himself out of his awkwardness, the gun seller eyed Riley’s own sidearm with approval.
“That Glock Model 22 you’ve got there’s a fine piece, ma’am,” he said. “A law enforcement professional, are you?”
Riley smiled and showed him her badge.
The man pointed to a row of similar weapons in a glass case.
“Well, I’ve got your Glocks right over here. Pretty good choices, if you ask me.”
Riley looked at the weapons, then looked at Blaine, as if to ask his opinion.
Blaine couldn’t do anything but shrug and blush. He wished he’d put the same time into researching weapons as he had into statistics and laws.
Riley shook her head.
“I’m not sure a semiautomatic is quite what we’re in the market for,” she said.
The man nodded.
“Yeah, they’re kind of complicated, especially for someone new to guns. Things can go wrong.”
Riley nodded in agreement, adding, “Yeah, things like misfires, stovepipe jams, double feed, failure to eject.”
The man said, “Of course, those aren’t real problems for a seasoned FBI gal like you. But for this feller, maybe a revolver is more the style you’re looking for.”
The man escorted them to a glass case full of revolvers.
Blaine’s eyes were drawn to some of the guns with shorter barrels.
At least they looked less intimidating.
“What about that one there?” he said, pointing to one.
The man opened the case, took out the gun, and handed it to Blaine. The weapon felt strange in Blaine’s hand. He couldn’t decide whether it was heavier or lighter than he’d expected.
“A Ruger SP101,” the man said. “Good stopping power. Not a bad choice.”
Riley eyed the weapon doubtfully.
“I think we’re looking for something with maybe a four-inch barrel,” she said. “Something that absorbs the recoil better.”
The man nodded again.
“Right. Well, I think maybe I’ve got just the thing.”
He reached into the case and took out another larger pistol. He handed it to Riley, who examined it with approval.
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “A Smith and Wesson 686.”
Then she smiled at Blaine and handed him the gun.
“What do you think?” Riley said.
This longer weapon felt even stranger in his hand than the smaller weapon had. All he could do was smile at Riley sheepishly. She smiled back. He could see by her expression that she’d finally registered how awkward he was feeling.
She turned to the owner and said, “I think we’ll take it. How much does it cost?”
Blaine was stunned by the price of the weapon, but was sure that Riley knew best whether he was getting a fair deal.
He was also rather stunned by how easy it was to make the purchase. The man asked him for two proofs of identity, and Blaine offered him his driver’s license and his voter registration card. Then Blaine filled out a short, simple form consenting to a background check. The computerized check took only a couple of minutes, and Blaine was cleared to buy his weapon.
“What kind of ammo do you want?” the man asked as he started to ring up the sale.
Riley said, “Give us a box of Federal Premium Low Recoil.”
Just moments later, Blaine was a somewhat baffled gun owner.
He stood looking down at the daunting weapon, which lay on the counter in an open plastic case, nestled in protective foam. Blaine thanked the man, shut the case, and turned to leave.
“Wait a minute,” the man said cheerfully. “Don’t you want to try her out?”
The man led Riley and Blaine through a door in the back of the store that opened into a startlingly large indoor shooting range. Then he left Riley and Blaine to themselves. Blaine was just as glad that nobody else was there at the moment.
Riley pointed out the list of rules on the wall, and Blaine read them carefully. Then he shook his head uneasily.
“Riley, I don’t mind telling you …”
Riley chuckled a little.
“I know. You’re a little overwhelmed. I’ll talk you through it.”
She led him over to one of the empty booths, where he put on ear and eye protection gear. He opened the case with the pistol, careful to keep it pointed downrange before he even picked it up.
“Do I load it?” he asked Riley.
“Not yet. We’ll do some dry fire practice first.”
He took the pistol into his hands, and Riley helped him find the proper position – both hands on the gun handle but with fingers clear of the cylinder, elbows and knees slightly bent, leaning slightly forward. In a few moments, Blaine found himself aiming his pistol at a vaguely human shape on a paper target about twenty-five yards downrange.
“We’re going to practice double action first,” Riley said. “That’s when you don’t pull back the hammer with every shot, you do all the work with the trigger. That will give you a good sense of how the trigger feels. Pull the trigger back smoothly, then let it go just as smoothly.”
Blaine practiced with the empty gun a few times. Then Riley showed him how to open the cylinder and fill it with shells.
Blaine took up the same stance as before. He braced himself, knowing that the gun would kick a good bit, and carefully aimed at the target.
He pulled the trigger and fired.
The sudden backward force startled him, and the gun leaped in his hand. He lowered the gun and looked toward the target. He couldn’t see any holes in it. He fleetingly wondered how on earth anyone could hope to aim a weapon that jumped so sharply.
“Let’s work on your breathing,” Riley said. “Breathe in slowly while you aim, then breathe out slowly, drawing back the trigger so that you fire exactly when you’ve fully exhaled. That’s when your body is most still.”
Blaine fired again. He was surprised at how much more control he felt.
He looked downrange and saw that he had at least hit the paper target this time.
But as he prepared to take another shot, a memory flashed through his mind – a memory of the most terrifying moment of his life. One day when he’d still been living next door to Riley, he’d heard a terrible racket next door. He’d rushed over to Riley’s townhouse and found the front door partially open.
A man had thrown Riley’s daughter on the floor and was attacking her.
Blaine
