“Hi, Michelle.”

“What are you doing here, Gibson?”

Porter chuckled and waved my nationwide permit. “Gibson got himself a nationwide concealed carry permit.”

“No way!” Snatching my card out of Porter’s hand, she looked it over and presented her hand for a high-five. “Well done, sir.”

I gave her palm a gentle slap and reclaimed my card with a flick of my wrist. “I should have made you open the box from Dad.”

“Oh? The glitter incident?”

“Rigged compressed air can for maximum spray.”

My former co-worker threw her head back and laughed. “That’s so wrong.”