Chapter 6

My boss, Beatrice, was not too happy with me when I arrived at quarter after ten that Thursday morning. She was less happy when I told her I was giving my two-weeks' notice, and she dropped into outright depression when the saw the ring on my finger.

Her face drew into that tight-lipped frown that a lot of older ladies use; it says: 'I severely disapprove of what you're doing, and I'll do my best to stop you.'

Just before lunch, I was called into Mr. Wainwright's office for a 'consultation'. I told him everything I'd told Beatrice, which wasn't much. Connie had advised me not to give any details about where I'd be working or what I'd be doing. Old Arnold really kept at me for a while, asking questions and uttering pronouncements of doom on my future.

"After all, young lady, where else can a woman of your skills be assured of a nice retirement and a living wage?" he'd asked. I was sorely tempted to tell him, but on second thought I kept my mouth shut. I went to lunch after that, and when I came back Beatrice was waiting for me.

She waited until I took my seat and said, "Honey, I know how you feel now, but trust me—the feeling wears off right quick."

"This has nothing to do with my ring or my love life. It was an offer I don't intend to refuse."

She sighed and walked away, no doubt telling herself she'd done all she could. She had, but I wasn't buying her line of bullshit.

My co-workers avoided me like the plague all that day and part of the next. I found out why late that next afternoon. Mr. Wainwright stopped by my cubicle about three o'clock and said, "You're fired. Your last check will be mailed to you."

There was nothing to do but leave.

When Connie arrived at my house that evening at five o'clock, I told her what had happened. Over dinner—stir-fry, one of her favorites—she said it might be to my advantage. She made a few calls after dinner, then we sat in my recliner and kissed for a while. We moved to the bedroom and made love about ten, and before she left for home she made me promise to keep my cell phone on my person and turned on at all times.

I slept late Saturday and did some laundry, then a little shopping. I cleaned the debris out of my Blazer in the afternoon, and was pleasantly tired and sweaty when Connie stopped by at four-thirty.

I offered her a beer and got one for myself, then we sat on the glider on the porch.

Abruptly she asked, "Have you ever carried a gun?"

"Carried, no. Shot, yes. My dad had a shotgun for hunting, and my brother let me shoot his deer rifle."

"Ever handle a handgun?"

"Once or twice. It was a .22, I think."

"You'll have to qualify with a .38 snub nose," she said. "I've half a mind to take you out to the range and get you started."

"Why? Are we going to be invading a third-world country or saving kids?" I joked.

Connie gave me the pity look. "You will be damn glad you have it and know how to use it when all is said and done, Jean. Some of the people you're going to deal with are not very nice."

I was shocked. "You mean to tell me these people—whoever they are—might shoot at me for doing my job?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I mean, and I want you to be able to shoot back. With intent to do grievous bodily harm at the very minimum."

"Jesus H. Christ on a teacart!" I said. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"You bet your sweet ass I am," she replied. "Now get your butt in gear and we'll go see if we can get you qualified."

Connie drove to the Law Enforcement Center on 9^th Street and parked in their lot. She showed a badge to get us admitted into the building and we took the elevator to the basement where the range was located. I was informed the LEC was a combination cop shop, housing the Bismarck City Police and the Burleigh County Sheriff's Department. The antenna farm on the roof was used for their communications.

A .38 revolver weighs about two pounds or so fully loaded, and by the end of the evening I could barely lift my arms. The range master was an old retired cop named Buck, and following his instructions I fired about three hundred rounds, six shots at a time. Strangely enough, as my arms got wearier my aim improved slightly.

"Body mass, darlin', center of body mass," Buck said. "Don't try to shoot his eyes out, you'll miss."

I tried to aim for the bulls eye, or ten-ring, in the center of the silhouette target. When I finished shooting, my best man-shaped target had five of the six shots in the nine-ring with the sixth in the eight-ring. All this from only twenty-five feet away, too. Annie Oakley I ain't.

Buck patted my back and said, "Good job for a first-timer. More than enough to qualify. You might want to practice some more, though. Practice makes perfect."

I nodded agreement and put the pistol on the bench. Connie loaded it, put on her earmuffs, and promptly put all six shots dead center.

We stopped at Sulli's for a beer and some pool before we went to her house.

We both slept in on Sunday, and after a leisurely breakfast spent most of the day together in bed. I was completely exhausted by the time she took me home Sunday night.

The house phone woke me Monday morning a little after six. It was Connie, and I was supposed to meet her in Michael's office at ten, dressed nicely for pictures.

"What should I wear?" I asked sleepily.

"Dressy but casual. Your nice black slacks and a feminine blouse will do. You're going to be sworn in. Make sure your bra doesn't have any holes, too. Oh, and cotton underwear."

"Am I auditioning for a porno movie or something?" I asked.

"You'll see," she said, and hung up.

I followed directions—matching cotton bra and undies, (no holes), nice snug black slacks, a frilly white blouse and footies inside my flats. I parked near the State Capitol building and walked inside feeling very nervous.

Connie met me near Michael's office on the fifteenth floor and pulled me to one side.

"You look great, baby, just great. Don't be nervous; he's just a guy and this is just a formality. After this is over we'll get to work."

I walked into Michael's office and shook his hand. The other parties who had an interest in the proceedings were standing by the walls sipping coffee. I joined them as we waited for the photographer.

When the time came, I held up my right hand and swore to defend the constitution of North Dakota and obey the lawful orders of those appointed over me. There were several flashes and poses, and then the room emptied of everyone but Michael, Connie and me.

Michael handed me an envelope, which he said contained my clothing and firearms allowance—almost fifteen hundred dollars—and shook my hand. I let him kiss my cheek in congratulation. I couldn't believe what had happened to me over the last weeks. What in the hell had I gotten myself into? I walked out of the building in a daze.