Your pecs?
Yeah. Right now, they're too loose and flabby. Like a girl’s breasts. I want to get rid of them. I’ve been bench pressing.
You and I used to bench press, if I remember…
At Steinmetz. That’s how we met, big guy. You always had the muscle and the brains, Art. That’s why I stuck with you.
The question is, Cal, why have I stuck with you?
Because you’re a loyal son of a bitch? I don’t know. Because I showed you how to fire a gun and not kill yourself in the process?
Speaking of which, Cal, are you available to go shooting? I just finished up an interview and I’m at loose ends. I wouldn’t mind firing off a few rounds to release stress.
An interview. Look at you go.
It’s what I do. It’s my job.
Yeah, Art, but I never hear you talk about your work. Sometimes I wonder if you really do run your own business.
It’s just business is slow. Nothing more than that. How about I be over in a half hour?
How ‘bout I just pick you up instead, Art?
How about?
I’ll meet you at your office in fifteen.
Sounds like a plan.
?
There were a bunch of people in front of my building on Wabash: office workers, commuters, smokers. I pushed through and took the elevator up.
I deposited the recorder in a safe I kept in my desk.
Wanda was playing solitaire on the computer.
How’d it go, Art?
How’d what go?
The interview, is what.
Which interview are you talking about?
The only one you’ve had the past three weeks. The one with the bricklayer.
We met at a coffee shop. I interviewed him.
And…
He certainly doesn’t want to break up with his wife.
When she came in here it was sure as hell clear she wanted to break up with him.
It doesn’t work so well if the break-up is coming from one side and not both.
No. I don’t suppose it ever does.
Speaking of marriages, how’s Ed?
He’s wonderful, Art. Thank you for asking. He’s taking me to the opera tonight. That’s why I’m playing solitaire.
I don’t get it. What’s the connection?
It empties my brain. I like to have a clear mind before the opera.
When I stepped outside, the commuters were still thick in front of the building. A moment later, Cal pulled up doing fifty miles an hour and came to a screeching halt sending gravel and bits of debris from the curb flying against my shins. Folks at the edge of the sidewalk reflexively leaped back.
Hurry up! Get in, Art! He banged the horn like something important was about to happen.
I hopped into the car and off he went, screeching the tires as he pulled out.
What’s the rush? The faces of the crowd were blurred for a second in the windshield glass.
No rush, Art! No rush at all! Who’s in a rush? I’m just antsy sitting all day nothing to do! It drives me nuts!
?
At the range, he fired his Uzi. BLURT. BLURT. When he was done, I stood ready and fired my gun.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
One thing, he said, placing his hand on my shoulder. He was wearing earplugs. I was wearing muffs, so he had to shout.
What?
One thing, Art…
What’s that? I asked. I fired six more shots into the target and was disappointed to see my accuracy was for shit.
I never liked that Ruger. It’s old and it doesn’t shoot well. I’m surprised you’re so attached to it.
It’s not attachment.
Then why don’t you upgrade, Art?
Because I bought a shitload of Federal high-velocity 40 grain ammo. A bulk purchase. It was a fire sale, and I paid for it with a one-time-only cash bonus I got back when times were flush in telecom. Until it’s gone, this is the only gun I’m gonna shoot.
I fired off a few more rounds.
Are you going for the nuts? Or is that just bad shooting?
Do I have to answer that?
Try hitting the target instead.
I loaded up and gave it another go.
Pathetic, Cal said. No wonder all you do is divorce cases. If you actually knew how to shoot a gun…if you actually had a real gun to shoot, maybe you’d do better in life.
You think?
I know. In fact…
Cal disappeared a moment. When he came back, he handed me a gun case.
Try this on for size. It might work better for you. It’s a Glock 26 semi-automatic with the seventeen-round magazine. See how it fits.
He opened the case and handed me the gun. The gun was a matte black Glock with a rubberized handle.
Go ahead, Art, try it on for size. I’m tired of watching you shoot that rusted .22. It makes no sense.
I don’t want your gun, Cal.
I bought that gun two years ago down at a gun show in Hollywood, Florida, and I keep it in my glove compartment for safety purposes. But it ain’t doing me no good in my glove compartment. I’ve been meaning to give it to you because I don’t like that Ruger. But now in your job you can actually use it. Take it, you’re a friend. I feel responsible for you. Also, with a gun like this, who knows? You might actually move up in the world as a detective.
Move up? I shook my head.
Nobody is gonna ever take you seriously if they see you carrying a .22. Don’t you want to do something interesting in your business other than divorce cases?
My business is interesting enough. Besides I got all this ammo.
That’s a lame excuse, Art. Just try the gun, for fuck’s sake!
I stepped into the lane and worked a round into the chamber and I started firing just like that. Pow. Pow. Pow. Pow. Pow. Immediately, I felt adrenalized.
Excellent shooting Art! You’re actually hitting the target. Try again.
I took aim and shot. Pow. Pow. Pow.
Nice shooting, Art. That’s the best I’ve ever seen you do. How’s it feel?
I don’t know. It’s a good looking gun. I’m not used to firing something so beautiful.
It is a beautiful piece, cowboy!
Now you’re starting to sound like John Wayne.
You make me want to sound like John Wayne. Now shoot, cowboy!
I closed my eyes and pulled the trigger in rapid succession and I couldn’t believe what a remarkable gun it was. Hail Mary full of grace, I said, and fired off the rest of the rounds in the clip. Cal had another clip loaded and he handed it to me. Have at it, big guy.
I started shooting again, and he was there behind my shoulder, sighting along with me.
You got much better control with this gun than you have with that Ruger.
Yes, I agree, I told him. I kept shooting.
I am slightly concerned that it’s too small in those big fucking hands of yours. I might have to get the gun adjusted for you.
It’s fine. No need to worry.
Also, how does it sight?
Well I seem able to hit the target, so I guess it sights just fine. Pow. Pow. Pow. Pow. Pow. Pow.
Hole in one, Cal said, when we drew the target up to see my tight pattern. Excellent job, my friend. So it ain’t your skill that’s been the problem, it’s that fucking Ruger.
Or maybe I’m just lucky today.
How do you like the gun?
It’s a beautiful gun, Cal. Thanks for letting me shoot it.
Keep it, he said. It’s yours. I have a few magazines for you and three boxes of ammo. Keep it in your office. In your job I don’t like to see you fucking around with a pussy gun.