'It's a calling,' I said.
We sat in silence beneath the pictures. We had an understanding.
'You have another brother?' I asked, pointing at the last picture. He looked more like Julie.
'Nate,' she laughed. 'He wants to kill monsters so bad he can taste it.'
'Where's he at now?'
'Seattle. He went through the last class of Newbies. He's doing okay from what I hear. I made sure that he's with a great team who'll keep him alive long enough that his enthusiasm gets tempered with experience. He's nineteen. You'll like him. He's just insane enough to be entertaining…' She put her hand on my knee. I could not tell if she had done it on purpose or if she had done it without thinking. Either one was fine with me. 'Well, that's pretty much the tour. Sorry I got all blubbery and emotional on you.'
'Julie. If you didn't get emotional about that, then you wouldn't be human. Thanks for the tour. I can tell you love this house.'
'I can't say why, but I do. One of these days I'm going to get it all fixed up. I could probably hire professionals to do it and just get it over with, but that doesn't seem right. There are a lot of memories here…' She suddenly snapped her fingers. 'Wait a second, I've got something for you.' She jumped up, and walked quickly to the door. 'I'll be back in a minute, I've just got to find it.'
I sat on the plastic covered couch and waited. After a few minutes I grew restless and decided to check out the portraits more closely. The Shacklefords were one interesting group-heroes, villains and everything in between. I stood close to the wall and examined the intricate paintings. Julie's grandfather had been a handsome man before he had lost his eye and been so disfigured. I could see the resemblance to his son, and they both looked slightly like Earl Harbinger. I was not exactly sure how he was related, but there was no picture of him on the wall, and there were no Harbingers listed at all. Looking at the other pictures, I decided that Julie was very lucky that she took after her mother. Besides the lack of glasses and the slightly outdated hairstyle, they could have been the same person. I would imagine that a historian would be able to compile quite the entertaining book about this family. Of course the government would probably end up sending somebody like Agent Franks to the author's home to shoot him in the brain.
The one blank spot on the wall was interesting, but I did not dwell on it for long. Even an auditor's curiosity only runs so deep when there are other matters at hand.
Julie returned with a dust-covered, wooden case. 'Found it.' She sat it on the tarped-over table and opened the metal clasps. 'Now you are going to appreciate this, Mr. Gun Nut.' She opened the box with a flourish. Inside the molded case were two pistols. One was big, and the other small, a matched pair, down to the finishes. 'Go ahead. Check them out.'
The guns were custom. STI frames, the full-size had an extended, threaded barrel, and was complete with a rail for a mounted light. The smaller one was a custom chopped version, cut down in every possible dimension for concealment. For a competition nut like myself, these pistols were the kind of thing that I dreamed about. Normal men had pornography. I had gun magazines. They were beautiful.
'Twenty-eleven frame, fourteen rounds of. 45 in the big one, twenty with the extended mags. Ten in the little one, but it can take the full-size mags, they just hang out a bit. I worked them over so they're reliable with our silver bullets. Match barrels, these are scary accurate. But clearances are loose enough that these should be able to get really gunked up and still work fine,' she told me proudly. I pulled back the slide to check the chamber, and it glided as smoothly as silk. I checked the trigger. The hammer fell with a snap. It was possibly the nicest trigger I had ever felt on any weapon, ever.
'These were made for somebody with mutant hands, notice even the long trigger. Extended safeties for shooting high thumb; beaver tail, small mag release so big-handed shooters don't release them by accident; you guys don't need to shift your grip to change mags anyway.'
'Sweet. Did you do these yourself?'
'They were an old project.'
I gently put the guns back in the box. 'They're beautiful. Much nicer than my old one. I've gone through quite a few guns this week.'
She closed the box, snapped the clasps closed, and shoved it over toward me. I looked at it in confusion for a moment.
'You'd better be more careful with these then. Lose them and I'll kill you.'
'But, but… you're just giving these to me?' I asked. 'Why?'
'I have these lying around the house. They don't fit me at all. Some Hunter with ham fists needs to put them to good use, and you currently don't have a pistol at all. My little brother won't use them. He's a Glock nut. The poor deluded bastard. Plus the way these things shoot, they need to be in the hands of a real pistolero. You'll have to do.' She smiled. 'Consider it my way of saying thank you for saving my life.'
'Thanks,' I said. It was the nicest gift that anyone had ever given me.
'Look, I've got to go,' she said, sounding almost sheepish. 'I need to take care of some things.'
'Thanks,' was all that I could think of to say.
'Don't mention it.' She winked at me and walked away.
I watched her leave the room before opening the case and examining the fine weapons again. I did not want to look like a total dweeb in front of her, but for me, Christmas had come real early. Grinning like an idiot, I field- stripped and checked the guns. The case even came with a cleaning kit. I lubed the guns, and did several practice draws, adjusting my grip each time, until the sights snapped unconsciously into place. Finally I forced myself to put them down. I needed to take over for Trip on the perimeter. It was my turn to stand guard.
I noticed something as I started to shut the case. The foam in the top half had come slightly undone. Between the foam and the wood was an envelope. The envelope was blank, but it contained a small handwritten note.
Dear Ray,
I hope you like these. After that luska ate your other guns, I thought I would do something nice for you. I built these up just the way you like them. Milo's been teaching me everything he knows about gunsmithing, and I think that these have come out really good.
Dad's doing better. He's been really excited, looking forward to the 100th anniversary party. Should be a blast. Nate's bummed he can't come. Earl is doing good. Piper Cavanaugh has been dying to talk to you. I think she has a crush on you. She's cute. You two should hook up. See you at the party.
I love you, Bro. Hope you like the guns.
Julie
12/2/95
I carefully refolded the note, placed it in its envelope, and put it back in the case.
Trip was waiting for me on the porch. We were not taking any chances, and were taking turns with one heavily armed and armored Hunter outside to watch the skies for more gargoyles. Of course all of us were wearing our radios, and the person patrolling the outside checked in constantly. If there had been more of us available, we would have worked in pairs and had a better rotation, but as it was, there were only the four of us on our little baby-sitting detail.
'Holly is watching the video feeds. Julie has one heck of a system installed here. Don't go more than twenty yards from the building or you'll probably activate a sensor. Check in with her every few minutes.' He handed me the RPG. If anything suspicious landed on the property, we weren't going to screw around. The huge rocket-propelled grenade would take out an armored vehicle, so a gargoyle would not be a significant problem. 'You learned how to use one of these, right?'
'Dude… please.' I patted the lethal tube gently. If third-world goat herders could figure out an RPG, I wasn't worried. Even though I had not shot one yet, Milo had trained us in their basic use. I was looking forward to firing one. And if the target happened to be a ten-foot-tall, animated chunk of rock, that was fine by me.
'Never mind. I forgot I was talking to the combat accountant. I haven't seen anything except for bugs and a cottonmouth.'
'Like the killer snake cottonmouth?' I asked, glancing nervously at the ground.
'Yeah, but it was just a baby. You should have seen the ones we grow in Florida. They climb trees, and drop on you. When you're on the river fishing, they will swim out to your boat and climb in. Mean little bastards,' he told
