T. Parker - Full Measure

“May I help you?”

“I hope so. I was robbed at gunpoint three days ago. I’m looking for a gun.”

“I’m sorry that happened. I hear stories like that a lot these days. I can help you be better prepared for that kind of situation.”

“I’m Ted.”

“Kerry.”

Kerry was about Ted’s age — assured, muscular, and friendly — and Ted wished he was more like him. Kerry gave him general advice on reliable, effective home-protection handguns and Ted liked the look of the Glocks. Kerry removed one of them, checked the chamber, popped out the magazine, and set the gun on the counter. He told Ted that you could run it over with a truck, dip it in mud, and hold it underwater, and a Glock would still fire every time. He praised the.40 caliber as a versatile round, plenty of stopping power and it would carry fifteen cartridges in the magazine. He handed the gun to Ted. “It’s like having your own fire squad,” Kerry said.

“I sure could have used it a couple days back.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Ted did, feeling his anger and fear again, and his embarrassment at having been lured into the ambush.

“That shouldn’t happen in this country,” said Kerry.

“I’d like it not to happen to me again.”

“We teach weapons self-defense classes, right here.”

“I’ll take the gun.”

“You do know if you decide to purchase, there’s a ten-day wait while the state does a background check on you?”

“Right. So they can make sure I’m not a crazy.”

“We offer a free test-fire if you’re serious about that sidearm. Have you fired a handgun before?”

“No.”

“I think you’ll like it.”

Inside the range Ted watched Kerry fasten the Zombie Steve target to the motorized line and send it twenty feet out. At the bench he watched Kerry ready the autoloader. The headsets were comfortable and made the gunshots around him sound distant, but he could still feel the percussion in his body. Kerry stepped to the shooting stall with the gun, demonstrated the basic two-hand shooter’s stance: feet shoulder-wide, weight slightly forward, right elbow locked, left not, grip firm but not tight. Squeeze, he said, don’t pull. He fired one round. It took Ted a moment to find the hole, which was right through the middle of Zombie Steve’s grimacing face. Ted smiled. Kerry set the gun on the shelf and Ted stepped forward and picked it up.

He listened to Kerry’s instructions and squeezed off a round. He was surprised at the power, and at the immediacy of the recoil. A gun was a decisive thing, he realized — nothing hesitant or reversible about it. It impressed him that it could reload itself so quickly, before the bullet got to the target, it seemed. Actually hitting the target was the hard part. Even at only twenty feet away, when he got the sights lined up, all it took was a split second to be aiming someplace else — the slightest breath or random thought and the gun barrel jumped far off course. So Ted held his breath but Kerry, speaking loudly through the gunfire and protective headgear, told him, “Don’t do that, just squeeze the trigger on the exhale and it’s both eyes open, Ted, don’t close that left eye of yours, you need them both to shoot well.” Nine shots later Ted had hit Zombie Steve’s body four times, and the white paper outside the body twice, and missed the target altogether with the other three. For a split second Zombie Steve became Evelyn Anders’s campaign poster and this led to one of the body shots. Then Zombie Steve became Edgar and Ted hit the target again.

“Not bad for your first time,” said Kerry. “That Model Twenty-two in your hand is lightly used, so you’d save a good chunk of change.”

Ted bought the gun and put the ammunition in his truck. He felt more capable now, and empowered by the idea that in ten days the Glock would be his.

A few minutes later he was back in Fallbrook, heading up Main toward home. The many poster faces of Evelyn Anders looked down on him with smug condescension. The face of Walt Rood struck him as caring and reasonable. He liked the slogan, “Small Government that Works.”

Ted caught the red light at Alvarado and saw that Vince Ross Village Square on the corner was crowded. People were talking and drinking canned sodas and there was a long table with a red, white, and blue tablecloth set out with what looked like brochures and DVDs. A banner facing the street proclaimed: CARRY FREEDOM! He saw both men and women and there was something unusual about them. It finally dawned on Ted that they were all wearing holsters. No guns, just holsters. Some wore leg holsters like Old West gunmen, others had detective-style shoulder rigs, some had holsters attached to their belts. Ted saw a man wearing shorts with a large holster strapped to his calf. Some even had empty rifle scabbards slung over their shoulders. They moved with an exaggerated ease, pretending too hard that they were not doing anything unusual. Ted wondered if nudists did that. He stared until the light changed, then rounded the corner, U-turned, and parked on Alvarado.

Through the window glass he saw a man, head and shoulders above the crowd, apparently standing on one of the park benches. He wore twin leather six-gun holsters and bandoleers thrown over his shoulders. His arms were spread in oratory. Ted recognized him immediately as Cade Magnus. He hadn’t seen him in ten years and he was heavier, but had the same stocky build and bushy brown hair. He remembered that Cade Magnus had eyes just like Cade’s father — blue and clear. He had talked to them years ago, down at Pride Auto Repair, back when he was interested in the White Crusade. Now here was Cade, back in Fallbrook, a city that had rejoiced when he’d moved away.

Two sheriff’s cars pulled up and parked in the red along Vince Ross Village Square. Ted watched the four deputies get out, recognizing the black man as the one who had pulled him over for the brake light and given him the sobriety test in broad daylight, though his most recent drink had been half a year ago. One of the deputies was older, one was a stocky Latina, and the other a young white man. They strolled casually toward the square. Magnus seemed to stop what he was saying, then smiled and acknowledged them. Many of the bystanders turned as the deputies worked their way into the crowd.

Ted felt his indignation march in, and his vision beginning to constrict, and his heart rate climb. He trained his gun-barrel vision on the deputy who had written him the fix-it ticket — the black one, hiding behind the sunglasses. Anger overtook indignation. Ted felt that he had to do something. Should he go tell the deputies that this was a peaceful demonstration? Should he ask them why it takes four of them to raid Village Square when not one showed up when he was robbed at gunpoint two days ago? Should he tell Magnus he respected his right to stand up to the government and exercise his constitutional rights?

Ted got out of his truck and locked up and headed up the sidewalk toward the square. As he walked past, Cade glanced at him, as did two of the deputies and some of the crowd. Their eyes were hard on him and with every step Ted felt less protected — no layer of glass to shield him — and his anger and indignation fled. In their place he felt a constricting panic, almost like being lost. He thought of the box of.40 caliber shells in his truck. Was that a crime? Without breaking stride he passed the square, turned the corner, and kept going. When he felt safely past it all, he turned for a look behind him and saw a tall man in a black suit standing on the sidewalk, looking into the front window of the candy shop. From this distance, he looked like the man from Open Sights just an hour ago. Impossible, thought Ted.

His heart was racing by the time he got to Gulliver’s Travels on Main. Mary Gulliver had no customers and she stood and smiled at Ted when he came through the door. Behind her was a wall of travel posters for exotic destinations. She specialized in cruises. To Ted, Mary was a beautiful woman, full-bodied, fragrant, always groomed to perfection. He had seen her around town for years but had talked to her for the first time only two weeks ago.