It’s Just a Gun

That’s a shame isn’t it? A perfectly good piece is now at the bottom of the river. I’d always liked that one, damned straight shooter that little gun.
+++++I’ve had a relationship with ‘em ever since I was a boy with my first twenty-two. I’d sit in my room and cycle the bolt over and over. My granddad taught me to shoot, although I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t approve of the way I use one now. Got pretty damned good with it, if I might say, but that was all before the old man took off and left me and mom with my kid sister.
+++++We moved around a lot back in those days, seemed like we blew from trailer park to trailer park like a pissed off Texas twister. Mom would find a job and a place for us to live, ‘sis and I would start school and start to look forward to something better. Something like having Christmas presents and milk in our cereal.
+++++Mom would come home one day and tell us to get packing. We’d soon be off searching again. Me, I didn’t really like school much anyway, but ‘sis, I could tell it was really bothering her.
+++++After a few years, Mom got real sick and ‘sis took off with some boy from school, said she was pregnant and didn’t want Mom to know. Hell.  That sent the old gal right over the edge. It was just me after that.
+++++Got a job pulling parts at the wrecking yard, old guy there ran a lot of dope through the place. After work he and I would drink a few beers and shoot cans out of the junk pile. Said I was pretty good with a pistol and asked if I was ready to make some real money.
+++++One day the old guy tells me that he wants to send a message to some of the boys up in Medford who hadn’t made good on a shipment of meth. Wanted to let them know it was time to pay up. He gave me some cash, a Smith and Wesson with the serial number ground off and some directions to their place in Oregon. Probably didn’t think he’d see me again. Old guy just about shit when I showed up for work a couple of days later, like I said, he probably wrote me off.
+++++That was the start of something good for me, I’d learned to weld in the wrecking yard and I got a better paying job. Saved up some money and bought a real house, without wheels, got married. But I’d earned a reputation by then, if you wanted to send a message, I was your man.
+++++Now there are other guys who’ll take off a finger or kidnap a loved one, all huff and puff.  Me, I’ll blow your fucking house down. No, it’s clean really, you tell me who you want, let’s say, disposed of and I do the job in one clean shot. I’m blowing in the wind before the casing hits the ground. Well, I pick that up, but you see what I’m getting at. That’s one hell of a message if you ask me, seems to keep everyone in the West Coast drug business in line.
+++++Over the years now, I’ve thrown a few of these off a highway bridge in the middle of the night, dropped one off the Golden Gate once. Good guns mostly, no serial numbers and no way of tracing them back to anyone. They never existed. In time the water level will drop and some fisherman or a kid swimming will find one rusted so badly it doesn’t look like much. Might find its way to the local Sheriff, but it doesn’t matter, by then the ballistics are fucked up. It’s really a shame, but it’s just a gun right?

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Christopher Davis
Christopher Davis is a central California native and grandfather of three rambunctious little ones. When not tending the herd he writes Civil War, Western and Crime fiction, some of which can be seen on Shotgun Honey, The Big Adios and Yellow Mama (2015)
Christopher Davis

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7 thoughts on “It’s Just a Gun”

  1. “Seemed like we blew from trailer park to trailer park like a pissed off Texas twister.” That’s a line that is totally worth the price of admission. The story is excellent, but those words are going to stick with me for a while.

    1. Thanks William, man I really hope you don’t live near a trailer park? Didn’t mean to scare anyone.
      Seriously though, thanks again for the feedback.
      Chris

  2. Two things. First, I love a sentimental enforcer, especially when it comes to the tools of his trade. Second, the writing was so good it almost seemed transparent as he went up the ranks – Going from a junk yard to regional enforcer. Good work.

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