Chapter 7
Flint
Our shop sits in a building that used to be a computer repair place on the main drag of our hometown.
Cedar Falls is small by California standards.
A little over twenty thousand people. Vacaville is twenty-eight miles away with about a hundred thousand, and we’re heavily favored by the Napa Valley folks who drive through on weekends looking for something to do that isn’t wine tasting.
We park out back and come in through the rear door. I take an extra key off my keychain and hand it to her.
“The same key opens both the back and front doors. Keep it safe. We’ve got close to a quarter million dollars in stock, supplies, and customer handguns in this store on any given day.”
“Giving someone a key is a sign of trust. I appreciate that you see me as trustworthy,” she says with a grin.
“Yeah, whatever. Stop smiling like you just got the key to my castle.”
“It’s interesting that you likened your shop to a castle rather than your home.”
Fuckin’ hell, I am already regretting this hire, and we haven’t even made it through the damn door yet.
Tommy’s little sister has always been too smart for her own good, and now she’s going to be too smart for her own good while standing eight feet from me for nine hours a day.
I need to put my professional hat on and leave it there.
When we enter the shop, I point out the security cameras and tell her to stay in front of them when she’s dealing with the public.
Then I show her the emergency button under the counter.
“This red button will save your life in the event of a break-in or if a customer becomes unruly,” I explain, barely touching the button without triggering the silent alarm.
“If anything goes sideways, don’t hesitate to press the button.
It will alert local police that we need their help. Do you understand?”
She nods grimly. “Yeah, I get it. In case a nutjob with a gun gets riled up.”
“It’s for any situation that requires intervention when I’m not here.” Pausing to study her face, I add, “In my fuckin’ opinion, there are exactly the same number of nutjobs with guns as there are nutjobs without guns. This button is for both varieties.”
“Got it, Flint,” she says with a note of exasperation in her voice.
“Good,” I say, pulling a stool out from under the workbench for her to sit on so she can see what I’m doing. “Before we flip the sign over to open, I need to teach you about firearm safety. Have a seat.”
When she parks herself on the stool, I explain, “Every handgun you accept will go in a gun safe. You’ll fill out an intake sheet in triplicate.
Leave one in the intake book. Put the green copy in the gun case with the gun and lock it.
Then you give the pink copy to the customer.
I don’t want to see a gun in your hand for any reason today. ”
Her eyes flash up to mine. “That’s a really weird system. How are you supposed to fix guns if you can’t handle them?”
I roll my eyes. “Me and Tommy are ex-military. We know how to handle every kind of weapon imaginable. Unless you’ve spent the past few years visiting a gun range, you don’t.”
“I know which end the bullets come out of.”
“That’s a start. It’s not enough.”
She opens her mouth. I keep going before she can talk.
“Someone close to me got hurt when a firearm discharged in the military. This is my way of making sure that doesn’t ever happen again.”
I clear the workbench in front of her. Then walk her through clearing the chamber.
“This is how you make sure the chamber is empty on a Glock. You remove the magazine, pull the slide back and confirm visually that the chamber is empty. Always keep the business end pointed away from yourself or any other people the whole time.”
“If I’m not allowed to touch a gun, why are you telling me this?” she asks.
“The reason I don’t want to see a gun in your hand is because there is a fuckin’ huge variation in how bullets are chambered into different kinds of weapons and you can’t always tell by looking.
Although you get a feel for it after handling a lot of weapons, your brother and I mostly just memorized how each gun works.
Once you’re familiar with different types of handguns, you can handle them.
” I put the Glock back into the case and lock it.
“Look, don’t take it personally, I know you’re sensible.
This is both for your own safety as a new employee and because of how our business insurance works. Do you understand?”
She nods, her expression looking a bit relieved. “Yeah. Do you mostly work on Glocks?”
“We work on all kinds of weapons here. I showed you the Glock because you’ll see more of these than anything else in this shop. They’re reliable, accurate, damn near indestructible. Even a well-made weapon will eventually need parts replaced. That’s the whole reason our shop exists.”
I launch into the firearm safety rules. “If and when you get to the point that you’re handling firearms, you will treat every gun you touch as if it’s loaded.”
“I understand,” she responds.
“Rule number one, treat every weapon you touch as if it’s loaded. No exceptions, even if you just checked it. Two is never point the muzzle of a weapon at another human being, not even if you think it’s not loaded. You keep the muzzle pointed at the floor. We have a sandbox against the wall.”
“I saw that when we arrived and wondered what it was for,” she says glancing over her shoulder at it.
“That’s what we call the backstop. If you have to set a weapon down, you point the muzzle towards the sandbox one hundred percent of the time.”
“Oh, that makes sense,” she murmurs as she scratches out a note.
I like that Jules is so serious about gun safety and taking notes. It makes me feel a lot more confident about having her working here.
“Rule three is you always keep your finger off the fuckin’ trigger until the sights are on the target and you are actively planning to fire the weapon. No resting your finger on the trigger or hovering above it.”
She nods.
“And rule four is to be within line of sight of your target and pay attention to what’s behind it. Bullets can go right through a person and hit an innocent bystander. Trust me, you don’t want that on your conscience.”
“I don’t intend to shoot anyone while I’m working here, and I promise to remember your four rules.”
“Good. I want you to say them back to me.”
She gives me a look that’s half amusement and half disbelief. “Flint, are you serious? You want me to repeat what you just told me?”
“I’m dead serious. This is important to me.”
She fires off every rule. “Consider every weapon loaded. Don’t point the muzzle at anything you’re not willing to kill.
Keep my finger off the trigger until I’m actively planning to shoot.
Only point the gun at your target, and if anyone is behind them, don’t take the shot because they might catch a bullet too. ”
“Good,” I murmur, already thinking about what I need to do next.
“What do you mean by ‘good’? I just absorbed your entire safety lecture. Part of being a good boss is giving positive reinforcement when employees excel.”
“Fuck me, Jules. That’s a lot of big words.” When she just stares at me, I sigh and lift one thumb into the air. “Excellent work, Jules. You are a credit to gun safety everywhere. Want a sticker for your notebook?”
“Yes, actually.”
I frown at her because she’s annoying the fuckin’ daylights out of me right now. “Sorry, I don’t have stickers.” I keep my tone mild.
She just smirks at me. “You shouldn’t really make promises you can’t keep.”
While I’m trying to puzzle my way through her train of thought, she glances at the door. “It’s time to open the shop. Shouldn’t we unlock the front door?”
“Yeah, I’ll unlock, and you park your pretty ass at the front desk and fill out the new hire paperwork I left there for you.”
She slides off the stool and hesitates for a brief second.
“What? Do you have questions?”
“No. I just want to say that you can trust me not to mishandle weapons.”
“Look, Jules, I know you’re not a kid anymore. You seem smart and levelheaded. I do trust you, but I’m required by law to have a training period for new hires.”
“I know. I won’t let you or my brother down.
” Her words feel like a sacred promise from her lips to my ear.
I swallow thickly as I move to the front door, unlock it, and turn the sign from closed to open.
Sitting down at my workbench, I get to work on the Mossberg.
I’m not sure why this younger woman stirs up so many emotions for me.
Jules takes her stool up to the front counter and opens the hiring packet.
Around eight thirty, the front doorbell jingles. I look up to see one of our regulars stepping through the doorway with a rifle case tucked under his arm.
“Mornin’, Flint,” Pete says, his eyes jumping around the shop. “I had some time this morning and figured I’d stop by and see about a sight adjustment while I was thinking about it.”
His eyes catch sight of Jules at the counter and swing back to me. He brings up his gun case to hold it against his chest. “Am…am I supposed to give my rifle to a girl?”
“Pete,” I say evenly. “You know better than to talk like that in my shop. This is Jules’ first day. I don’t want you makin’ her feel uncomfortable.”
He rakes one hand through his hair and nods. Pete walks up to the counter and sets the rifle case on the counter. “This is Vera, and she’s my very favorite gun.”
Jules doesn’t miss a beat. She pulls the case across the counter and deadpans back. “Let me guess, this is the best gun made by man, and it has extreme sentimental value.”
Pete’s eyes light up because Jules mimics Jane’s voice from the iconic sci-fi western. “Do you know about guns.”
Jules shakes her head. “Not a lot, but I do know about space cowboys.”
“Then you’ll fit right in around here.”