We finished early at the motor pool so Bulls and Anders offered to walk me over to the firing range where I was to meet Walter for my first shooting lesson. As we entered the concrete bunker, I could hear the sounds of jeering laughter and smack talk interspersed with the crack of small arms fire. Apparently the Geese were still at their drills.
When we asked why they they were running so late, Burnadett made some crack about Marks looking for an excuse to show off his big, shiny weapon. There followed a lively and extremely ribald discussion between the sergeant and the captain over who's weapon I should be shown first along with detailed descriptions of what each thought of the "range", "Caliber" and "barrel length" of the other's weapon, not to mention power and technique. They even managed to make the topic of "rimfire" vs. "Centerfire" sound dirty and I don't even know what that is.
I was doing a pretty good job of pointedly ignoring the exchange until Sherman, who had shown me just the other evening how to field strip, clean and reassemble his Varmint, had to open his big mouth and mention that I was already pretty good at handling a weapon. Not fire it mind you, he helpfully added but I could strip it like a pro. The ensuing comments such as; "Liebst, you wound me, handling another man's weapon.", "He let you touch his Remington? you are a special girl." and of course my favourite, "Why don't you come over here and strip my weapon." made me wish whole heartedly that I had a loaded gun in my hands at that very moment.
I crossed my arms and sniffed disdainfully, commenting that little boys with delusions of grandeur might often boast but real men did not have to. I then stuck my nose in the air and, tossing a request over my shoulder to please let me know when the actual men arrived, prepared to flounce gracefully from the room but Marks simply chuckled and herded me instead towards the lanes. "God I love a feisty woman." He rumbled as he crowded me into a shooting booth.
While the others looked on with great interest, Marks showed me how to load and insert the magazine but stepped back a bit warily when I clicked off the safety and pulled back the slide. They had all heard the story of my first and only ill fated attempt to learn to fire a gun so I could hardly blame them.
I could, however, blame them all, especially Marks, for the embarrassing farce my second lesson became.
Oh yes, I could definitely blame Sgt. Marks.
The first few rounds I fired actually hit the target but that was mostly because Marks was wrapped around me like a second skin and doing most of the aiming. When I finally elbowed him off he proceeded to do everything in his power to distract me such as brushing imaginary dust from my back and shoulders and leaning over to whisper "helpful" little suggestions in my ear while I tried to take aim.
The rest of the Geese were almost as bad. They never laid a hand on me but kept hollering out tips and making rude animal noises just as I prepared to pull the trigger. When I informed them in no uncertain terms that they were not helping, they enthusiastically agreed.
I should have been annoyed but the noises were actually kind of amusing and Marks' over the top flirting was making me blush and go all giggly girlie, which is so out of character for me that I could appreciate the novelty. So no big surprise that the majority of my shots were wildly off mark and even when I did hit a target it was just as likely to be one from a different lane. Of course, on those rare occasions when I actually managed to hit my own target, just the paper mind you not necessarily the actual figure, the Geese all cheered enthusiastically and belted out snatches of the theme from "Rocky".
I was actually managing to tune out Zelig's surprisingly realistic rooster crows and Griffin's repeated shouts of 'Adrian!' and was just squinting down the sights to line up what I was sure would finally be a spectacular kill shot when a large male hand swooped down to squeeze my bottom. I squawked and fired off my spectacular "kill shot" into the ceiling. Unthinkingly, I rounded on Marks and began poking him furiously in the chest. "Just what do you think your up to?" I shouted indignantly.
"Careful Chanson," Called Burnadett. "you could hurt someone with that thing."
I squeaked in alarm and looked down ...at my empty hands and then up at Marks who stood smugly in front of me holding the gun he had obviously plucked from my fingers without my noticing. "Looking for something?" He asked innocently.
The Geese burst out laughing.
"You...You!..." I snarled poking him even harder in the chest. "Urhug!" I said giving up and shoving him away.
"Ow." Said Marks rubbing his chest where I'd poked him."
This just made the Geese laugh harder.
"Oh, I hate you all." I said without much venom, more embarrassed than angry.
"Come now just a little fun liebst. Let's try again, I promise to behave." Said Marks with an insincere gleam in his eye.
He reached for my waist and I slapped his hand away. "Yeah right." I muttered stepping back.
We all laughed at that one.
A quiet but firm clearing of the throat rang from the doorway, effectively silencing the room.
Walter walked in placid as ever on the surface but psychically radiating disapproval in that way only English butlers can. Even Zelig looked impressed.
His gazed locked on Sgt. Marks and the temperature of the aether notched down a few more degrees. "Interesting training technique sergeant." He said. "Quite....unconventional."
Marks grinned with false humour. "I find it useful to train my men to be able to fire accurately regardless of the distraction."
"I see." Said Walter coolly. "And the fondling, is this one of the standard distractions you use on your men or just your special brand of bonding within the ranks?"
Marks' grin remained fixed but his eyes flashed with anger.
"Their aim may not improve," Continued Walter. "but they will certainly learn to watch their backs."
My jaw dropped.
"Du alte Sau." Said Marks quietly, stepping forward with blood in his eye his grin now a death rictus.
Burnadett quickly stepped between them. "Come now m'sieur Walter, it was just a bit of fun." He said jovially.
"Ah," Said Walter looking pointedly at the gun Marks had snatched from me. "with a loaded weapon no less. How very...jocular."
Burnadett's expression managed to remain friendly but firmed. "M'sieur Walter, you and I both know that not one man in this room, would ever endanger a hair on our Chanson's head."
There was a brief, tension filled pause then Walter nodded. "Not knowingly, no." He conceded. "But I must insist that future, Ms. Doyle's firearms training be left to me. I find your Sergeant's methods a bit too avant-garde for my peace of mind."
Burnadett held up a hand to stay Marks' retort. "Of course." He agreed. "Just as you have never interfered with training and discipline with my men, I can but extend you the same courtesy."
The two men nodded their agreement.
"Speaking of which, I believe we had a run through the obstacle course scheduled for this evening did we not Sergeant?"
Marks nodded stiffly.
"Well perhaps we should go and leave them to it. Sooner started sooner finished." Said Burnadett briskly.
"Thank you Captain." Said Walter.
"Of course." Said the Captain brightly. "Because the sooner Corrine finishes her training, the sooner she can join tonight's party in the barracks no?" He asked glancing at Marks.
"Why of course," Said Marks expansively without missing a beat. "As I recall Corrine, you were to bring.."
"Brownies!" Shouted Zelig excitedly.
"Precisely." Marks agreed. "Wasn't that right Corrine?" He asked me with an expectant look on his face.
We all knew there was no party planned and I would normally resent being placed in such an awkward position but Walter's comments had moved beyond high handed to, for lack of a better word, downright catty. One glance at Marks confirmed that he fully expected me to back him up and I just hadn't the heart to ding his pride any further. "Um, yes?" I said trying to sound sincere. He reached out and patted my shoulder to show he appreciated the effort.
"Well I do not care if you bring brownies or no, just as long as you remember to bring me mon carotte." Said Burnedett.
"I'll ask her."
"Bon. Then, let us go." He said looking at his men and jerking his head toward the door. The Geese began to shuffle out.
"Tonight then." Said Marks brushing my cheek with a finger. He narrowed his eyes at Walter. "butler." Sniffed Marks barely civil.
"Sergeant." Intoned Walter. So civilly as to be just this side of insult.
Burnadett elbowed in to take my hand and, removing the cigarette from his lips, bent his head to brush a kiss across my knuckles. "Please do not forget to bring my snack." He winked.
"Or my brownies!" Demanded Zelig.
Marks made a disgusted noise and grabbed Zelig by the collar.
"With walnuts!" He shouted as the sergeant hauled him out the door.
"My boys, they do like their treats no?" Chuckled Burnadett. He waived his hand in lazy cheerful salute and strolled out the door to join his men.
A few last comments rang down the corridor to us. I managed to catch: "Your not going to serve that pig piss you call beer again are you Sherman?", "I did tell her walnuts didn't I?", "Party? No one told me about no party. Ow! Searg. What was that for?" and a growling "Shut it, the lot of you!" before the sound faded away up the stairs and silence descended upon the range.
There's been many the occasion when Walter and I have shared a comfortable, companionable silence.... This was not one of them.
I tiled my head and looked at him, wanting very much to ask him why he had said those things to Sergeant Marks. I mean I knew they did not much care for each other and Walter's comments could, on occasion, be biting but he had never been so openly rude not even when Alucard baited him. It just seemed so unlike him. But one glance at his steely countenance told me my enquiry would be most unwelcome.
I turned and started to tidy the scoring tables as much to avoid his stare as to give myself something to do but I could still feel him watching and waiting.
The tense silence stretched out between us until I thought I might scream.
Once the scoring tables were immaculate, I turned my attention to the firing booth only to be caught out by Walter's laser like gaze.
"Fine!" I said. Throwing up my hands in surrender. "I'm sorry OK?"
"Ms. Doyle," Said Walter on an unvoiced sigh. "My intention was not to wring that sincere if grudging apology from you but to give you time to emotionally separate yourself from the situation and decide you are ready to hear what I have to say."
"Which is?"
He eyed me for a moment assessing then said, "I have spent a lifetime Ms. Doyle around guns, both making and using them and have trained countless others in their use and do you know what the most important thing I teach them is? First and foremost I teach them to respect their weapon so as not to be a danger to themselves and more importantly, the other members of their unit.
A poor shot is a waste of ammunition to be sure but a careless shot can do just as much damage as the enemy. More if you consider the impact on morale." He paused a moment for emphasis. "What I witnessed tonight was a shocking lack of respect for the weapon you held in your hand."
I almost apologized again then thought better of it.
"Now, while you are no fool, your actions tonight were both foolish and dangerous. But, much as your behaviour distressed me I feel compelled to point out that I found Sergeant Marks' actions in this matter wholly inexcusable"
He held up a hand to still my instinctive defensive reaction (he so has me pegged). "While I would have hoped for you to know better than to handle a gun in such a manner, I know Sergeant Marks knows better. He chose to step in unbidden and act as your instructor. He chose to indulge in that ridiculous farce of a lesson encouraging sloppy and dangerous habits. The fact that he felt he was in control of the entire situation only makes matters worse. His disregard of safety protocols shows a lack of respect both to you as his student and to himself as an instructor. His overall ambivalence to his continued existence aside, he selfishly exposed you and others to unnecessary risk and that, Ms. Doyle, I find unforgivable.
"What you must now decide Ms. Doyle is whether you wish to staunchly defend your friend, right or wrong, telling me as you have been longing to that I was unforgivably rude before you leave or accept that, likeable as you find him, his actions were counter-productive and unsafe and we can move on."
I chewed my lip thoughtfully then sighed. What could I say? 'You're wrong Walter. Goosing a student is a perfectly standard and widely accepted method of training on the firing range.' ? I'm sure Marks had meant no harm but, gads!, swinging about with a loaded gun in my hands, what had I been thinking? Walter, drat him was, as usual, right.
"Yes Walter." I said. "I think we can move on."
"Very good." He said. Feathers no longer ruffled. placid demeanor restored in full. "This, I must say," he said nodding towards my hands. "Seems an excellent start."
I glanced down a the table where, to keep my nervous hands busy during Walter's lecture, I had stripped, cleaned and reassembled the .22 without really thinking about it.
"May I?" Asked Walter.
I nodded and he picked up the pistol, broke it down and examined my work. "Not bad." He said. "If you please." He said gesturing to the broken down gun.
I reached down and quickly reassembled it. "I am impressed." He said. "Where did you learn this?"
"Billy taught me."
"Corporal Sherman?" He asked.
"Yes." I grinned. "He says I'm like Forrest Gump when it comes to weapons."
Walter gave me a blank look.
"You know, Forrest Gump as in Forrest Gump?" I prodded.
"Never met the man." Said Walter poker faced.
I narrowed my eyes, unsure if he was messing with me. He did that a lot. Still, mass market entertainment was probably not a high priority on his to do list. I sighed. "Real good at taking them apart and cleaning them but your not sure if you should let him shoot one?"
"I see." Said Walter non-committally. "So Corporal Sherman is equating you to this gentleman?"
"Well, yes."
"The man shows hidden depth."
I Humphed. "He's very picky about his weapons is all. Treats them like they're his babies."
"As well he should." Said Walter. "They are not just the tools of his livelihood, for him they can mean the difference between life and death."
"Yes, I know but he names them."
"Not terribly uncommon."
"And sings to them at night."
"Ah." Said Walter. "He sounds rather attached."
"Mmmm." I agreed.
"I am surprised he let you handle them."
"Long story." I said. "Let's just say Trudy, Basil, Squirrelly and Esther Mae all now have a new line up of bedtime songs."
He gave me an incredulous look.
I gazed back with wide eyed innocence. 'Never met the man.' My foot. Let him wonder for once.
"Hmmm." He said neutrally but the tension in the room had defiantly decreased. "Well then Ms. Doyle, shall we begin your lession?"
"Yes Walter!" I said happily reaching for the pistol. Walter deftly removed it from my grasp and carried it over to the gun locker.
"I thought perhaps we might start with some safety drills." He said holding up a headset and a pair of shooting glasses.
I groaned inwardly. "Yes Walter." I said with slightly less enthusiasm. This was going to be a long night.
When we asked why they they were running so late, Burnadett made some crack about Marks looking for an excuse to show off his big, shiny weapon. There followed a lively and extremely ribald discussion between the sergeant and the captain over who's weapon I should be shown first along with detailed descriptions of what each thought of the "range", "Caliber" and "barrel length" of the other's weapon, not to mention power and technique. They even managed to make the topic of "rimfire" vs. "Centerfire" sound dirty and I don't even know what that is.
I was doing a pretty good job of pointedly ignoring the exchange until Sherman, who had shown me just the other evening how to field strip, clean and reassemble his Varmint, had to open his big mouth and mention that I was already pretty good at handling a weapon. Not fire it mind you, he helpfully added but I could strip it like a pro. The ensuing comments such as; "Liebst, you wound me, handling another man's weapon.", "He let you touch his Remington? you are a special girl." and of course my favourite, "Why don't you come over here and strip my weapon." made me wish whole heartedly that I had a loaded gun in my hands at that very moment.
I crossed my arms and sniffed disdainfully, commenting that little boys with delusions of grandeur might often boast but real men did not have to. I then stuck my nose in the air and, tossing a request over my shoulder to please let me know when the actual men arrived, prepared to flounce gracefully from the room but Marks simply chuckled and herded me instead towards the lanes. "God I love a feisty woman." He rumbled as he crowded me into a shooting booth.
While the others looked on with great interest, Marks showed me how to load and insert the magazine but stepped back a bit warily when I clicked off the safety and pulled back the slide. They had all heard the story of my first and only ill fated attempt to learn to fire a gun so I could hardly blame them.
I could, however, blame them all, especially Marks, for the embarrassing farce my second lesson became.
Oh yes, I could definitely blame Sgt. Marks.
The first few rounds I fired actually hit the target but that was mostly because Marks was wrapped around me like a second skin and doing most of the aiming. When I finally elbowed him off he proceeded to do everything in his power to distract me such as brushing imaginary dust from my back and shoulders and leaning over to whisper "helpful" little suggestions in my ear while I tried to take aim.
The rest of the Geese were almost as bad. They never laid a hand on me but kept hollering out tips and making rude animal noises just as I prepared to pull the trigger. When I informed them in no uncertain terms that they were not helping, they enthusiastically agreed.
I should have been annoyed but the noises were actually kind of amusing and Marks' over the top flirting was making me blush and go all giggly girlie, which is so out of character for me that I could appreciate the novelty. So no big surprise that the majority of my shots were wildly off mark and even when I did hit a target it was just as likely to be one from a different lane. Of course, on those rare occasions when I actually managed to hit my own target, just the paper mind you not necessarily the actual figure, the Geese all cheered enthusiastically and belted out snatches of the theme from "Rocky".
I was actually managing to tune out Zelig's surprisingly realistic rooster crows and Griffin's repeated shouts of 'Adrian!' and was just squinting down the sights to line up what I was sure would finally be a spectacular kill shot when a large male hand swooped down to squeeze my bottom. I squawked and fired off my spectacular "kill shot" into the ceiling. Unthinkingly, I rounded on Marks and began poking him furiously in the chest. "Just what do you think your up to?" I shouted indignantly.
"Careful Chanson," Called Burnadett. "you could hurt someone with that thing."
I squeaked in alarm and looked down ...at my empty hands and then up at Marks who stood smugly in front of me holding the gun he had obviously plucked from my fingers without my noticing. "Looking for something?" He asked innocently.
The Geese burst out laughing.
"You...You!..." I snarled poking him even harder in the chest. "Urhug!" I said giving up and shoving him away.
"Ow." Said Marks rubbing his chest where I'd poked him."
This just made the Geese laugh harder.
"Oh, I hate you all." I said without much venom, more embarrassed than angry.
"Come now just a little fun liebst. Let's try again, I promise to behave." Said Marks with an insincere gleam in his eye.
He reached for my waist and I slapped his hand away. "Yeah right." I muttered stepping back.
We all laughed at that one.
A quiet but firm clearing of the throat rang from the doorway, effectively silencing the room.
Walter walked in placid as ever on the surface but psychically radiating disapproval in that way only English butlers can. Even Zelig looked impressed.
His gazed locked on Sgt. Marks and the temperature of the aether notched down a few more degrees. "Interesting training technique sergeant." He said. "Quite....unconventional."
Marks grinned with false humour. "I find it useful to train my men to be able to fire accurately regardless of the distraction."
"I see." Said Walter coolly. "And the fondling, is this one of the standard distractions you use on your men or just your special brand of bonding within the ranks?"
Marks' grin remained fixed but his eyes flashed with anger.
"Their aim may not improve," Continued Walter. "but they will certainly learn to watch their backs."
My jaw dropped.
"Du alte Sau." Said Marks quietly, stepping forward with blood in his eye his grin now a death rictus.
Burnadett quickly stepped between them. "Come now m'sieur Walter, it was just a bit of fun." He said jovially.
"Ah," Said Walter looking pointedly at the gun Marks had snatched from me. "with a loaded weapon no less. How very...jocular."
Burnadett's expression managed to remain friendly but firmed. "M'sieur Walter, you and I both know that not one man in this room, would ever endanger a hair on our Chanson's head."
There was a brief, tension filled pause then Walter nodded. "Not knowingly, no." He conceded. "But I must insist that future, Ms. Doyle's firearms training be left to me. I find your Sergeant's methods a bit too avant-garde for my peace of mind."
Burnadett held up a hand to stay Marks' retort. "Of course." He agreed. "Just as you have never interfered with training and discipline with my men, I can but extend you the same courtesy."
The two men nodded their agreement.
"Speaking of which, I believe we had a run through the obstacle course scheduled for this evening did we not Sergeant?"
Marks nodded stiffly.
"Well perhaps we should go and leave them to it. Sooner started sooner finished." Said Burnadett briskly.
"Thank you Captain." Said Walter.
"Of course." Said the Captain brightly. "Because the sooner Corrine finishes her training, the sooner she can join tonight's party in the barracks no?" He asked glancing at Marks.
"Why of course," Said Marks expansively without missing a beat. "As I recall Corrine, you were to bring.."
"Brownies!" Shouted Zelig excitedly.
"Precisely." Marks agreed. "Wasn't that right Corrine?" He asked me with an expectant look on his face.
We all knew there was no party planned and I would normally resent being placed in such an awkward position but Walter's comments had moved beyond high handed to, for lack of a better word, downright catty. One glance at Marks confirmed that he fully expected me to back him up and I just hadn't the heart to ding his pride any further. "Um, yes?" I said trying to sound sincere. He reached out and patted my shoulder to show he appreciated the effort.
"Well I do not care if you bring brownies or no, just as long as you remember to bring me mon carotte." Said Burnedett.
"I'll ask her."
"Bon. Then, let us go." He said looking at his men and jerking his head toward the door. The Geese began to shuffle out.
"Tonight then." Said Marks brushing my cheek with a finger. He narrowed his eyes at Walter. "butler." Sniffed Marks barely civil.
"Sergeant." Intoned Walter. So civilly as to be just this side of insult.
Burnadett elbowed in to take my hand and, removing the cigarette from his lips, bent his head to brush a kiss across my knuckles. "Please do not forget to bring my snack." He winked.
"Or my brownies!" Demanded Zelig.
Marks made a disgusted noise and grabbed Zelig by the collar.
"With walnuts!" He shouted as the sergeant hauled him out the door.
"My boys, they do like their treats no?" Chuckled Burnadett. He waived his hand in lazy cheerful salute and strolled out the door to join his men.
A few last comments rang down the corridor to us. I managed to catch: "Your not going to serve that pig piss you call beer again are you Sherman?", "I did tell her walnuts didn't I?", "Party? No one told me about no party. Ow! Searg. What was that for?" and a growling "Shut it, the lot of you!" before the sound faded away up the stairs and silence descended upon the range.
There's been many the occasion when Walter and I have shared a comfortable, companionable silence.... This was not one of them.
I tiled my head and looked at him, wanting very much to ask him why he had said those things to Sergeant Marks. I mean I knew they did not much care for each other and Walter's comments could, on occasion, be biting but he had never been so openly rude not even when Alucard baited him. It just seemed so unlike him. But one glance at his steely countenance told me my enquiry would be most unwelcome.
I turned and started to tidy the scoring tables as much to avoid his stare as to give myself something to do but I could still feel him watching and waiting.
The tense silence stretched out between us until I thought I might scream.
Once the scoring tables were immaculate, I turned my attention to the firing booth only to be caught out by Walter's laser like gaze.
"Fine!" I said. Throwing up my hands in surrender. "I'm sorry OK?"
"Ms. Doyle," Said Walter on an unvoiced sigh. "My intention was not to wring that sincere if grudging apology from you but to give you time to emotionally separate yourself from the situation and decide you are ready to hear what I have to say."
"Which is?"
He eyed me for a moment assessing then said, "I have spent a lifetime Ms. Doyle around guns, both making and using them and have trained countless others in their use and do you know what the most important thing I teach them is? First and foremost I teach them to respect their weapon so as not to be a danger to themselves and more importantly, the other members of their unit.
A poor shot is a waste of ammunition to be sure but a careless shot can do just as much damage as the enemy. More if you consider the impact on morale." He paused a moment for emphasis. "What I witnessed tonight was a shocking lack of respect for the weapon you held in your hand."
I almost apologized again then thought better of it.
"Now, while you are no fool, your actions tonight were both foolish and dangerous. But, much as your behaviour distressed me I feel compelled to point out that I found Sergeant Marks' actions in this matter wholly inexcusable"
He held up a hand to still my instinctive defensive reaction (he so has me pegged). "While I would have hoped for you to know better than to handle a gun in such a manner, I know Sergeant Marks knows better. He chose to step in unbidden and act as your instructor. He chose to indulge in that ridiculous farce of a lesson encouraging sloppy and dangerous habits. The fact that he felt he was in control of the entire situation only makes matters worse. His disregard of safety protocols shows a lack of respect both to you as his student and to himself as an instructor. His overall ambivalence to his continued existence aside, he selfishly exposed you and others to unnecessary risk and that, Ms. Doyle, I find unforgivable.
"What you must now decide Ms. Doyle is whether you wish to staunchly defend your friend, right or wrong, telling me as you have been longing to that I was unforgivably rude before you leave or accept that, likeable as you find him, his actions were counter-productive and unsafe and we can move on."
I chewed my lip thoughtfully then sighed. What could I say? 'You're wrong Walter. Goosing a student is a perfectly standard and widely accepted method of training on the firing range.' ? I'm sure Marks had meant no harm but, gads!, swinging about with a loaded gun in my hands, what had I been thinking? Walter, drat him was, as usual, right.
"Yes Walter." I said. "I think we can move on."
"Very good." He said. Feathers no longer ruffled. placid demeanor restored in full. "This, I must say," he said nodding towards my hands. "Seems an excellent start."
I glanced down a the table where, to keep my nervous hands busy during Walter's lecture, I had stripped, cleaned and reassembled the .22 without really thinking about it.
"May I?" Asked Walter.
I nodded and he picked up the pistol, broke it down and examined my work. "Not bad." He said. "If you please." He said gesturing to the broken down gun.
I reached down and quickly reassembled it. "I am impressed." He said. "Where did you learn this?"
"Billy taught me."
"Corporal Sherman?" He asked.
"Yes." I grinned. "He says I'm like Forrest Gump when it comes to weapons."
Walter gave me a blank look.
"You know, Forrest Gump as in Forrest Gump?" I prodded.
"Never met the man." Said Walter poker faced.
I narrowed my eyes, unsure if he was messing with me. He did that a lot. Still, mass market entertainment was probably not a high priority on his to do list. I sighed. "Real good at taking them apart and cleaning them but your not sure if you should let him shoot one?"
"I see." Said Walter non-committally. "So Corporal Sherman is equating you to this gentleman?"
"Well, yes."
"The man shows hidden depth."
I Humphed. "He's very picky about his weapons is all. Treats them like they're his babies."
"As well he should." Said Walter. "They are not just the tools of his livelihood, for him they can mean the difference between life and death."
"Yes, I know but he names them."
"Not terribly uncommon."
"And sings to them at night."
"Ah." Said Walter. "He sounds rather attached."
"Mmmm." I agreed.
"I am surprised he let you handle them."
"Long story." I said. "Let's just say Trudy, Basil, Squirrelly and Esther Mae all now have a new line up of bedtime songs."
He gave me an incredulous look.
I gazed back with wide eyed innocence. 'Never met the man.' My foot. Let him wonder for once.
"Hmmm." He said neutrally but the tension in the room had defiantly decreased. "Well then Ms. Doyle, shall we begin your lession?"
"Yes Walter!" I said happily reaching for the pistol. Walter deftly removed it from my grasp and carried it over to the gun locker.
"I thought perhaps we might start with some safety drills." He said holding up a headset and a pair of shooting glasses.
I groaned inwardly. "Yes Walter." I said with slightly less enthusiasm. This was going to be a long night.
