David Lewis
CALL ME CROCKETT
ONE
Rachael Get Your
Gun
Doctor Ruby LaCost adjusted her glasses and looked at the young woman sitting across from her.
“You’re going to what?” she said.
The young woman’s face was as immobile as porcelain.
“I’m going to buy a gun,” she said.
“Ah, Rachael, I’m not sure that’s your best possible course of action at this time.”
“Spoken like a true psychologist,” Rachael said, the hint of a smile teasing her glossed lips.
“You’re dealing with memories you’ve kept repressed for well over half your life. Now is not the time to get involved with a firearm!”
“I’ve made up my mind.”
Ruby noted Rachael’s rigid posture.
“It’s your father, isn’t it?”
Rachael looked at her blankly.
“Every time you’re dealing with something about your father,” Ruby continued, “you go on emotional hold. You become neutral and separate from it all. You tuck in behind your newsreader identity. It’s how you choose to protect yourself from him.”
“That’s why I want a gun,” Rachael said. “To protect myself from my father.”
“You haven’t even seen the man in years. Why now?”
“He knows that if I’m going to a psychologist, some things could turn up that would be dangerous to him.”
“How long has it been since you’ve seen your father?”
“Fifteen years or so. Ever since I went to live with Aunt Ivy.”
“Does she have any connection to him?”
“She despises the man.”
“If you haven’t had any communication with him in that long, what makes you think he knows where you are or what you’re doing?”
Rachael plucked absently at the hem of her skirt. Her shoulders sagged and she lifted tear-filled eyes to look at Ruby.
“He knows,” she said. “He makes it his business to know. I’m a loose end. Daddy hates loose ends.”
“And you’ve decided to get a gun.”
Rachael nodded.
“Do you know anything about guns? Have you ever even shot a gun?”
“There are a couple of places that give lessons.”
Ruby fiddled with her pen as she stalled for time.
“Okay,” she said. “I know somebody who might be able to help. Will you give me a day or two?”
After Rachael left, Ruby reached for the phone. Crockett answered on the third ring.
“Gotta gun?” Ruby said.
“What?”
“A gun. You know, bang-bang, innocent bystanders lying in the street, blood in the gutter, that kinda stuff.”
Crockett lowered his voice into a stage whisper. “Ruby, if someone is forcing you to make this call, clear your throat.”
“I have a client.”
“One of your own? I told you that 900 number would work!”
Ruby grinned. “If you can drag yourself out of that quagmire of isolation and self-pity you laughingly refer to as your life,” she said, “meet me for lunch.”
“Gee, I don’t know. My calendar’s pretty full.”
“Bullshit.”
“Is this, like, a date?”
“Business,” Ruby said. “I’ll buy.”
“Must be serious.”
“Possibly. The Classic Cup, on the Plaza, one-thirty.”
She hung up quickly, knowing that the Classic Cup did not compliment Crockett’s self image, half expecting him to call back and bitch. He didn’t.
Crockett remained on the couch for a while, feeling like he’d come in during the middle of the movie, a not unusual sensation when he dealt with Ruby. He realized that making him play catch-up was one of her ploys to keep him off balance, but today was different. Today was obviously not just fun and games. She wanted his cooperation. The fact that she needed his assistance for some reason didn’t mean that he had any sort of advantage. Ruby didn’t give advantages. Whatever was on her devious mind would be more than met the casual eye. Still, it was nice to be needed, even if he had no idea why. Sighing, he rose, compensated for the kink in his back, grimaced at the pain in his hip, and limped into his bathroom. He brushed his teeth in the shower, slipped into some faded jeans and a nearly clean flannel shirt, and prepared to venture out into the world.
Parking was a predictable hassle. He left Thumper on
“Two,” she said. “A sidewalk table please. He smokes.”
Uma permitted one eyebrow to fall and curled his lip. “This way,” he oozed, and led them outside.
Crockett looked at Ruby as they walked to the table. She hadn’t changed much over the years. Still the thick mane of nearly black hair, still the oversized mouth and eyes, still the flawless olive complexion. At five-ten and about one-forty he found her wonderfully substantial. In heels they stood nearly at eye level, with him on the short end. Ruby never went out in public without heels.
Ruby smiled as she sat.
“You didn’t have to get dressed up just for me,” she said.
“Clothes do not make the man, Ms. LaCost.”
“No, but they evidently do make mistakes.”
“My underwear’s silk,” Crockett said. “Chinese. Raw.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“There’s still time.”
Ruby blew him a tiny kiss.
“It is possible that I may require your assistance,” she said.
Crockett bumped his eyebrows.
“I have a client who believes she needs to learn how to use a gun to protect herself. I have attempted to dissuade her from that course of action.”
Crockett peered at her over the top of his menu. “Of course you have,” he said. Their waitress arrived.
Ruby ordered something with the oxymoronical title of Southwestern Pizza. Crockett had a turkey sandwich, hold the sprouts, hold the avocado, hold the cilantro, hold the orange-mustard sauce, add some mayo, tomato, and lettuce. The young woman looked at him askance.
He lit a
“My client needs to be handled with kid gloves. I am concerned that she will purchase a firearm and cause herself injury, or patronize a less than scrupulous instructor, or find herself immersed in a situation with which she, as emotionally fragile as she is, will be unable to cope.”
“No shit?”
Ruby broke out in laughter, a rich contralto that was irresistible.
“Do you really talk like that to those poor unsuspecting victims of yours?” Crockett said.
Ruby rested her chin in her hand and twinkled.
“None of this stuff works on you, does it?”
“Probably not.”
“Crockett, no matter what I say, this woman is going to get involved with firearms. I want you to teach her how to handle a gun safely. I trust you. I believe she will, too.”
Crockett knew Ruby’s seemingly open declaration of purpose and need was not the whole story. She had other motives. Ruby always had other motives.
“I’m not qualified,” he said.
“You used to be a cop. You are a truly sensitive and honorable man. This woman is very vulnerable. You would never take advantage of that.”
“I wouldn’t?”
“I’ll discuss it with her. If she goes for it, I’ll set up a meeting for the two of you. Feel free to charge her something unreasonable for this service. She can afford it.”
“You’re being both civil and complimentary,” Crockett said. “I’m a little scared.”
“Of course you are.”
“Aroused, too.”
“Of course you are.”
“Ruby, you know I don’t like guns.”
“Yes, but you need my approval so badly that you will most certainly do as I ask.”
He gave up. “Alright. I’ve got a session tomorrow morning. Tell her to call me after ten. I should be home by then. She can buy me dinner or something. I want to spend some time with her in a semi-social situation before I hand her a loaded gun. Nothing can screw up a brand new relationship like getting shot in the foot.”
Ruby grinned.
“No shit?”
