Mrs. Campbell's Beretta

She'd phoned, said, "I'll be there, shortly."

"Yes, Ma'am." You never argue with Mrs. Campbell.

I'd expected her call. Over the last few months she's sold me several of her late husbands toys. Her husband's name was Percy. Nice fella. Percy checked out, intelligence intact, in his late eighties. He and I got along well. Percy spoke several languages, none fluent, and had a deep abiding love for literature, especially science fiction. Percy also enjoyed firearms.

Mrs. Campbell, his wife of over fifty years, did not.

Mrs. Campbell stands four foot nothing. She's a tiny little booger with coiffed hair and deep green eyes, slim. She'd never step from her home without the best dressed award around her neck. Today she wore yellow. A necklace of pearls, and a diamond to envy. Mrs. Campbell, for eighty odd years of youth, is a cutie pie. If I were twenty years older I'd ask her out. Well, maybe once.

Mrs. Campbell entered the building...."Well, are you ready?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

She places a thick padded envelope in my hands. It has heft. I like heft. Inside I find a plastic bag, tightly bound. I remove the plastic bag and after a few cuts of knife I find a sweet Pietro Beretta Gardone V-T in .380. By the date code I guessed an early 1960 model. (It later proved 1966.)

I goofed and said, "Nice."

"Oh, really. Good. How much will you pay me?"

I stalled. "Did this belong to Percy?" She took a seat. I joined her. She turns to me and said, "Where's your book. Let's find out how much its worth."

See what I mean. I goofed.

Again with the stall. "I didn't know he carried a Beretta." There was a holster in the bag. Her, "He didn't. I did."

Flash back several months - After his death she'd drive to the shop and ask me to step outside and remove this, in her words, 'thing' or 'things' from her vehicle. She proclaimed a pure hatred for firearms. I'd always purchase her things. Old Savage this, Winchester that....Fudd stuff. She'd really gotten my attention when she said this nice pistol belonged to her.

Mrs. Campbell's Beretta.

 
So, me, "I thought you hated firearms."

"I do. Hate 'em with a passion. They hurt people."

"And yet....you."

"Well, a lady must protect herself and Percy taught me how to shoot. He insisted, even when I dropped it each time I pulled the trigger. Stupid thing is loud."

Mrs. Campbell is a hoot. After a few minutes we settled upon a price. Then, she reached over and gave my upper thigh a good squeeze. I laughed. She stood, all four foot nothing of loveliness, said goodbye, and drifted like a flower towards her car.

Just before the door closed she yelled, "Soon as I find those old things I'll be back."

"What things?"

"You know, those things. The things you put into the gun - bullets."


Stephen

Monday, and a Tale of a Critter

I hate Monday....I mean truly hate it. Today, Monday, is my day off yet here I am at work. Even the weather sucks. Its sunny and hot, close to fifty-seven degrees.

I've had one customer, so I'm bored. My current read can't hold my interest, so I've taken out my carry piece and have it field stripped for a good clean and scrub. This morning I switched my carry from the Para .45 to a Glock 27 in .40 with its small of the back Galco. I'm weird this way...but I believe it a good practice to switch out your carry pieces now and again if for nothing else to familiarize yourself with all your safe-queens.

My hands smell of Break Free. Keyboard is sticky. Rambling, aren't I.

Just finished a long conversation with an old friend of mine. He's a retired Birmingham homicide detective. Nice fella, older at seventy-six with a head of pure white hair. Not in bad shape for a senior citizen and makes for a fine back-up in sticky situations. I've proof of his grit.

Last September he was here in the shop along with another friend of mine, Pirate Jim, when a critter (democrat) stuck his head in my door demanding cash. Long story short, within seconds the critter had three handguns pointed at his nose, and I, in a very loud voice, suggested he (the critter) should leave my property if he wanted to live. (I make light of the situation now, but trust me, at the time it was kinda intense.) Now, here's the funny part. After we drew our weapons, all in condition one, and had clear fire on said critter, the critter looked me straight in the face and said, "Well, ya'll be gots guns, huh. Well, mothafuck*rs, so do I."

The critter then proceeds to lift his shirt tail and takes a black semi-auto democritter brand piece from his pants. The handgun had been wrapped with black electrical tape. Extended magazine stuck out of the grip. I, as calm as possible, suggested if he lifted or moved the firearm, I'd kill him dead right there....I meant it.

Then, and I swear to our Lord, the idiot said, "Hey, motherfuck*r, mine be loaded."

Really, he said that....

The critter's eyes were jittery, so I suppose he was as high as a kite. Anyway, here this dumbass was with three handguns pointed at him; my old friend the retired cop with a fine vintage .38 wheel gun, and Pirate Jim with his little carry piece and me with a Beretta 92FS, and he still insisted I give him cash.

I had locked my vision on his hands and had my trigger finger firmly snug. In as loud of a voice as I could possibly generate told him in no uncertain terms if he moved his hands I'd shoot. The old cop gently waggled his piece, Pirate Jim the same....we were seconds from gunfire when I yelled, "Look around you, dumbass. (Paraphrasing here.) If you move you are dead."

The critter did take a moment to look around. He cut his eyes right and left then ever so slowly returned his gang piece back into his pants and stepped back. He reached to open the door. Just as his hand closed on the doorknob he decided he had to 'get back his respect,' and said, "Hey, motherfuck*r, you gots to be closed sometime tonight." I don't really remember what I replied but the old cop said I told him I'd be right here if he wanted to return. Whew....

Now I'm gonna be honest with you, my friends. I did not want to shoot the critter. As a matter of fact, like I've mentioned, I must have thanked the good Lord Jesus a hundred times on the drive home. I'm aware many of you would have fired. I understand. I had every legal right to put this man down but held fire. (I was later told by two U. S. marshals, friends and longtime customers of mine, I should have done them a favor and shot the sucker, but they understood why I held back. They also said if I'd of called the local police it would have been a waste of my time. I agreed on that point.)  They asked me for a description of the critter and I gave it over. Asked why and they said they'd find the sucker if it took 'em a year. I believe them. Dwayne and Mike are my kinda people.

Sorry...off track. Anyway.

Try if possible to imagine the rest of my evening if I had indeed put the critter on the ground. My group was due any moment for our monthly meeting - can you picture a load of cops as they stroll into my business and find several armed men and a dead body taking space on my shop floor...yeah, neither can I.

If I'd indeed killed the critter, the police would have found a dead body covered in blood on my nice carpet, which instantly requires them confiscate my carry piece. Then we'd have television coverage (Oh, that would have been wonderful for business.) then, me, taken into custody for a question and answer session with a night in a holding cell. Yeah, right. Think Zimmerman.

 
I'd like to believe it was my age, compassion, and maturity (chuckle) that saved this young man's life. He was lucky. If he had moved his hand I would have fired. This morning my old cop friend said he was surprised I didn't drop the man. Then, he said, "But Stephen, you did the right thing."

So please remember the unintended consequences the next time you find yourself about to pull the trigger on your firearm. Sure, I would have walked, after all we have Stand Your Ground here in Florida, but my actions would have haunted me for the rest of my life. Do protect yourself. Do take the shot if you feel your life is in danger....but take a moment (Trust me, a zillion thoughts will cross your mind as you pull your weapon.) and think about what happens one second after.

By the grace of God I've escaped three such encounters over the last few years. I'd like to think an angel rides my shoulder.

Take care.

Stephen
 

When I'm Bored

Here at the shop I do one of several chores to keep myself busy and alert. I dust and clean the shop - a daily routine, or the ever present paper work. When these small task are completed and all else fails, and when I'm alone and I'm sure I'll not be caught in the act, I nap. Really though I'd prefer to read. But, if I'm not in the mood to read there is always Netflix, but to tell you the truth their selection of movies is extremely limited, at least for my taste.

Many days I'll simply grab my portable phone and take a walk around the building. The promise of found treasure gives me an excuse to scour the parking lot for dropped change, pennies mostly, which I take home and drop into Little Bit's silver fund.

To tell you the truth my favorite time killer is to simply break out my handgun cleaning kits and purge away the  grim and dust from my firearm. Recently, while browsing Gander Mountain, I came across a neat compact unit. Its the Kleenbore Pockit.

I know, fuzzy terrible picture but I'm not in the same class as Brigid.

When I came across these neat little plastic bundles I thought what a great item for my Get Home Bag. Just select the caliber of your daily carry piece. I grabbed both 9x19 and .45 caliber. I should have and will buy another in .40 caliber.

Each kit, obviously, is self-contained. Grab a bottle of Breakfree and you're set to clean anywhere anytime.

Simply unscrew the cap and the cleaning rod, bore brush, and other attachments drop free. See the red button, just snap in the cleaning rod and it locks into place.

Slick little unit. I tucked mine in a plastic bag with a handful of cleaning patches and a shop towel, along with a four ounce bottle of Breakfree, and dropped it into my satchel. Since I have a weird habit of switching out my carry piece I keep both the nine mil and the forty-five PocKits with me at all times.

Just never know when you're gonna get bored. Oh, they're not expensive...if I remember correctly each retails for less than twenty bucks. Here, check it out.

For your entertainment here's a video review of the PocKit.

Stephen

I Want

This little baby, just because.

It's a USFA M4-410. All steel, six shot.

The details can be found here.

Stephen

Wives & Handguns

This is for my lovely friend, Jacked Up Glock Mom.  Enjoy.

Stephen

Google Account

The short of it is, it's easy.  It only requires a user name and password...it's free. It just gives us blog writers a sense of well being knowing we're writing for you special people that take precious time from your busy lives to read our work. Puffs me up, too.

Thanks.

Picture posted just because I like it. Pickled eggs make me smile...and with the handgun, well, what's not to like. I came across the picture on the AR-15 website and would give due credit to its owner if only I knew his or her name. Thanks anyway unknown nice person.

Stephen