Out of Time - Ryan Matthew Harker (short books to read TXT) 📗

that, for the moment anyway, I have only a minimum defense.

4. The Mysterious Gunman- I came to the conclusion he must have something to do with TRU, it’s the only theory that makes any sense. Either he wants TRU or he wants me because of something I’ve done through my use of her. I also concluded it’s a very real possibility that he’s got a TRU device as well. Really these are just theory. The fact is I don’t know who this psycho is but I do know the rifle under his coat will make Swiss cheese out of me in no time. I definitely don’t want to run into him, yet.

I know the list seems a little odd but what can I say, some chicks are scarier than being shot!

So for now I jump on a bus and let my thoughts carry me along just as surely as this steel and plastic conveyance is. It isn’t long before I leave my chariot for the hard, cracked concrete of the sidewalk. I only have to backtrack half a block, push through the heavy metal framed glass and I’m here. The sight greeting me from the shop’s brightly lit interior brings me a comforting sense of relief and security. Everything I can possibly need is laid out neatly before me in glass cases and hangs on the walls from hooks of varying sizes. Guns, knives, ammunition, guns and more guns!

A burly man in a frayed sleeveless denim vest looks up from a copy of Soldier of Fortune and gives me a slight nod. “Howdy,” he grunts. “What can I do you for?”

“I’m looking to buy a gun,” I tell him as I mosey up to the counter.

Eyes completely devoid of surprise look down on me but the sarcasm in his voice says volumes, “Really?”

I look around at the large assortment of firearms and realize what a stupid answer it was. The real question is what kind of gun I want.

“What kind ya after?” burley denim sounds bored.

“I’m not quite sure,” I admit. Outside of movies I don’t have much experience with weapons of this nature. I’m more of a run away to fight another day kind of fellow.

“Whatcha using it for? Target shooting?”

I shake my head no.

“Hunting?”

I shake my head no.

“Home defense?”

This time I give him a nod of affirmation. Home defense sounds close enough. “Yeah, home defense.”

Burley denim nods back as if this is what he expected all along, just another paranoid nut looking to take advantage of the Make My Day law. This law basically states if someone enters your home uninvited you can legally blow them away without threat of consequence.

“We got a lot of pistols over here,” he tells me and moves to stand behind another glass case.

I follow and discover the case holds everything from a Walther P22 to a Colt 1911 44.

An expansive gesture over the top of the case and burley denim reveals, “We got everything in here from a Walther P22 to a Colt 1911 44.”

“Hmmm,” I hum noncommittally.

Seeing my indecision and properly diagnosing ignorance as its source, burley denim pulls out a small pistol, places it on the glass before me then pulls out a large pistol and lays it next the other. He fishes around in his pocket a bit and produces two bullets, one much bigger than the other and sets one next to each of the pistols.

He points to the small pistol and suggestively informs me, “This is the Walther P22. It’s small, lightweight, and easily concealable.” In other words it’s a woman’s gun. He points to the small bullet. “It fires a .22 caliber round. Now this don’t have the stopping power of a bigger pistol but if used right it’ll scare away most a yer typical home invaders.”

He points to the bigger pistol. It’s twice as big as the Walther. “This here is the Colt. It shoots a .45 caliber round,” he points to the larger bullet. “Now this has enough stopping power, just about anywhere you hit somebody; it’ll be enough to make ‘em reconsider steppin’ over the threshold.”

The Colt is definitely a little more to my liking but after seeing what the Gunman packs I think the odds still stack against me.

“I like the Colt,” I stall. “But I need something bigger. Do you have any machine guns?”

Burley denim arches an eyebrow at me and even I have to admit, machine gun sounds pretty Hollywood but what else are they called?

Burley denim stalks over to the other side of the shop, announcing as he goes, “My semi-automatics are over here.”

Semi-automatics sound a lot cooler than machine guns and I drift over to the other side of the shop for a peek. My alcohol is wearing off and I really want to sit down but the urge to protect myself is strong so I push my discomfort to the back of my mind and concentrate on the task before me.

“I think I have whatcha want right here,” burley denim drawls as I approach. Behind him the wall is about twenty-four feet long and is covered in rifles. Big ones and small ones and medium ones, I’ve never seen so much firepower in one place. He looks me over one more time and removes one from its hooks.

“This here is the AR-15 assault rifle. It fires a high velocity .227 round designed for maximum penetration.” He whips the gun up to his shoulder and waves it around with one eye squinting into the scope. “Low recoil stock for improved control this baby comes with a red dot scope that couldn’t be more accurate.” The barrel swings back my direction and stops just short of my head before whipping back to point at the ceiling. “I’ll even throw in a box of ammo free of charge.”

I accept the proffered weapon and doing my best to imitate burley denim I hold the thing to my shoulder. Staring into the scope it surprises me to see a little red reticule imposed on the little jar with a label reading TANERITE in bright bold letters. “Whoa, now that is cool,” I mumble as I target other objects in the room.

Slowly tearing free of my little Modern Warfare moment I hand the rifle back and ask, “How much?”

I’m not sure I like the look in burley denim’s eyes when he tells me, “Eleven hundred and fifty dollars.” And it seems like his answer came a little too quickly.

“And for the Colt?” I look to where the pistols still sit on the other counter.

“Ah, so you do like it,” burley denim muses. “Well, normally the 1911 is eight hundred but if you buy them both I can cut you a deal. Let’s say,” he ponders for a moment. “Seventeen hundred for the pair.”

Seventeen seems a little steep but what do I know? And besides I’m desperate. “Deal,” I agree. “But I’m gonna need more ammo.”

 

Conspicuous doesn’t even begin to cover how I feel walking out of the gun shop with the long black case dangling from my clenched fist. I feel extremely cool at the same time, like an outlaw. I’m not stupid though and I take a long slow look at my surroundings making sure to study every window, door, shadowy nook, and dank crevasse. Satisfying my survival instinct I make my way into the alley. I wasn’t allowed to while in the shop but I didn’t buy these guns to carry them around unloaded. Inserting the cartridges into the clips is tedious but by the last one I feel I’m getting the hang of it. Once loaded the Colt goes under my shirt in my belt, the AR I snap back into the case.

I get some strange looks from the other passengers on the bus but people pretty much keep to themselves, one of the things I like about this city, and I make it back to my apartment without incident.

I lock the door behind me and lay the gun case on the coffee table. Plopping heavily onto the couch I just sit and stare for a moment at the black plastic in front of me before leaning forward and unsnapping the case. The AR has a carrying strap attached to it, one of the extras I talked burley denim into throwing in for free, and I stand up so I can sling it over my shoulder. I’ve got the perfect coat to conceal this thing if I can get the strap adjusted so as to put the stock at a comfortable position with my shoulder, there we go. I walk to the closet and extract an old beat up trench coat. It’s a charcoal grey color and looks like something I imagine a detective would wear. Putting it on makes me feel like a real dick and chuckles escape my lips as I go to find a mirror.

Looking in the mirror I realize I should’ve got one of those shoulder holsters for the Colt, reaching behind my back to dig it out of my belt with the coat on is kind of a pain in the neck. All in all I think this getup will work though.

Now that I’m armed the rest of the plan is simple. I go back to the living room and load extra clips to take with me. I’ve got four for the AR and four for the Colt which I distribute throughout the trench’s pockets. I ended up spending about two grand at the gun shop, every penny a penny well spent in my opinion.

I’m about as ready as I’ll ever be. I feel pretty weighted down and this reminds my body that it aches which reminds me to take a much needed drink, or three. The alcohol doesn’t do much though and I dig TRU out of my pocket and dial the time counter forward.

 

After a quick stop in the future for my pharmaceuticals I snap back to the past about four blocks from the entrance to the dog track. The first part of my plan is simple and I waste no time in walking towards my destiny. I’m getting smarter and as soon as she flickers to life I dial TRU to what I consider to be a safe time. Looking up from her screen I see the entrance to the track dead ahead and walk through the revolving doors.

Between the pain pills and alcohol I’m feeling a little fuzzy around the edges but my feet carry me unfailingly to the counter. The little weasel behind the glass looks up from behind coke bottle lenses and sighs with recognition, “Just can’t stay away, huh Davey.”

His voice grates on my nerves but I remain calm and concentrate on not slurring my words, “Shut up Hector, I’m only gonna tell you this once.” When Hector’s eyes bug out they’re magnified even more by his specs but he only manages to sputter a bit so I continue, “Now listen close, I’m going walk in here this afternoon and try to place a bet. This is going to be a very bad mistake for me and if you let me place this bet it’s going to be a very bad mistake for you, if you catch my drift.”

Hector’s eyes narrow and he tries to get indignant, “Now see here Davey, just who do…”

I pull the Colt, discretely put it on the counter and cock the hammer with my thumb. “If you catch my drift,” I repeat.

Hector’s eyes go buggy and he sputters again but he nods his understanding.

“Let me hear you say it,” I prompt him.

“You’re going to come in here to place a bet and I won’t let you,” he says with his eyes glued to the gun.

And he won’t let me, I like that but I’m not quite done yet. “When?” is all I say.

“This afternoon,” Hector almost squeals. “Geez Davey put that thing away.”

I ease the hammer back and return the Colt to my belt. “Glad we have an understanding.”

“You’re nuts, man! You know