Chapter 169

The Brit was dealing with contractors the next day, so he didn't need my help on the pub at all. Which left me time to think about the shotgun problem again. I decided not to trade the Mossberg pump gun in on a new shotgun. It would be worth next to nothing in its present state.

So Tuesday after my ride and while the kitchen equipment contractor worked on The Brit's pub, I headed for the gun store where I had bought the .22 mag revolver and derringer. It was almost an hours drive, but I didn't mind.

"Hello," the salesman, who had been so arrogant the last time I visited, said.

"Hello yourself," I replied.

"What can I do for you today," he asked.

"I'm looking for a 20 gauge over and under shotgun. Not too expensive and I don't plan to ever use it.

"Well in the last couple of years a Brazilian gun has gotten a lot of chatter. They haven't been around long enough to get a reputation for reliability, but they seem to work fine for the first year or two at least." he said being a hell of a lot more helpful than on my first visit.

"Have you got one here?" I asked.

"I sure do," he said walking across the store and retrieving a moderately long barreled shotgun. "It ain't fancy but it will do the trick."

I tried to hold it with my bad hand and knew that it wasn't going to work the way it was supposed to. The forearm was a bit thin. On the other hand it broke down allowing me to use my good hand to reload it as opposed to having to pump it.

"So how much," I asked.

"Retail is $350 but I could maybe do $300," he said.

"I need the barrel shortened. It isn't any good to me at it is now. If you cut the barrel down to half inch over legal, I'll give you $300 for it. I would also like to leave with it now," I said.

"Let me check with the boss." the salesman said.

He was gone about ten minutes before he came back. "Boss said you pay up front and accept a hacksaw cut and it's a deal."

I reached in my cargo pants pocket for the cardboard wallet I carried. I gave him three one hundred dollar bills and two twenties for tax. Without a word he carried the over and under into the back. Then minutes later he brought the gun back.

"You want to be careful, those barrels will rust. You to keep some protection on them. Boss coated them with some lacquer, but it needs to be redone now and then."

"Sounds reasonable," I said. I left with a riot length shot gun and a box of 20 gauge #2 buckshot It would stop a man and I didn't need to be all that accurate to do it. I could have had The Brit hack it off, but I figured why not get it done at the shop where I bought it.

I decided after I got home I wanted a pistol grip, so the next day I went to the pub. Tomas was helping The Brit paint and put Formica on some pantry shelves. Painted wood alone would not pass the health department inspection.

"Hey Brit how about using your Columbian Spanish to ask Tomas, if he can turn this stock into a pistol grip." I asked.

The Brit looked at the weapon and said, "You do realize that you have totally fucked up this shotgun?"

"Yeah, now will you ask him?" I asked

Rather than answer he rattled off some Spanish. Then The Brit said to me. "He will do it, but he doesn't like it either. He insists you never tell anyone, who did it for you."

"Agreed." I said.

When Tomas left he took the shot gun with him. He wanted to do it in his shop at home. I didn't have any problem with that. "So Sylvia, it's been two weeks since we saw Mary Ellen where do you think she is?"

"Probably California, she was always saying she might go to California." I replied.

"Sylvia are you alright out there in the county all by yourself," Jeremy asked.

"I'm just fine Jeremy. I stopped drinking anything I didn't fix myself," I replied looking at The Brit when I said it.

"That sounds like a good policy to me," Jeremy replied.

"Well I've been good since that Mountain Home party. I might just go out this weekend and get in trouble," I said.

"You want us to come along and be sure you don't get in over your head," The Brit asked.

"No that's okay. I learned my lesson," I said.

I went home to spend the day alone. I did some research on the computer, then I went for a ride on the tricycle. I ate my meals alone and I drank my shine alone. I really didn't like it since I had gotten used to The Brit being around. I knew he and Jeremy preferred each other's company to mine. Hell I didn't blame them a bit.

I rode out to the biker bar where I had sold my shine. The owner was very nice to me but he was a business man. It was buy a drink or sell some shine, which is how I preferred it myself. I had one beer and left before the crowds arrive. I was getting bored and that was dangerous. I probably shouldn't start anything new at that moment, I thought.

So I drove home thoroughly miserable. I just climbed into bed. I seemed to be sliding into a depressed state. The next morning after my ride, I met two deputies over breakfast at the Cafe on the Square, where I had taken to eating breakfast lately. They were late getting away from the office it seemed. They were late because someone, who was cat fishing in the reservoir, hooked Mary Ellen.

Things like that didn't happen in County Seat. I mean sure some women got pissed at their husband and shot him with the family deer rifle. It was possible that a man found his wife in bed with someone else, and then shot them both dead, but a naked Mary Ellen in the reservoir was unusual. Even though the deputies didn't know the cause of death, with her being naked, they immediately thought of rape.