The rest of the evening goes off without a hitch. I unpack, and Flint orders in food for us. We make polite conversation over dinner, and he tells me a bit more about his shop and what to expect. When we part ways, he tells me, “We need to leave in the morning by seven. If you want breakfast, come down a little early.”
“I’d love to join you for breakfast,” I answer with a grin on my face.
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.
