and weapon magazines, laying everything out in neat and concise groupings by weapon type and category, ammunition and magazines next to their respective firearms. When we were done, Richard began to talk me through an introduction to each weapon.
Richard started with the pistols, working from smallest to largest. The first handgun he showed me was a little revolver, a blued steel Smith & Wesson with a two-inch barrel and substantial rubber grips.
"This isn't a fire-fight gun by any means, it's strictly for backup and close-in work. A lot of people dismiss the snub thirty-eight as a useless gun, but within five feet, a good trigger-man can get all five slugs center mass within two seconds. Get in close and empty it into your target, and I can guarantee you he won't be getting back up. Plus, no hot brass bouncing up into your face in the middle of a tussle, and without empties lying around, there's less forensic evidence."
"What happens," I asked, "if I need more than five bullets?"
"If you can't punch the ticket on some knuckle-dragging goombah with five shots after I'm done with you, I'll eat my cowboy boots."
The second handgun was a sexy-looking little Beretta automatic, matte black, with several fat magazines and what I assumed was a suppressor about half a foot long.
"The Beretta .32 auto is a good balance between stealth and firepower. It's got a twelve-round magazine and it's accurate enough for most handgun shooting. When you fit it with the suppressor, it's quiet enough that anyone nearby, who isn't familiar with the sound of a suppressed handgun, won't know what they're hearing. You could probably shoot a man in one room of an apartment, and someone in the next room would hear a noise like a fist punching a pillow. It's a good gun to have when you're not sure whether you need a combat handgun or an assassination piece."
"The bullets look kinda small," I said.
"It's not the size of the bullet, it's where you put it in a man that counts."
"I feel a little uncomfortable with you saying that to me," I replied, earning myself a stern look from Richard.
The third pistol wasn't much larger than the Beretta, but aside from being a compact handgun, the similarities ended. Where the Beretta was sleek and sophisticated looking, this pistol looked like a child's representation of what a gun might look like, molded from a block of plastic putty. Richard had a suppressor for it as well, although the tube was both wider and longer than the suppressor for the Beretta.
"This is going to be your primary fighting pistol, the Glock 19 nine-millimeter automatic. The magazine holds fifteen rounds, so you've got sufficient firepower, and the nine millimeter cartridge is plenty of punch for a new shooter like yourself. There's no safety catch for you to forget in the middle of a firefight, and the short trigger pull means the muzzle doesn't wander too far while you're taking your shot. It's simple, effective, accurate and reliable. It's also lightweight and compact, so it's easy to carry and easy to hide. You're going to make this little gun an extension of your own hand by the time I'm done with you."
"Won’t that make going to the bathroom a little dangerous?" I asked.
"Don’t come crying to me if you shoot your pecker off, dummy."
We moved on to the three long guns. The first was a stubby-barreled shotgun with a folding stock. At first I thought it was some kind of pump shotgun, but Richard informed me it was actually semi-automatic.
"This is a Remington 1100 auto-loading shotgun. Four twelve-gauge shells in the tube under the barrel, plus a fifth you can load right into the chamber. With some practice, you can get all five shots into a target in less than two seconds, just like the thirty-eight. But, with a man-killing load like double-ought buckshot, that's forty-five pellets. Probably more lead down range than any submachine gun in the same amount of time. This brute will kick like a mule, especially if you're just
Richard started with the pistols, working from smallest to largest. The first handgun he showed me was a little revolver, a blued steel Smith & Wesson with a two-inch barrel and substantial rubber grips.
"This isn't a fire-fight gun by any means, it's strictly for backup and close-in work. A lot of people dismiss the snub thirty-eight as a useless gun, but within five feet, a good trigger-man can get all five slugs center mass within two seconds. Get in close and empty it into your target, and I can guarantee you he won't be getting back up. Plus, no hot brass bouncing up into your face in the middle of a tussle, and without empties lying around, there's less forensic evidence."
"What happens," I asked, "if I need more than five bullets?"
"If you can't punch the ticket on some knuckle-dragging goombah with five shots after I'm done with you, I'll eat my cowboy boots."
The second handgun was a sexy-looking little Beretta automatic, matte black, with several fat magazines and what I assumed was a suppressor about half a foot long.
"The Beretta .32 auto is a good balance between stealth and firepower. It's got a twelve-round magazine and it's accurate enough for most handgun shooting. When you fit it with the suppressor, it's quiet enough that anyone nearby, who isn't familiar with the sound of a suppressed handgun, won't know what they're hearing. You could probably shoot a man in one room of an apartment, and someone in the next room would hear a noise like a fist punching a pillow. It's a good gun to have when you're not sure whether you need a combat handgun or an assassination piece."
"The bullets look kinda small," I said.
"It's not the size of the bullet, it's where you put it in a man that counts."
"I feel a little uncomfortable with you saying that to me," I replied, earning myself a stern look from Richard.
The third pistol wasn't much larger than the Beretta, but aside from being a compact handgun, the similarities ended. Where the Beretta was sleek and sophisticated looking, this pistol looked like a child's representation of what a gun might look like, molded from a block of plastic putty. Richard had a suppressor for it as well, although the tube was both wider and longer than the suppressor for the Beretta.
"This is going to be your primary fighting pistol, the Glock 19 nine-millimeter automatic. The magazine holds fifteen rounds, so you've got sufficient firepower, and the nine millimeter cartridge is plenty of punch for a new shooter like yourself. There's no safety catch for you to forget in the middle of a firefight, and the short trigger pull means the muzzle doesn't wander too far while you're taking your shot. It's simple, effective, accurate and reliable. It's also lightweight and compact, so it's easy to carry and easy to hide. You're going to make this little gun an extension of your own hand by the time I'm done with you."
"Won’t that make going to the bathroom a little dangerous?" I asked.
"Don’t come crying to me if you shoot your pecker off, dummy."
We moved on to the three long guns. The first was a stubby-barreled shotgun with a folding stock. At first I thought it was some kind of pump shotgun, but Richard informed me it was actually semi-automatic.
"This is a Remington 1100 auto-loading shotgun. Four twelve-gauge shells in the tube under the barrel, plus a fifth you can load right into the chamber. With some practice, you can get all five shots into a target in less than two seconds, just like the thirty-eight. But, with a man-killing load like double-ought buckshot, that's forty-five pellets. Probably more lead down range than any submachine gun in the same amount of time. This brute will kick like a mule, especially if you're just
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