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Concealed Carry

Eric Burbridge

    My advice; don’t get gas at a rundown station. I’ve never been robbed at gun point, but at 6:00am on my way to work that’s what happened. What idiot robs somebody in broad daylight with video everywhere? Did those antiquated cameras work?
    Stupid...real stupid!
    Was that damn gun real or what? The medium height and weight fool had a fake beard plastered on his face. He was too far to jump, so I shoved my hand in my pocket and reluctantly tossed the cash, my last fifty bucks. A car pulled up and he hopped in the dark Chevy sedan.
    I should’ve been scared, but I was too pissed.
    I got stuck up and I’m carrying too. What good was it? Well a bad leg made me vulnerable, it was necessary.
    They shot out the back of the station down the alley. I couldn’t hang up the nozzle fast enough. A car in front forced me to reverse and speed around a row pumps to get in the alley. They were halfway through, but the sound of my tires slamming against the wheel well when I hit a speed bump hidden by tree branches and other debris was enough for me to end the pursuit, but anger outweighed logic.
    I sped to the next one, cleared it with ease and my Camry broke on to the street.
    Those idiots were still on the same street.
    I was a half block behind in no time. In the process I ran two lights. They planned their escape well; no cameras and so far, no cops. I should’ve dialed 911, but instead I opened my console and took out a .38 revolver. They must’ve seen me; they accelerated, took a sharp turn and nearly hit a guy in a pick-up parked on the corner. The old timer was still honking when I flew by. I was right behind when the driver slammed on his brakes, a move I anticipated and avoided rear ending them. He did a way too fast three sixty in the next intersection, swerved from side to side, gained control and sped to the next alley. I slowed to make sure one of them didn’t jump out and shoot. I kept honking to attract attention. God, please don’t let anybody pull out their garage, not now and I squeezed off a round at their gas tank. The Impala swerved to avoid a light pole. I slid to a stop and got ready to reverse if necessary.
    Did I hit it or what?
    Why didn’t they return fire?
    Somebody had to hear the shot and they’ll call the cops.
    I was pissed not crazy. I didn’t want to kill anybody over fifty bucks unless I had too. They turned into another part of the alley. I slowed, it looked like a dead end 50 yards ahead. A go right or left sign dangled off a pole. They made a right.
    A trap.
    Perfect cover for it too, abandoned garages, three foot weeds growing through the cracks in the concrete, broken glass and trash scattered everywhere. If I follow I’m dead. They’re waiting; one might be in the bushes waiting for me to round the corner and boom, boom...bye, bye, Jeremy.
    No, thanks idiots, I’m not suicidal.
    I stopped; not the best thing to do when one of them could sneak up behind me, but I remained and listened. Suddenly, tires squealed...here they come. The Impala sped past I followed, turned the corner too fast and my back end swung around and hit a metal garbage can. Dammit, now I got a 250 deductible to pay. It was bound to happen. I needed to stop, but I threw caution to the wind and shot out on to Turner Blvd. not far behind them. But, my four cylinders were no match for their eight. They continued to pull away probably heading for the expressway ramps past the viaduct. Which will they take the express or local lanes? A couple of dogs ran from between two parked cars. They swerved to avoid them, lost control and slammed into the brightly painted concrete pillar of the viaduct. The Impala shattered into pieces that flew across all lanes of oncoming traffic. I slowed and pulled behind a parked SUV. There weren’t many cars headed in the opposite direction of the impact. No other cars were involved. Thank God. They had to be doing eighty on impact because I was doing sixty and choked on their dust.
    Now...I hear sirens in the distance.
    From what I could see the cops or whoever would have to scrape their remains off the concrete like bugs off a windshield. You couldn’t tell what they were driving, car or truck. Glad I contributed to their demise, the city’s a little safer. I made a u-turn and a beeline out of the area and hoped nobody made my vehicle.
*
    Stuck up five minutes from the job and after all that mess I was only a half hour late. It felt like eternity. Being a personal assistant, my customer requires around the clock attention. My co-worker can’t clock out until I arrive. I explained the stick up, not the chase. It didn’t matter; the scornful look on Shirley’s round face said it all and she rushed out the door to her other job. I could’ve been killed. Who cares? I settled in and got to work, I’d tell my wife later. Would she believe me or call me a fool for reacting that way?
    My replacement arrived ten minutes early like clockwork, being older, the grandmother type, Karen demonstrated maturity and dedication. I called in and got off the clock. I’d almost forgotten about the rear panel damage on the car. Closer inspection revealed the dent could possibly be knocked out with a fist with the right tap and no damage to the paint. Maybe. I wasn’t in the mood to try now, a cold beer called.
*
    The Old Folks Lounge hadn’t been blessed with presence in months. It was the best place to have a beer in the early afternoon, and my seat closest to the window was open. Security sat a couple of chairs down next to the entrance and an old cigarette machine. Why they kept it probably had something to do with security. Today’s milder temperatures allowed them to open the back door with an old fashioned oscillating fan ventilating the place. New trash cans would do the trick, but who am I? A broad shouldered barmaid, who appeared to be transsexual, smiled and greeted me while topping off my glass of Miller. I realized several bottles of whisky had the same volume and position since my last visit. That first sip was the most refreshing. I looked up at the flat screens and watched a scene of the early morning accident.
    “Two fatalities when auto slams into railroad viaduct” inched across the bottom of the screen. For a while I’d forgotten about that mess, now I was totally interested. Police are still investigating, but witnesses say they didn’t see any other vehicles involved.”
    Good, nobody saw me and if they did I was a block behind them. That second sip, no gulp, of beer went down better knowing I helped indirectly rid the hood of two worthless parasites. No telling how many others they’ve stuck up or killed.
    Trying to watch three TVs at once put a crook in my neck. A shot, only one, of rum will cure that. The barmaid leaned over showing her cleavage while he/she poured my shot. I smiled and wondered. Real or fake? I felt eyes on me; a guy wearing a baseball cap and a filthy t-shirt stared in my direction. Was it me or the barmaid? She wiggled her full figure with the tight blouse and skinny leg jeans toward whoever he was. I finished my beer, but his staring pissed me off. I stared back and he shot off his stool and came at me. I shoved my hand in my belt...he stopped. Whether he saw my pistol I didn’t know. He was shorter, half my age, wider, but with a face that only a mother could love. “Why you stop, asshole.” I shouted. The few customers in the place got silent ready to vacate the place.
    “Don’t mess with my woman.” He stepped back and bumped against his seat.
    “You need to learn how to hold your liquor, young man.” I said and stepped further away from the bar. The more I looked at him the madder I got. “I ain’t interested I didn’t know this place changed like that.”
    “It hasn’t, take your hand out of your belt, old man!” A tall solid built guy shouted with his hand on his holster concentrating on my hands. “You don’t carry in my bar.”
    I moved my hands and went to sit back down. “Relax man, he started it.”
    The owner walked up to me. “Get out or go to jail, old man, and don’t come back.”
    “Gladly.” I grabbed my cane off the back of the seat. The ugly fool who challenged me smiled and went back to the other end.
*
    The cool breeze felt good, but my nose twitched when I passed through a cloud of smoke from patrons standing along the building around the corner. I was glad I didn’t park on the corner; people have a tendency to sit on it. I waited a minute to see if the guy would follow me. He didn’t. Amazing how the threat of being shot changes behavior. I sat behind the wheel trying to decide, should I go to another bar or go home?
    Home...where it’s safe.
    I glanced in the mirror to pull out and a setoff flashing blue lights approached. Too much activity on the corner was my guess until the cops pulled up and got out. Great, now what? The Black and Latino officers had no regard for the cars behind them on the narrow residential street. The older heavier Black cop walked over and stared down at me. “Sir, what are you doing?” Duh, I’m trying to leave idiot; of course I better not say it. His slim partner stood in a offensive posture at the rear of my vehicle. She appeared to be in training.
    I sighed, and then put on the act. “I was a starting to pull out and go home officer, what’s the problem?”
    “We got a call about an older guy with a pistol.” He held out his hand. “License and registration.” Everybody on the corner was tuned in...nosy bastards. I complied; my license and concealed carry card were next to each other. “Well, Jeremy Wesel, sit tight.” He returned after checking me out and gave me my IDs. “I’m not going to ask if you’ve been drinking Mr. Jeremy Wesel even though I can smell it, but I’m in a good mood. We’re going to circle the block and you’ll be gone. I don’t like arresting seniors who get into arguments with people in lounges.”
    “Thanks, officer.” First, he couldn’t smell it, he wasn’t close enough and I wasn’t legally or physically drunk, but I appreciated the pass. They returned to their cruiser and gave the crowd a dirty look that scattered them and turned on 95^th street. I did the same, but I went in the opposite direction.
*
    I told the wife what happened I knew what she’d say. “You know why you went through that mess, don’t you?” I shrugged and continued eating. Every since I got the concealed carry permit when I had to go in bad areas, that goddamn gun turned me into an asshole magnet and a slight asshole. But, I was also less tolerant of any foolishness. I don’t have an arrogant swagger so why do fools challenge me? It got worse every time. To hell with that pistol, I’ll leave it home to protect my castle.

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