and awards that were useless now.
“It’s just a little .22,” he said dismissively while he opened the safe and drew out a Ruger 10/22 with a pink stock and foregrip. It sported a scope that looked like a little four power job, and a sling in pink leather. “And…it’s pink.” He handed it to me and turned to collect the boxes of ammunition as I dropped the magazine and pulled the bolt back to check the chamber. When I looked up, he was frowning at me.
“You’re as bad as Maya,” he grumbled. “I know how to take care of a gun, god damn it.”
“Karl, I do this with every gun I pick up. It’s a habit, not a judgment. Rule Fifteen: Assume every gun is loaded if you’re not in a fight, and never point a gun at anything you want to keep. I assumed you did it with your own guns.” He raised an eyebrow at that.
“How many rules do you have?” he asked as he put the boxes of ammunition on the desk and pulled out a canvas gun case.
“Twenty two for survival. I never bothered to count the personal rules.” I reached for one of the boxes. The Ruger 10/22 had a ten round rotary magazine, and I started thumbing rounds into it.
“Which one helps you survive Maya?” he asked.
“I choose my conflicts very carefully,” I said after I finished loading the magazine. “Got any more magazines for this?” He nodded and handed me two more of the boxy little ten round mags.
“That’s it?” Karl said incredulously. I looked up from what I was doing and gave him an enigmatic smirk.
“I know the difference between opinion and fact, Karl. And I never argue over an opinion.” He looked at me like I’d just spoken to him in Swahili, and I went back to the task at hand. He grabbed the other magazine and started loading it. When we were done he laid the magazine on the desk. I slipped one of the loaded magazines into the rifle and laid it on the desk.
“Why did you pick Amy up early, Karl? Did you know what was going on today?” I watched his face for some kind of reaction, but all I got was a disappointed half-grimace as he shook his head.
“No, I was having lunch with a client, a member of the school board, when he got a call. Next thing I knew, he was half-way to the door. When I said something to him, he told me to go pick Amy up right then. I’m glad I listened.”
“Next order of business: maps. Do you still keep a current Springfield map on hand for work?” I got a look of pure “Duh!” for that, and he pulled one from the top of the gun safe.
“Do insurance companies hate paying out on policies?” he said with a tone that made it sound like I should already know how obvious the answer was.
“When we go back in there, you need to be the one to give Amy this,” I said as I handed him the pink rifle.
“Why?” he said, instantly suspicious.
“One because you bought it for her in the first place, plus it’s your job as her father to make sure she uses it responsibly. And, there’s no way in Hell I would ever hand her a pink gun.” He held up a hand in mock surrender.
“Seemed like a good idea at the time. And she was twelve. She still wanted to be a princess.” We shared a brief laugh at that, since both of us remembered Amy at that age. It seemed like a good note to head back on, so I headed out of the office.
When we made it back into the dining room, we found that Amy and Maya had been busy while we were gone. Porsche’s P-A duffel bag was lying empty on the table, and she was stuffing things into the backpack Amy’s bug-out bag had originally been in. Amy’s camping backpack was stuffed full, and her own duffel bag was empty, too. Meanwhile, Maya had finished stripping the commercial first aid kit and was putting the lid back on the clear plastic container. Her bug out bag and purse were next to it, and the big blue tub was sealed and ready to go as well. Sherman got up from where he was laying by the front door and ambled into the dining room to sit beside me.
“Okay,
“It’s just a little .22,” he said dismissively while he opened the safe and drew out a Ruger 10/22 with a pink stock and foregrip. It sported a scope that looked like a little four power job, and a sling in pink leather. “And…it’s pink.” He handed it to me and turned to collect the boxes of ammunition as I dropped the magazine and pulled the bolt back to check the chamber. When I looked up, he was frowning at me.
“You’re as bad as Maya,” he grumbled. “I know how to take care of a gun, god damn it.”
“Karl, I do this with every gun I pick up. It’s a habit, not a judgment. Rule Fifteen: Assume every gun is loaded if you’re not in a fight, and never point a gun at anything you want to keep. I assumed you did it with your own guns.” He raised an eyebrow at that.
“How many rules do you have?” he asked as he put the boxes of ammunition on the desk and pulled out a canvas gun case.
“Twenty two for survival. I never bothered to count the personal rules.” I reached for one of the boxes. The Ruger 10/22 had a ten round rotary magazine, and I started thumbing rounds into it.
“Which one helps you survive Maya?” he asked.
“I choose my conflicts very carefully,” I said after I finished loading the magazine. “Got any more magazines for this?” He nodded and handed me two more of the boxy little ten round mags.
“That’s it?” Karl said incredulously. I looked up from what I was doing and gave him an enigmatic smirk.
“I know the difference between opinion and fact, Karl. And I never argue over an opinion.” He looked at me like I’d just spoken to him in Swahili, and I went back to the task at hand. He grabbed the other magazine and started loading it. When we were done he laid the magazine on the desk. I slipped one of the loaded magazines into the rifle and laid it on the desk.
“Why did you pick Amy up early, Karl? Did you know what was going on today?” I watched his face for some kind of reaction, but all I got was a disappointed half-grimace as he shook his head.
“No, I was having lunch with a client, a member of the school board, when he got a call. Next thing I knew, he was half-way to the door. When I said something to him, he told me to go pick Amy up right then. I’m glad I listened.”
“Next order of business: maps. Do you still keep a current Springfield map on hand for work?” I got a look of pure “Duh!” for that, and he pulled one from the top of the gun safe.
“Do insurance companies hate paying out on policies?” he said with a tone that made it sound like I should already know how obvious the answer was.
“When we go back in there, you need to be the one to give Amy this,” I said as I handed him the pink rifle.
“Why?” he said, instantly suspicious.
“One because you bought it for her in the first place, plus it’s your job as her father to make sure she uses it responsibly. And, there’s no way in Hell I would ever hand her a pink gun.” He held up a hand in mock surrender.
“Seemed like a good idea at the time. And she was twelve. She still wanted to be a princess.” We shared a brief laugh at that, since both of us remembered Amy at that age. It seemed like a good note to head back on, so I headed out of the office.
When we made it back into the dining room, we found that Amy and Maya had been busy while we were gone. Porsche’s P-A duffel bag was lying empty on the table, and she was stuffing things into the backpack Amy’s bug-out bag had originally been in. Amy’s camping backpack was stuffed full, and her own duffel bag was empty, too. Meanwhile, Maya had finished stripping the commercial first aid kit and was putting the lid back on the clear plastic container. Her bug out bag and purse were next to it, and the big blue tub was sealed and ready to go as well. Sherman got up from where he was laying by the front door and ambled into the dining room to sit beside me.
“Okay,
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