Five - Fear
The gun hid under the floor for nearly a week after the trip to the
woods.
Danny checked it each morning, to make sure it was still there. He set
up a taped hair across the loose floorboard on the second day, and then
on the bathroom door on the third day.
On the fourth day, he didn't get any sleep at all, listening for
someone, anyone, to come creeping into his apartment looking for the
item.
It seemed to hum, to make itself painfully aware, even hidden as it
was.
On the sixth day, when Danny was sure that no one was going to come for
it or him, he took it out again, laid it on the table.
It didn't feel much lighter than before, he supposed one single bullet
didn't weigh a lot.
The safety was still on. He checked that a lot, too.
----------
The last six days had been increasingly difficult to get through.
Danny had nearly taken the gun out and back to the trash can where he'd
found it more than once. The decision to take it to the police had been
quickly dispelled, since they would ask why there were only five
bullets left in it, and Danny would have to explain that he'd taken it
to the woods to try it out, and that just wouldn't end well for
him.
He already regretted it, on some levels. He knew that he'd put innocent
people at risk, despite his precautions- which weren't for others
benefit, anyway, just his own.
If a kid had run through the trees suddenly, been hit by
accident...
Danny stared at the piece of engineered metal, bewildered by the
potential for harm that it contained.
There was no good thing that could come of having a gun. It's not like
it could cure the common cold, or make a cup of coffee.
It shot stuff.
It blew the fuck out of things.
That was it.
He felt hot, his cheeks flushed. He was scared and ashamed at the same
time. Angry, at the thing in front of him.
He picked it up.
"What am I going to do?"
----------
Danny changed the hiding place that afternoon when he got back from the
office where he worked. He felt better, and didn't regret the fifty
dollars he'd spent on a fireproof document safe. It was just big enough
for the gun, and the lock was secure. He slid the whole thing under a
chair in the living room, and it was invisible inside the box, under
the chair.
He slept better that night.
The next day, he had a letter waiting for him. Hand delivered, under
the door.
His heart pounded as he lifted it up, and didn't stop when he saw that
he knew who it came from.
Rachel.
He tore it open, winced at the scent of her that wafted from the
letter. He'd bought her that perfume last year, when they went to
Seattle.
His eyes quickly took in her neat scrawl.
She was sorry. She wanted her stuff back from his apartment.
She didn't want to see him, she wanted him to be out when she came
round to do it. It would take a couple of hours, she'd leave her key
when she was done. She was still sorry. She said goodbye.
Danny threw the letter into the overflowing waste paper bin by the
door.
His mind was racing. Rachel was coming back. She'd take all her
stuff.
Where would he hide the gun while she was here?
----------
He pulled the fire safe out from under the chair, and removed the gun.
The safe was pushed back under, empty. He wrapped the gun up in a
t-shirt, and put it into a carrier bag.
Danny left the apartment ten minutes before Rachel was due to arrive,
knowing that she would be across the street in her car waiting to see
him leave.
Part of him wanted to talk with her. Wanted to explain that whatever it
was that that made her want to leave him, they could sort it out, make
it better.
He paused inside the doorway out into the street, looking around for
her. A car was parked by a meter about a block away, two people sitting
in it.
He knew one of them was Rachel. He'd not even considered that she'd
have brought someone else.
Interesting.
He walked down the street, and round the corner, where he immediately
paused.
He counted to twenty, and popped his head around. The car was driving
up to the front of the apartment building and parked closer to the
door. Rachel got out, so did a guy.
The man was about six feet tall, brown hair, short. He was beefy, and
looked completely unfamiliar. He took Rachel's hand and squeezed it
briefly, and they both went inside.
Danny was stunned.
It just hadn't occurred to him that she'd have left him for someone
else.
----------
He walked for about ten minutes, trying to decide whether or not to go
back inside, to confront Rachel and her new man.
For the first time since he'd found it, the gun gave him some
comfort.
A few fantasy scenarios played through in his head, mostly involving
the gun and the new guy. They made him smile a little bit.
He sat in a cafe, staring into his coffee-cup mirror, wondering what to
do. It took so long that he wasn't surprised to look at his watch and
see that the hour she'd requested was long gone.
Danny paid for the drink and walked home.
Not much was gone. Everything he'd already packed into boxes for her
had been taken. A few pictures, some that he was vaguely upset about
being missing now, he'd probably assumed that they were his.
The bedroom, once 'their bedroom' had been hit hardest. Taking her
pillow was just weird, he thought, a little hurtful. All the little
subtle touches of her were now wiped clean from the apartment, and
their absence stood out like bright white spaces all over the
rooms.
The bag, with gun, was set upon the bed. Danny sat beside it for a
while, not really thinking anything.
It was really over, him and Rachel.
----------
Just as the night was settling in, Danny decided to snap out of his
funk. He dressed up in his more trendy clothes, well, he was still
young enough to get away with some things.
He got a cab to his and Rachel's favorite bar, and immediately felt at
home, a good feeling. He nodded and smiled at familiar faces, grinned
and chatted briefly with some Saturday-night friends, and then saw the
reason he'd come tonight sitting at the end of the bar, three beers
lined up ready to drink.
"Cal," said Danny, taking a seat beside the barfly, "It's good to see
you."
"Hey, Danny-boy," slurred the big round man, his beard greying slightly
in the corners, "where's the better half?"
Danny sighed, and took one of the beers.
"She's gone, Cal. Left me."
Cal raised an eyebrow. For him, it was a register of shock and
surprise.
"I see. Fuck her," he suggested, "and drink lots of beer."
Danny smiled into his drink. He was glad that he'd come tonight.
------------
They talked for hours, the bar-life flickering around them like
time-lapse photography. People came and went, Danny and Cal sitting
fixed at the bar.
Danny told him about the gun.
"Well," said Cal after some consideration, "that is an interesting
find. What are you going to do with it?"
Danny shrugged.
"I don't know yet. Keep it, maybe."
Cal shook his head.
"That might not be the best plan. It might have been used in a robbery
or murder, and if the police find that you have it, you'll be
screwed."
Danny thought for a moment.
"True. But for now, I think I'll just keep it."
"Is it safe?" asked Cal. Danny nodded.
"Safe as can be," he replied.
----------
They left the bar just before last orders. Cal could hold his drink,
Danny was a little unstable. They made their way, slowly, down the
street, heading back to Danny's place. Cal had asked to see the gun,
Danny had thought this was a reasonable request.
They walked by a gang of younger men, laughing and drinking near a line
of bikes. One of them said something to Danny and Cal, and Cal waved
them off with some response.
One of the bikers didn't like that response.
"What the fuck did you say, fat man?" he spat at Cal.
Danny stopped, noticing that Cal had already done so.
"I'm not looking for trouble," said Cal, but he was clutching his face
a moment later, blood pouring from between his fingers.
Danny had missed the punch, or whatever it was. Cal was screaming,
leaning back against the wall, his assailant was laughing, and was
holding what looked like a knife.
Danny felt stone. Cold. Sober.
"I will fuck you up, big man," said the biker, and he looked like he
already had, as far as Danny could see. The biker's friends were
standing back, a couple of them eyeing Danny with a kind of
'stay-where-you-are-and-you-will-not-be-killed' expression on their
faces.
The man who had hurt Cal looked ready for a fight. Not that there would
be much of one, it would be a few seconds of stabbing and Cal would be
lying dying on the ground, with Danny likely to be next.
"Get away from him," he heard himself say.
They ignored him.
"I've got a gun," he said.
Silence. Everyone turned and looked at him, uncertainly in their eyes.
They dared him to prove it with their stare.
Danny reached into his jacket, and pulled the gun out. He aimed it at
the guy with the knife. He pulled back the hammer, and flicked the
safety off with a practiced smooth motion.
"Jesus. Hey, man, calm down," they all started saying at once. Of the
half dozen men in front of him, three immediately walked away, out of
the situation. The one with the knife dropped it, hands palm out,
backing away slowly.
"We're not after trouble, here, just a little fun," he said to Danny,
who shook his head.
"It's fun now," replied Danny, "that's for sure."
He stepped forward, putting himself between Cal and the
knife-guy.
"We're leaving," said Danny, and pulled Cal by the arm. They backed
away for about ten feet, then stopped. The bikers looked really pissed,
but kind of scared too.
"Which one is your bike?" asked Danny. The knife guy shook his
head.
"I don't have one," he said. But Danny saw his eyes flick to a bike
with large orange flames painted on the side.
He grinned. Aimed. Fired.
The sound was loud, louder and sharper than that time in the woods. The
streets and buildings contained the sound more, it was much more
metallic this time.
The front tire hissed angrily as the bullet tore through it, and into
the engine block. Everyone except Danny and Cal turned and ran. Two of
the bikers were already on their machines, and the roar of their
panicked exit covered the yells and cries of their friends.
"Fuck this!" shouted Cal, and dragged Danny away.
For a big man, he could run pretty fast.
Four left.
