for a fact that Jane has two armoires, nice antique ones, with fancy military rifles stuffed like sardines in there, all styles, serious rifles, and two antique trunks stacked full of handguns. I’ve seen them. No telling what else she has hidden in that big house, which has two floors plus a full basement and a full attic.
Just the other day, I was over there after Jane and I had been shopping. She opened her closet door to put the new shoes she’d bought inside. When she pushed her hanging clothes out of the way, I saw three huge metal cases stacked on top of one another. These things were heavy duty, like something you’d transport an atomic bomb or plutonium in, only bigger. She saw me looking.
“Those are some mighty fine hat boxes you’ve got in there,” I said.
She laughed. “Not hats. More of the Colonel’s acquisitions for his collection, I’m afraid.”
She closed the door and changed the subject. I didn’t ask. I didn’t have to. The sides had military-looking stencils that told what was in them. I made a mental note to look up “MP5” and “vz.61 Škorpion,” and when I did that night, I found out what they were. Submachine guns.
The first box looked like it was U.S. military. The second one had the words “Česká Zbrojovka,” which I recognized because they are also on my CZ 75 handgun.
The third box was different. First of all, it looked military but the writing wasn’t in English. Squiggly slanted foreign lettering covered the side. Even though I couldn’t read that, I did recognize two stenciled words in English. “Israel” and “Uzi.” My jaw like to hit the floor. Didn’t need to look up either one of those. I’m as pro-Israel as you can get without being an actual Israelite. Don’t I wish. Nothing could have impressed me more.
Jane is my hero, even if she doesn’t ever go to church. She can’t help it. She was raised Church of England over yonder, and I don’t think they believe in attending services, so it’s not her fault.
I’m thankful we don’t have much call for self-defense here. But with the TV spreading sick minds nationwide, it’s no wonder things just keep getting worse everywhere. I hope it never spills over into Tullulah. We’re too small of a town and already have our quota of crazy people. If any nasty psycho city fool strolls into town and starts cussing on the street, buddy, I am there. I’d take Smokahontas down off the wall and the two of us would go have a little talk with him on his way out of Dodge. Son, I am sitting on ready.
Thinking about shooting and fighting made me even hungrier. I walked in the dark to the kitchen, holding Rowdy in one arm and aiming the flashlight beam out in front of us with the other. There was cold chicken in the refrigerator, leftovers that I’d cubed to put in salads. I looked at Rowdy and said, “Who knows how long the power will be out. We better not let this chicken go bad.”
Nine
Jane Makes it Home
A t my house, the car’s headlights moved across my front lawn and porch in an arc, highlighting leaves and other debris that flew past in the weird, stormy green atmosphere. With my plastic shopping bags looped around my wrists, I ran for the shelter of my porch.
I’d no more touched the first step before the skies emptied and rain fell down even harder as if from great vats. To my relief, Homer shot past me, up the steps to the door. In his eyes, I could see that the thunder boom terrified him but, courageous boy that he was, he stood his ground at the screen, then shook himself from his head all the way down to the tip of his tail, spraying water in all directions. As soon as I opened the door, I dropped the bags. The light switch didn’t work. The electricity was out.
I grabbed several towels from the linen closet. I wiped one across my face and eyes and rubbed it quickly across my head. “All right, then,” I said as I reached into a drawer for a flashlight. “Into the basement with you.” I stuck
Just the other day, I was over there after Jane and I had been shopping. She opened her closet door to put the new shoes she’d bought inside. When she pushed her hanging clothes out of the way, I saw three huge metal cases stacked on top of one another. These things were heavy duty, like something you’d transport an atomic bomb or plutonium in, only bigger. She saw me looking.
“Those are some mighty fine hat boxes you’ve got in there,” I said.
She laughed. “Not hats. More of the Colonel’s acquisitions for his collection, I’m afraid.”
She closed the door and changed the subject. I didn’t ask. I didn’t have to. The sides had military-looking stencils that told what was in them. I made a mental note to look up “MP5” and “vz.61 Škorpion,” and when I did that night, I found out what they were. Submachine guns.
The first box looked like it was U.S. military. The second one had the words “Česká Zbrojovka,” which I recognized because they are also on my CZ 75 handgun.
The third box was different. First of all, it looked military but the writing wasn’t in English. Squiggly slanted foreign lettering covered the side. Even though I couldn’t read that, I did recognize two stenciled words in English. “Israel” and “Uzi.” My jaw like to hit the floor. Didn’t need to look up either one of those. I’m as pro-Israel as you can get without being an actual Israelite. Don’t I wish. Nothing could have impressed me more.
Jane is my hero, even if she doesn’t ever go to church. She can’t help it. She was raised Church of England over yonder, and I don’t think they believe in attending services, so it’s not her fault.
I’m thankful we don’t have much call for self-defense here. But with the TV spreading sick minds nationwide, it’s no wonder things just keep getting worse everywhere. I hope it never spills over into Tullulah. We’re too small of a town and already have our quota of crazy people. If any nasty psycho city fool strolls into town and starts cussing on the street, buddy, I am there. I’d take Smokahontas down off the wall and the two of us would go have a little talk with him on his way out of Dodge. Son, I am sitting on ready.
Thinking about shooting and fighting made me even hungrier. I walked in the dark to the kitchen, holding Rowdy in one arm and aiming the flashlight beam out in front of us with the other. There was cold chicken in the refrigerator, leftovers that I’d cubed to put in salads. I looked at Rowdy and said, “Who knows how long the power will be out. We better not let this chicken go bad.”
Nine
Jane Makes it Home
A t my house, the car’s headlights moved across my front lawn and porch in an arc, highlighting leaves and other debris that flew past in the weird, stormy green atmosphere. With my plastic shopping bags looped around my wrists, I ran for the shelter of my porch.
I’d no more touched the first step before the skies emptied and rain fell down even harder as if from great vats. To my relief, Homer shot past me, up the steps to the door. In his eyes, I could see that the thunder boom terrified him but, courageous boy that he was, he stood his ground at the screen, then shook himself from his head all the way down to the tip of his tail, spraying water in all directions. As soon as I opened the door, I dropped the bags. The light switch didn’t work. The electricity was out.
I grabbed several towels from the linen closet. I wiped one across my face and eyes and rubbed it quickly across my head. “All right, then,” I said as I reached into a drawer for a flashlight. “Into the basement with you.” I stuck
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