Free Best Defense by Randy Rawls

saw no hint of the weapon. Like I said, she could work magic.
    I kept the derringer on the top shelf of my closet out of harm’s way in a shoebox. The ammo snuggled in the back of my makeup drawer. I’m a great believer in keeping guns and ammunition separate. Make it as difficult as possible for a burglar to arm himself, that’s my motto.
    I took out the derringer and its ammo and checked both. All looked well so I loaded it, set the safety, and concealed it, then pulled out my usual jeans and a V-neck T-shirt. However, as I stood in front of the mirror, I realized I had no idea what the day might br ing. Perhaps a T-shirt was not the best choice. I rummaged through the drawer and came up with a black knit top with a scoop neck. It looked dressy enough to get me into all but the ritziest places in South Florida, but casual enough for Walmart. Definitely a better choice. And the neckline dipped low enough to allow me to reac h the derringer. A lightweight black windbreaker finished my ensemble. No way to tell what over-air-conditioned places I might have to visit.
    My last chore was to open the box my Walther P99C came in. I wanted the two empty eight-round magazines I kept there. From another box, I retrieved nine-millimeter ammo and filled them. Then I took the Walther out of my purse, ejected the magazine, and checked it. Once convinced everything was in perfect working order, I re-loaded the pistol, chambered a round, and set the safety to the on position.
    The sub-compact Walther was also a recent acquisition, bought after the same experience that sent me looking for a bra gun. The Walther didn’t measure up to the full-sized Beretta M9 I wanted—too heavy for a purse—but it would do.
    Once I filled my bag with the pistol and extra rounds, along with the other paraphernalia I carried, it felt like a weapon itself. And, with its shoulder strap, I could give it a good swing. Anyone who happened to stand in the way would go down, no doubt about it.
    I took a last look in the mirror, knowing Mom would have something to say about my ensemble. There’d be lots of words, but the gist of it would be that no man would find me attractive until I learned to dress to make myself attractive—like wearing a daring bikini. Oh, brother.
    As I walked out of the house, I smiled, picturing the look on a wannabe rapist’s face when I reached into my bra and came out with a gun. I suspected his weapon would wilt. The same went for any other thug that tried to take me on.
    I headed for Hammonds’ place, figuring I’d get a briefing on what the police learned overnight, if anything. It wouldn’t do any good to hit Ashley’s school too early. Plus, there was always the possibility one of my homeless friends would call to say they spotted the woman who took Ashley. Or maybe the kidnapper would make contact. With Sargent on duty, I’d feel better if I were near Hammonds’ phone when it rang.
    I pulled into Hammonds’ driveway, and a uniform stepped out. She wasn’t expecting me, so I had to identify myself, then prove it. I guess she accepted that I wasn’t the master criminal returning to the scene of the crime because she walked me through the garage and turned me over to an inside cop.
    I heard steps coming my way, and Sargent soon faced me.
    â€œWell, my favorite skirt-PI. You’re getting better. Found your way in with no help this time.”
    Jerk, I thought, but bit back the words that formed. “I’m here to see John Hammonds. You, I do not need to see.”
    He laughed. “Shucks, ma’am. I’m right sorry you feel that way. You know I always look forward to being with you.” His smirk put the lie to his words. “Mr. Hammonds is in his study. I reckon a smart PI like you can find her way.” He turned and walked back the way he’d come.
    There were things I wanted to say, things I needed to say, but I wasn’t there to fight.