It was one of those dreary, overcast days, and for once it looked like the weatherman was going to get it right when he predicted rain. The only reason I’d walked into Marty’s Pawnshop in the first place was because of the bird’s-eye view the large picture window gave me of the office building across the street.
I’d been browsing through the aisles of preowned jewelry, electronics, and knickknacks for twenty minutes, wasting time until she left the building. I finally stopped in front of a row of showcases filled with handguns. My eyes fixated on a pearl-handled Derringer. I wasn’t a gun guy, but the thought of having a gun was becoming more and more appealing.
“May I help you, sir?” a heavy-set, balding, white man asked. He walked down the aisle behind the showcase until he was right in front of me. My best guess was that he was Marty, the owner.
“Oh, no, I’m just looking,” I replied. I was a little embarrassed to be standing in front of the weapons. I didn’t want him to think I was some kind of loony or, worse, a crook. “Just trying to kill some time while I wait for a friend across the street.”
“Kill some time. That’s kinda funny coming from a man standing in front of a gun case.” He laughed, but I didn’t.
“How much is that one?” I pointed at the Derringer.
The man gave me a strange look. “I can let you have it for three hundred fifty. But you do realize all the guns in this showcase are placed here with a woman in mind, right?”
I think my dumbfounded expression gave me away. I felt pretty stupid.
“What exactly are you looking for in a gun? Is it a gift?” I shook my head, and he said, “Target practice, hunting, protection—”
Before he could finish his list, I repeated his last word. “Protection. I own my own business and sometimes carry a lot of cash.”
He pointed at the Derringer. “Well, that’ll do it if your name is Lulu, but a big, strapping fellow like yourself needs some more firepower. Come with me. I think I’ve got what you need right over here.”
I followed him to another glass showcase a few feet away. He took out a key to open the security door on the counter. The guns were neatly lined up in a row, some large, some small, but all looked deadly.
He pulled out a black handgun that looked like a policeman’s gun. “How about this baby? She’s a Glock nine-millimeter semiautomatic. This baby will put down a mugger quick, fast, and in a hurry.”
He tried to hand it to me, but I shook my head. “No, that’s too big. I want something smaller—something I can keep in my pocket that will still get the job done if I need it to.”
“Okay, I think I have exactly what you need.” Marty put the Glock back in the case, then pulled out another gun. “This is a twenty-five-caliber semiautomatic, what they call a Saturday Night Special on the street.” It was much smaller, probably about the size of my hand; however, it was impressive because it had a clip and was semiautomatic.
“What kind of firepower?” I asked.
“It’ll get the job done, that’s for sure, and with this bad boy in your pocket, you never have to worry about a thing.” He handed it to me.
I held the gun in my hand, aimed it at the picture window, and imagined myself shooting it at the black Mercedes parked in front of the building across the street. Its barrel had a sleek, smooth, criminal feel, and I knew right away that this was the one. It was like an instant marriage between the two of us—a man and his piece. “How much?”
“It’s used, so I’ll take two hundred fifty.”
I glanced out the window again. “I’ll take it.”
“Not for five days you won’t. State of Virginia has a five-day waiting period on the sale of all firearms.” Now that he’d mentioned it, I did remember hearing about something like that in the news a while back when that kid shot up all those people at Virginia Tech. He took the gun off the counter and handed me some paperwork.
I filled it out and paid for the gun. By the time I was finished, I’d just about killed the forty minutes I’d wanted to waste. “I’ll be back next week to pick it up.”
“Thanks for your business.” Marty shook my hand. “I’ll see you next week.”
It was raining lightly as I left the pawnshop. I walked over to my car, reached in for my umbrella, and opened it just as Loraine walked out of the building. I stood there mesmerized, watching her for a few seconds. To me, she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Hell, I’d been lusting after her since I was a teen, when she would come to my house to hang out with my older sister. Now she was the woman I’d fallen in love with, the woman I didn’t want to lose, whether or not she was married.
I walked with purpose toward her car, determined to reach her before she had a chance to leave. She got there first, but I blocked the door with my leg before she could open it. She had a scowl on her face that actually surprised me.
“Hey, beautiful, long time no hear from.” She’d always liked it when I called her beautiful, but this time it didn’t have a positive effect on her. In fact, the way she was looking around all paranoid, it appeared to have had the opposite effect.
“Michael, what are you doing here?” she asked through gritted teeth.
I smiled. “Well, I hadn’t heard from you in quite a while, so I figured I’d come see you. I miss you.”
The beginnings of a smile crept up on her face. “I miss—” She stopped herself, glancing around, but it was too late. Now I knew she hadn’t forgotten what we had.
“I knew it,” I said with excitement before she could speak. “I knew you missed me.” I leaned in to kiss her, but she turned her head and my lips landed on her cheek. Was she playing hard to get? If so, I was a patient man. The first step was already accomplished, getting her to admit she missed me.
“Michael, stop it.” She actually sounded upset. This was more than just playing hard to get. “Do that again and I’m gonna slap you.” She actually raised her hand as she said it.
“Stop what, Loraine?” I persisted. “Stop loving you? No can do. You might as well ask me to stop breathing.”
Her whole body seemed to tense up, and she spoke to me in a low tone, as if she were worried someone might hear us. “Michael, please. You’re embarrassing me.” She reached for the door handle, but I stood my ground, only allowing her to open it a few feet.
“All right, then. Let’s go somewhere we can talk.” I stepped out of the way and let her get into her car. I would follow her once we agreed on a place to go. Or at least that’s what I thought, until she made it clear our conversation was over.
“I’m not going anywhere with you. You know I’m trying to make it work with my husband.”
I was trying to maintain some kind of composure, but when she mentioned her husband, I just blurted out my true feelings. “I don’t give a shit about your husband. I love you, Loraine, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make you mine.”
She lowered her head. “I wish you didn’t say things like that. I married him for better or for worse. You’re just making things harder for us all.”
“I know you’re married. That has nothing to do with how I feel about you.”
“Please, Michael, don’t do this to me. We tried this already. I can’t deal with seeing two men anymore. I’m tired of the lies, the sneaking…” She started glancing around again. Either she couldn’t make eye contact with me, or she was afraid someone would come out of the building and see her talking to me.
“And me! You’re tired of me, too, aren’t you? You just used me, didn’t you?” I stepped back from the car a bit, not really sure if I meant what I said or if I was just trying to get her riled up. She was too damn calm about our breakup.
“Michael, please don’t talk that way. You’re making this much harder than it should be.”
“No, Loraine, you made this hard when you chose him over me!” I snapped.
“I don’t have to listen to this.” She placed the car in drive.
“No, please,” I said desperately. “I’m not trying to piss you off. I just want to see you.”
“Michael, you need to move on. I have.”
“Have you?”
We both stared at each other silently until she said, “Yes, I have. I want you to also.”
A punch in the stomach would have hurt a little less. “You don’t know how I feel. I don’t think I can move on. I love you, Loraine.”
“Then I feel sorry for you, because I belong to someone else, and I’m not leaving him.”
“Loraine, you can belong to whoever you want, but you know and I know that you’re always going to be my woman.”
“Michael, you’re wroooong,” she whined, dragging out the word wrong so much that it sounded more like right to me. “Good-bye, Michael. Don’t come here anymore.” She pulled off, and I watched her drive down the street.
“Bye, Loraine. I’ll see you soon.”