Chapter Forty-Three - Gun Expert

"Okay!" Sharp said the moment we were back home. She raised her arms over her head and stretched hard until her limbs shook. "That was kind of fun! Plus now, I'm basically a gun expert, right?"

I snorted. "Hardly," I said. Then I was distracted as I had to greet my cats. Cyanide ran up for nuzzles and Mercury skittered into the room only to linger by the entrance to stare, wide-eyed, as if he'd never seen anyone before.

Arsenic strutted in confidently a few moments later. "Mother, I'm hungry," he said in lieu of any appropriate sort of greeting.

I sighed. "Sharp, check on the feeder. And give everyone who asks a snack."

"Okay!" Sharp said. I was happy to see that she got along well with the cats. Cyanide abandoned purring against my side to instead dart after Sharp as she headed for the kitchen and the locked cabinet with the cat snacks.

I wasn't sure what I would do if Sharp wasn't a cat person, or mistreated my babies. Probably kill her, which would make me feel quite awful all said and done, but I didn't have to consider it now. Sharp was smiling as she gave Arsenic a treat, then she bent down and scooped Mercury up. The big lug went floppy as she hugged him close and then cradled him like a baby to give him a snack more directly.

I nodded. She was good with the cats, and that said much about her, I decided.

"Don't get too comfortable. The day's still early."

Sharp's shoulders slumped. "Not more exercise," she said.

I chuckled darkly. "No. That can wait until tomorrow, I think. We don't want to push you to the point of straining anything. Instead, we need to scope out the location for our job. We're on a relatively short timetable here."

"Oh, right!" Sharp said. "Do I need to change?"

I nodded. "Get some plain clothes. Matching, clothes that... you know what, I'll help you pick it out. We'll be putting it into that duffel, so go put the guns back in their place, but keep the handgun out."

It took a bit, but soon we had a partial change of clothes for her. Just a second pair of shoes--big work boots--and a jacket that she could throw on that had a hood. A scarf to cover her lower face and a pair of heap non-prescription glasses from my wardrobe made up the rest of her outfit. All stuff that was ease to store.

"Let's find you a holster for that handgun," I said. "You're pretty thin... Lower your pants a little."

"Weird thing to ask someone," Sharp said as we entered my office and she set down the clothes next to the bag we were going to use.

I shook my head then carefully judged the distance for a hop that landed me right on the edge of a cabinet. "In here. There are a few holsters. There's one that's worn as a sort of belt. It's a front holster. A little strange, but most pat-downs don't check the lower waist and if you're wearing a baggy shirt or sweater, then your gun is always within easy reach."

Sharp opened the right drawer and then fumbled through half a dozen holsters before finding the right one. It took a bit of fiddling, and some adjusting (her waist was narrower than mine had been) before she had the holster in place. She checked the safety on the handgun we'd picked out and slid it into place.

"Do a few squats, some jumping jacks, then touch your toes," I instructed.

Sharp did as I asked, only pausing once to tighten the strap and change how it sat. "Nice! This is kinda comfy, I guess? It presses into my tummy, right over my bladder when I bend over double."

"Can you live with that?" I asked.

"Yeah. It wouldn't be comfortable long-term, but it's not that bad."

"Good. Now, remove the gun, and its magazine. We're going to fill one with fake bullets. Yes, there's such a thing as fake rounds. They weigh the same."

"Okay... why?" she asked, which was rather sensible.

"Because you're going to practice drawing the gun a few dozen times. Draw, flick the safety off, then aim. I want it down as a single, smooth motion. Which isn't going to happen with just ten minute's practice, but it's better than nothing."

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

It took another hour before we were ready to go. By then, I'd gotten Sharp to hide a small pocket knife in one pocket and another in an ankle holster, just in case.

Being so armed was also a risk, but it was better to be safe than sorry. She wasn't the only one to gear up. I had her help me into a little kitty vest. It was an off-white, with cute little flowers on it.

I'd bought it for Cyanide, but when I dressed her in it she just flopped onto her side and refused to move. In any case, it fit me, even if it was a little large.

The idea wasn't so much safety as it was to draw the eye away from what I looked like as a cat. People would remember the vest far more than the cat within. Also, it was a little nippy outside.

"Are we ready?" Sharp asked.

"I think so," I said. "Well, as ready as we can be, given the timeframe."

"You're the one that picked out this job so soon," Sharp said.

I rolled my eyes, but she did have a point. I could spend another couple of months training Sharp into... well, perhaps not someone entirely competent, but closer. The issue was... well, I hadn't gotten many increases in my skills since we left the more dangerous Boston Two. I suspected quite strongly that growth would only occur through long practice, short bursts of danger, novel experiences, and by overcoming challenges.

"Come on, daylight's burning."

I said goodbye to the cats, all but Belladonna whom I'd only caught a few glimpses of recently, and then we were off again. I did turn on the TV for Cyanide, who said she liked the noises it made. That was interesting, because I could recall her staring at the screen before, but I didn't know she actually enjoyed it.

Maybe I'd see if she couldn't figure out the remote? Or I could get some animal-cybernetics for her? There were some augmentations available for pets. Things like games mounted to the eyes and biometric scanners so that a pet-owner could monitor their little companion's health from afar with a decent degree of precision.

It was all rather expensive, and I suspected that for the price paid, the quality was lower than the same kind of equipment for humans, but... well, that was maybe fine.

Having something like that myself might be my only way to interact with the wider world. I'd have to see what I could buy and then tinker up.

I did have a Tech skill that was wallowing. What would happen when it reached the first perk level? There was a lot of potential there!

I let my mind wander as Sharp left the block and we took an unsecured bus out of town and towards Boston Two. We climbed off before making it into the city and the hellscape of traffic at the boundaries.

With just my head poking out of Sharp's neck, I scanned the road. Sharp knew more or less where we were going, but still needed some directions here and there.

Eventually, however, we made it to the right spot.

"Let's find a place for you to change," I said.

The best place for that turned out to be a gas station, which wasn't ideal, but it was good enough. Sharp and I both changed, then we were off again.

Twenty minutes later, after cutting across an empty construction site and through a couple of dodgy alleys, we had made it close to the space we were scoping out. I could do more of this next bit myself, but Sharp had to learn.

"Just walk casually by. Scan the place from the corner of your eye as you move by, but mostly, try to get a feel for the place," I instructed.

The warehouse was a single-floor, all-grey space. It was cinderblocks with nothing covering them on the exterior, with no obvious windows. The entire facility was built like a large C, with the centre just barely large enough for a semi-trailer to park in.

There was a fence all around, with barbed wire atop it, but it was the cheap old stuff, not modern razor wire, and it was rusted all over. The fence itself was little more than a standard chain link fence.

It looked very much like a normal, boring warehouse facility.

So why in the world were there three armed guys hanging out by the front?

"We might have to drop this job. It's too hot," I said.

***