Free Gun Dog by Peter Lancett Page B

me?’
    Well, what am I supposed to say to that?
    ‘Yeah, of course I like you.’
    I try to say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world and shouldn’t really need saying. It’s lame but it’s a start.
    ‘No, I mean
really
like me…’
    She’s wearing this cute little fitted top and Kate Moss-style kind of cinched in waistcoat over these neat little shorts and she has the straightest whitest teeth and… well, next thing you know, she’s raising herself up on her toes and her eyes are starting to close as her face comes close to mine and her lips part slightly so that I can taste her mintybreath. It’s something else, kissing Rebecca, let me tell you. But I’m not giving it my full attention, oh no. Because all I can think of as she’s slipping her arms around me and slipping her sweet wet tongue between my lips, is that she mustn’t feel the Ruger lying heavy in my jacket pocket. And I almost blow it by nearly pissing myself laughing at an old joke that springs to mind –
is that a gun in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?
When we come up for air eventually, I begin to slip the jacket off.
    ‘See. That wasn’t so bad, was it?’
    I’m glad she’s talking, looking at me, because I’m sure she’ll see the way my jacket hangs heavy at the pocket with the Ruger in it and she’ll ask me what it is.
    ‘Not bad at all.’
    I’m smiling and maintaining eye contact with her as I put my jacket over the back of a chair. Once it’s safely out of touching range, I take her in my arms again, and this time… well, it’s just out of this world.
    We did actually finish the French assignment, believe it or not, but we did spend a lot of time kissing and holding each other and talking crap too. When it came time to leave, and we came downstairs, I swear that Rebecca’s mum was looking at us with a twinkle in her eye. Like she knew we hadn’t just been working up there. In fact I’m sure she knew. She’s cool, is Rebecca’s mum. But I think I must have felt a little embarrassed all the same, because I’ve gone and left my homework and stuff at Rebecca’s house. I’m trusting that she’ll bring it to school with her on Friday when we next have French. And it’s funny, because we’ve not said anything, but I’m pretty sure that me and Rebecca are now going out together. That’s how it feels to me anyway. I hope that we are.
    So now I’m out walking in the dark, beneath the orange glow of the street-lamps , and I’m thinking about all this, and what those kisses meant, and how there’s a lot more than kissing that I’d like to be doing with Rebecca. Anyway, I’m thinking about all this, and it’s actually cool to beout walking and going over and over stuff in my mind, so I’m not going straight home. I’m already on the far side of our estate on streets that I don’t know well, but I’m far from being lost. It’s getting cold, like there’s going to be a frost in the night, and I slip my hands into the pockets of my black cotton jacket. And my right hand comes instantly into contact with the cold black angular polymer frame of the Ruger.
    Ruger P95
    Double Action Trigger Pressure: Fourteen Pounds
    Single Action Trigger Pressure: Five Pounds
    Firing Pin Action Point: Centre Fire
    It gets me to thinking about earlier. I’m in my room at home and it’s after I got back from town with Andy – he did get the two Jason Bourne movies – and before going over to Rebecca’s. I have the Ruger on my desk and I’m prowling the internet in search of more information about it. There’s lots. But one site even shows me how to strip it down.
    First I clear the pistol of ammunition, in other words, I make sure that there isn’t a round already in the firing chamber. Then the slide, the mechanism that ejects the spent cartridge and loads the next round from the magazine, is locked to the rear with the slide lock. I put my finger in the ejection port where spent cartridges are spat out,