Deputy Porter
Copyright© 2012 by carniegirl
Chapter 166
"So what did you want from me," The Brit asked.
"God don't make it sound like I'm asking for a kidney," I said with a laugh.
"Alright what can I do for you," he asked.
"I bought a rifle and a scope. I was hoping I could get you to mate them and zero the scope in for thirty yards or so." I said.
"You have to know where you want it Silvie. The parallax view will cause it to be off at any other range." he said.
"Make it thirty-five yards then and I will guesstimate the rest," I said.
"My advice go with the SWAG system," he said.
"Yeah Scientific Wild Ass Guess," I agreed.
"Do you have it with you," he asked.
I opened the back of the car and took the rifle out. "Here you go," I said.
"I'll have it for you in the morning, when you come to help with the bar," he said.
"You don't have to rush," I advised him.
"I want to do it this afternoon while Jeremy sulks," he said with a smile.
"He still wants to move back to capitol city?" I asked.
"Yeah, but it's his choice, I'm staying right here," The Brit informed me.
You want me to come along?" I asked.
"No, I would really like to be alone," he said firmly.
"Okay, I'll get the rifle in the morning," I said.
The Brit had the equipment to bore sight the rifle. He would project a laser through the bore and then focus the scope just above it. The distance above it would be the the amount of drop one would expect at thirty-five yards. There was a mathematical formula for it.
It I shot the rifle at a target twenty yards away it would come in a little low, and if I shot at fifty yards it would be a little high. That was the parallax view rule. I didn't plan to shoot anything so small that an inch or two would be the difference between my life or death.
The Brit left with my rifle, and I left with an empty cruiser van. I drove back to the box house feeling all alone. So The Brit could see that Jeremy wasn't going to be happy in County Seat, even so he had bought a building, He was planning to build a pub, and I was going to help him. So fuck you very much Jeremy, I thought.
When I got home the place was just as I left it. I had to rummage through all the sofa frame storage boxes before I found my hair trimmer. I unpacked the plastic case with the trimmer and accessories. I found the squeeze tube of oil in the case, so I lubed the blades. I attached the long cutter guard. The guard turned the electric razor into a trimmer. I took a drink of the shine and started the motor. When I cut my hair all off before, I was in a different place than at that moment. I wanted it to look like something this time. The last time I hadn't cared.
I ran the trimmer over my head several time, and in every possible angle. When I was finished I ran my hand over it to be sure I hadn't missed any. Of course I had to run over a few spots again to even it up.
When I finished the cut, I took off all my clothes and stepped into the shower stall. I lathered my hair several times and rinsed it as well. It was free of all oil when I finished. It also stood almost straight up and in a butch cut. It was an inch long around my ears as well as ragged in the back. Since I couldn't see to run the razor over those spots I just left them ragged.
It was a mess but my hair was thin enough that it would adapt I was sure. It didn't look any worse than the punk cuts I had seen around. Hell some women paid a hundred bucks for their hair to look this bad, I thought.
I used the built in web cam on my computer to take picture of my new hair cut. I decided that if I wore eye make up and lipstick I would look like a punk female. If no make up, an effeminate gay guy. And if I didn't bind my breast, I could keep them guessing. So I had three completely different looks, which I could change with no more tan an elastic bandage and five dollar worth of makeup. Pretty cool was my final thought on it.
I took a good look at my club hand. I had about 60% range of movement after a year of squeezing the tennis ball whenever I could. I still couldn't make the hand close completely. If I held anything in it's grip, it was just as likely to wind up on the floor as to stay in the hand. It was not a part of my body I could count on any more. I noted this because it had been useless in trimming my hair. Oh well I had no choice, but to work with what I had.
Since my thumb and first finger wouldn't meet I could half ass grip the rifle's forearm but it wasn't very secure. I knew I was going to have to figure it out if I ever planned to use the rifle. I still had the 12guage pump gun, which was pretty much useless at the moment. I knew I had to begin spending more time with the firearms.
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