‘What’s this?’
‘Well, issa revolver,’ Toby shrugged.
‘I can see that, but why’s it all the way up here?’
‘Last time this production was done, right here in this very same theatre, someone died, din’t they?’ Toby wiped his nose on the back of his hand. Oscar recalled the conversation from the rehearsal room.
‘Oh, yeah. Someone mentioned something about this. Isthis the gun that killed them?’ Oscar got up close to the case.
‘Yeah. They used a real gun in the show. Bunch of idiots, the lot of ’em. Used hollow wax bullets with a bit of gunpowder in ’em. Usually when the trigger is pulled the little bit of wax would disintegrate. Harmless, but still stupid to use a real gun.’
‘So what happened? What went wrong?’
‘What always goes wrongwhen you’re playing with fire. They got burned! Some idiot put something down the barrel of the gun. Playing silly buggers, I s’pose. Dunno how this poor girl ended up getting shot in the side of the ’ed. She wasn’t even s’posed to be in the line of fire but… she was. Died on stage. Brain blown out. In front of an audience. For everyone to —’
‘Yeah, okay, I get it. “Fawn Burrows. 1931–1952”,’Oscar read on the little gold plaque underneath the gun.
‘So, I’d suggest you keep a close eye on this ASM loading your gun every night and I’d also suggest checking it before that final scene.’ Toby tapped the glass. ‘You don’t want that revolver downstairs getting put in a case like this one.’
‘I doubt anyone here has any reason to shoot anyone else,’ Oscar scoffed.
‘I betthat’s whattheyall thought back then, too and yet, here lies Fawn Burrows, may she rest in peace.’ Toby started to climb down the ladder but caught Oscar taking one last look at the gun before he followed. ‘Guns always look so harmless when they’re not in the hands of fools, don’t they?’
