More Jennifer Steel (1st Draft)

Rob climbed into Jennifer’s truck. He buckled his seatbelt and turned to her. She leaned forward so he could lightly pinch her cheeks.
“Awww, look at these cheeks! They’re so cute!” he said in a high-pitched voice.
She grinned as she always did when he did this. He seemed to get a kick out of the game, and she thought it was a fun ritual, too. That was the biggest reason they started doing it almost as soon as they saw each other.
“So, where are we going?” she asked him when he turned back. She chose not to say anything about seeing that gleam in his eyes again. They had already gone over that ground enough.
“Head to B&A boulevard, Kirei-kun,” he said. “I’ll let you know where to turn and what not. I’m not spoiling the surprise.”
She sighed. “Alright.”
They drove for a half an hour with Jennifer turning as he indicated until they arrived at a long brick two story building with a green roof. Rob climbed out and strode around to her side of the truck and opened the door for her. After she climbed out of the truck and he closed the door, he led her to the long building, lightly draping his arm across her shoulders. She grinned up at him.
Rob opened the door of the building for her and gave the usual exaggerated bow. Jennifer grinned at him and entered. He flowed behind her. A short, portly man dressed in a white buttoned shirt and blue jeans greeted them.
“Howdy folks. How may I help you?”
“Hey, Bill,” Rob said, “Is Bart available?”
“Yep. I’ll get him,” was the reply. The balding older gentleman walked behind the counter and headed into the office. Jennifer began to look around the room they were in. Guns of all kinds were displayed on the walls and in the case under the counter. Rob pointed out and named some of the unfamiliar ones to her. On six different occasions, she named them before he could. He grinned with pleasure each time she did.
Moments later, a tall, dark haired young looking man with blue eyes stepped out of the back. He was dressed in a black vest, white button shirt and black jeans. As the door opened, Jennifer heard the tell-tale sounds of gunfire. The dark haired guy waved at Rob.
“Hey, Rob. You here for the package?”
“Yep. This is Kirei, the pretty filly I’ve been tellin’ ya about. Kirei, this is Bart.”
“Glad ta meetcha, little lady,” Bart said jovially, shaking her outstretched hand.
“Likewise, Mr. Bart.”
Bart chuckled. “Just Bart, ma’am.” He turned back to Rob. “What’s a kirei?”
“Kirei is the Japanese word for pretty. It’s a nickname I gave her.”
“You still givin’ folks random nicknames?” He shook his head.
“That’s right, Keebler.”
Jennifer smiled. “Why ‘Keebler’?”
Bart looked at Rob. “You tell her.”
Rob laughed. “Two reasons. One, that’s his favorite brand of cookie. The other is because he’s an original hippie.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“He was a hippie in the 60’s. Tree hugging, peace slogan shouting, the whole works.”
“But, you own a gun shop.”
Rob sang, “Isn’t it ironic?”
“Don’t sing!” his friends chorused, then laughed.
The tall man lifted a small teak chest onto the counter. He turned it so it faced the two of them and tilted the lid back. Inside, resting on red velvet was a gun. It was matte black and looked deadly even just sitting there.
“It’s a Heckler & Koch tactical .45,” Rob said. “It’s a civilian version of the SEAL’s sidearm, compact and light weight. Pick it up.”
Jennifer gingerly lifted the gun from the chest. It was the first time she had actually held one. Its cold lethality was a little intimidating.
“The USP is a semi-automatic pistol with a mechanically locked breech using the short recoil method of operation. This rather conventional lock-up system has a large rectangular lug over the barrel’s chamber that rides into and engages the ejection port cut-out in the slide. When a cartridge is fired, pressures generated by the ignited powder drive the cartridge casing back against the breech face on the slide, driving back both the barrel and slide as they remain locked together in the manner described above. After 3 mm (0.12 in) of unrestricted rearward travel, the projectile has left the barrel and gas pressures have dropped to a safe level. A shaped lug on the underside of the barrel chamber comes into contact with a hooked locking block at the end of the steel recoil spring guide rod, lowering the rear end of the barrel and stopping the barrel’s rearward movement. The recoil spring assembly is held in place by the slide stop lever’s axis pin and a round cut-out at the front of the slide. For enhanced reliability in high-dust environments, the locking surface on the front top of the barrel’s locking lug is tapered with a forward slope. This tapered surface produces a camming action which assists in positive lock-up in the presence of heavy fouling and debris. In this way, the USP shares many design features with the M1911 pistol, although apparently updated for easier operation,” Bart said.
With that, he placed two boxes of .45 caliber ammo on the counter and stepped back through the double doors he’d exited. Rob turned to Jennifer an gave her such an intent look, she felt a shiver race up and down her spine.
“Do you know how to load this?” he asked.
“I’ve never even held one before,” she admitted.
“Right. Pay close attention.”
She nodded and he began to explain the loading of the HK while explaining the steps to her. He guided her through the steps twice before having her try them. He allowed her to fail twice, praising her each time. Rob then placed his hands over Jennifer’s and showed her the proper movements. It felt weird having his body so close to hers, but she tried her best to ignore it. After guiding her movements in loading and unloading the .45, he stepped back and watched as she successfully loaded the gun. He once more praised her and led her to the back.
“This is the firing range. We’re gonna teach you how to shoot.”
After an hour of work, Jennifer had gotten to the point where she put all 15 shots in a tight ½ inch spread. They left the range and stopped in the front of the store. On the counter where the teak chest had sat was a cleaning kit. Rob showed her how to break the gun down and carefully clean and reassemble it. He then slid it into a holster and clipped it to the small of her back. She involuntarily gasped when his fingers brushed her thong, but fortunately, he didn’t seem to have heard. He tugged her t-shirt back into place and handed her a laminated card.
“It’s a carry concealed permit. Keep it and the weapon on you.”
“Why?” she asked.
“I have a feeling you’ll need it.”


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