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Andy stared wide-eyed at the cherry wood case that had just been delivered. < What the fuck? Why the hell did he send me this? He's had it less than a month… >
He reached out with one shaking hand and opened the case, lifting the familiar custom-made pistol. As he examined the gun his eyes went wide and he began to grind his teeth. Several shallow cuts crisscrossed the gun's barrel, cylinder and trigger guard.
After a moment he noticed a piece of paper lying in the bottom of the case. When he picked it up he found a note written in a strange flowing writing.
Mr. Konzaki,
I'm afraid that Dragan ran into a bit of trouble with a few sword- carrying hunters a few days ago. Please make any repairs necessary.
Chyra
Andy, re-read the note three times, before he voiced his opinion on the matter. "I'm gonna kill him!"
Andy turned the close sign around and gathered the case and pistol into his lap and headed back into the shop. Fuming that the 30,000 dollars that he'd charged Dragan wasn't nearly enough to cover this kind of damage that son of a bitch had already done. Andy had the pistol torn down within thirty minutes and he had calmed down a bit, but that didn't mean he was going to let Dragan off the hook.
In any other caliber the gun would still be serviceable, but with the over pressures that the .454 delivered, any imperfection in the barrel of the cylinder would be a recipe for a disaster, it wasn't a matter of if, it was a matter of when. <Ok he mused to himself. Barrels shot along with the cylinder. The trigger guard can be repaired. >
"Who the fuck am I kidding? It'd be easier to assemble another gun from the spare parts. Knowing that bastard, that'll come back in another month with the same fucking damage." That got Andy to thinking about the early days of guns and that gave him another idea. He left the pistol on the workbench and headed back to the office and his drafting board.
Andy recalled the CNC program and began to modify it. In the early days, when it wasn't uncommon to see pistols and swords on the same battlefield the gun makers of the time recognized the fact that once in a while their weapon's would be used in a manner that it wasn't designed for, blocking sword thrusts. They had built into the pistols heavy ribs along the top of the barrel and frame, and the trigger guard was three times as thick as the guns Andy normally built. Going back to that style, Andy redesigned the trigger guard totally and then rather than redo the whole design, he programmed a heavy rib that could be attached to the top of the pistols that he'd already built.
"Gods damn it Chyra, Were the hell is he?"
Chyra stood nose to nose, well snout to nose if the truth were told. Chyra had seen Dragan in every mood possible, Angry, sad, overflowing with joy, sunk into the deepest depression, but she had never seen him red faced in rage at his adopted son. "Now wait a minute Mr. High and Mighty," she said in a squeaky voice that only showed up when she was going to have to defy Dragan, "I'm not the one that adopted the kid 1100 years ago. And It's not my fault that you can't keep track of him, so just hold your horses. Mister."
Dragan glared at the small dragon with a look that would have killed a mortal man. In a tightly controlled voice he replied, "I don't care how you do it. I want him in the armory in five minutes, Not five minutes and one second, FIVE MINUTES," He roared as he stomped off, leaving her there with her mouth wide open.
Chyra flittered about the club. There was nothing that could be done when he was in this kind of mood, other than do what he told you too. The issue wasn't important enough to Chyra to argue about, so she did as he commanded. She approached the bar. "Carla, have you seen Makael around?"
The busy waitress stopped for a second. "Hey Chyra, last I saw, he was playing pool in the back with Tease."
Chyra took off with a quick, "Thanks dear," Tossed over her shoulder.
The poolroom was one of the more popular places with the clientele of the Mixer. They could relax and chat, while at the same time enjoy a little competition. Chyra found Makael in the back playing nineball with the succubus. The young man was of an oriental decent, whether Chinese or Koran or even Mandarin, there were even hints of Mongol in his broad face, it was hard to determine. The Blond hair stood out as not matching any of the ethnic types. What was easy to discern, was that he didn't appear to be more than eighteen or nineteen years old.
"Makael… Thank heaven and hell I've found you."
"Hey Chyra," he said, as he bent over the pink felt covered pool table. With a long slow stroke, he sank the seven-ball and set up on the eight ball. "What's happening?"
"Your father wants to see you in the armory, now."
"But I was just about to take Tease for everything she owns in life."
"If you're not in the armory in," Chyra consulted some internal clock, "three minutes and twelve seconds, you won't have to worry about owning anything. He's mad Makael, he's so mad that he could chew up armor plate and spit out nails."
Makael nodded to Tease and tossed the cue on the table. "Ok what did I do now?" He said in a tone that every parent has heard a thousand times. <Christ not again. It's time I stood up to the old man. >
Makael made his way to the armory, and went through the security procedure. He laughed to himself. <For some reason Psymon never gives me the hassle that he gives Dragan. > Makael found his father standing in front of one of the worktables. The table was covered in different types of guns. < Oh Christ, not this again? > He mentally prepared him self, "You wanted to see me?"
"You're goddamned right I do. I warned you after that fiasco in New York, that the next time you ran up against men with guns what would happen. Now pick a gun so we can get on with it!"
"We've had this argument a hundred times in the past. I don't like them. They are noisy and they smack of the lower class. I mean really how much skill does it take to point and shoot?"
"Did I say this was open to debate?" growled Dragan. "Pick a fucking gun, or so help me, I'll kick your ass all over this club."
Makael saw that the die was cast. The best he could do is stall and hope that Dragan would cool down enough to see reason. Reluctantly he wandered over to the table and with the disdain clearly showing on his face, he looked over each and every weapon. After a few minutes he looked back at Dragan. "I don't see anything I like," he temporized, trying to stall as long as possible.
"Not this time kid." Dragan grabbed his son and pulled him through the door. "Psymon, security seal, now."
"Command acknowledged your draggieness."
Dragan pulled Makael through the club, bellowing as he went. "Chyra! Makael and I will be out."
The Hummer slid into the parking lot its tires belching white smoke. When it came to a stop, Dragan looked over at Makael; "You stay here until I come get you." Dragan didn't know what to expect, with the warning that Andy had give him about taking care of the gun, he wasn't sure just how pissed off the gunsmith was going to be.
He opened the door and walked in like he owned the place. < A little confidence never hurt. > "Hey Andy." He announced himself.
"You bastard. You have a lot of fucking nerve to come back here after what you did to my gun."
"Now Andy!"
Andy ignored Dragan's protest. Did anyone ever bother to tell that guns are supposed to be used so the bad guy's don't get close enough that they can skewer your ass with a sword. Jesus Christ Dragan, That was fucking titanium, how the fuck did you manage to get it dented in three places?"
"Well we were…"
"I don't want to fucking hear it. I told you to take care of that weapon and not more then a month later you send it back with a fucking note…"
"THAT"S ENOUGH!" roared Dragan. The power of Dragan's voice was enough to stop Andy in mid rant. "We made a deal. I can lease that gun for the rest of my life. Now, can you fix it or not, that's all I need to know, or are you backing out of the deal?"
Dragan's counter tirade stopped Andy in his tracks. He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, letting the anger out with it. "Yes and No."
"What kind of answer is that."
"Yes, it can be fixed and no, it can't be done safely. So I took another route." Andy reached under the counter and pulled out the pistol's cherry wood case. "What I did do, was assemble you a new pistol from spare parts. I modified it so that the next time you need to block a sword, try and do it on the guards, Ok?"
Dragan admired the craftsmanship of the repair work. The newly installed trigger guard and the rib that ran across the top of the pistol from just in front of the front sight all along the barrel was so finely fitted, that he couldn't tell that it wasn't machined from the same block of metal. He stuck the case under his arm. "Do me a favor, bill me for the repairs at the club. Chyra will make sure you get a check. I'll be right back," he said as he exited the shop.
Dragan reached the Hummer, He opened the door and tossed the gun case in the back. "You," He pointed to Makael, "Come with me!"
Makael was humoring his father when we walked into Immortal arms, when the pain hit him he wasn't laughing, Neither was Andy. Andy dropped his hand down to the old smith & Wesson. "Get out of here, I don't play the game."
Dragan caught the hissed warning. <That explains a lot of things. > "Relax Andy, this is my son, My adopted son." he added unnecessarily. Damn kid thinks all he needs is a sword a few knives. Well he's getting a gun, Today." The last comment was aimed squarely at the defiant teenager. "I was hoping you might be able to help."
Andy paused for a second. "He know anything?"
Dragan snorted. "He thinks that he's too good for a gun."
"That so?" Andy stared at Makael, "See that bunch of swords over on the wall. If I were you I'd grab one, cuz in about thirty seconds, I'm going to blow your kneecaps off and slice and dice you. If you don't kill me first." Andy began counting, thirty, twenty nine, twenty eight, twenty seven…"
Makael's head twitched back and forth between the gunsmith, his father and the rack of swords. Dragan shrugged, indicating that he wasn't getting involved.
"Twenty five, twenty four, twenty three…"
Makael jumped of the swords. He grabbed the first one that came to hand, an old English broad sword. He turned to face his attacker. A single shot rang out, filling the small room with the roar of the .44 magnum and the sword went flying out of his hands. Before he could blink, something swept his feet out from under him and then a cold steel blade was at his throat.
"Lesson number one; never bring a knife to a gun fight." Andy pulled the sword away from the kid's throat. He reseated it into the cane handle and offered Makael his hand. "I'm Andy. I don't play the game. Welcome to my shop."
There was a glint of respect in Makael's eyes when he took Andy's hand and pulled himself up off the floor. < If a man in a wheelchair can do this, what about someone that has full mobility. > "I'm Makael. I think I've been an asshole." He looked at his father, who was trying to hide the laugher. "Do you have a gun I can learn to shoot with?"
"Sure Kid, c'mon in back and we'll see what we can find."
The trio searched through the various guns in back until Makael came upon a brace of pistols that felt right. "I'd like to try these."
Andy looked at the guns; "Well at least you have good taste. Follow me to the range."
When the group was standing in front of the two lane shooting range, Andy set the case down and began to lecture. "These are Colt Pythons, .357 caliber, six round cylinder. This one," He picked up the first pistol, "Is the eight-inch barrel and the other is the six- inch version. Both are equipped with the Aimpoint Lasersight system. If you look here," Andy pointed to the top of the barrel, inline with the front sight. He highlighted the elongated vent holes that had been milled into each side the barrel at a forty-five degree angle. These ports help to control the recoil."
Andy continued to lecture to the young man until he felt that the kid understood everything he's said. Ready to try it?"
I believe so." Makael donned his hearing protectors and reached for the gun. Opening the cylinder release, he took the speed loader and aligned the bullets to the chambers. He slapped the release of the speed loader and the bullets dropped down into the gun. He flipped the cylinder closed and pointed the gun down range. Lining the sights was easy, as he'd been instructed, he aimed the cherry colored light at the center of the target and squeezed the trigger. <The recoil wasn't as bad as Andy made it sound like it would be. > Makael continued to shoot the Python until he dry fired on an empty cylinder. He smiled, "How did I do?"
"Not bad at all kid, Four x-rings and a couple of nines. Let me give you a few pointers."
Dragan was reviewing the bills that the account had sent over to him to be okayed. When he saw the bill from Immortal Arms he about had a heart attack. 108,000 dollars! He fumed… It wasn't until he saw the hand written note at the bottom that he had to laugh.
Dragan,
I didn't charge you for the Colts, but if you bring the .454 back to me all beat up again, I swear I'm gonna double the price every time it happens.
Tell Makael I said hello.
Andy
Dragan scribble his okay at the bottom. He didn't need a gun that bad, but friends like Andy were hard to find.
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