Amos lifted his welding helmet after working on a gouged side plate on a S&W revolver. Scout was always interested when Amos was TIG welding and although he wasn’t quite sure what that was all about — he had a sneaky feeling Scout may know more than she let on. Amos had set her up with her own welding goggles and she’d sit watching for as long as Amos was at work. He liked the company, and always got a kick out of seeing Scout in her goggles — although Amelie seemed to feel guarding the front door was a better idea.
Maybe she was right.
Carefully checking the welds, Amos decided to shut down for the day, looking forward to relaxing with the pooches at home. As Amos flicked of the workroom lights, the front door jingled and he heard something he didn’t often hear — Amelie made a sort of soft yelp.
“Hey, somebody here? Call your dog off!” an agitated voice called.
Amos hurried to the front counter and watched a stranger walk toward him as Amelie — and now Scout — watched the visitor intently. “What’s up with the dog with the goggles?” the stranger said.
“Oh, don’t mind her, she watches me welding,” Amos said. He was still wondering what this was all about, as both dogs were intent on this unexpected customer.
“Well, I don’t like dogs so keep ’em away,” the stranger said. “I’ve got this gun and it won’t shoot,” he added, laying something wrapped in a rag on the counter with a soft thud.
Amos didn’t like this at all — the man, the timing, or the pooches’ reactions. Amos reached down, sliding the goggles off of Scout’s eyes as he thought things over. Scout’s attention never wavered on the stranger. Amelie was sitting with her back against the far wall — also watching.
As he straightened, Amos smiled as he slid his right hand into his front pocket where his Ruger LCPII resided. “What’s this all about then?”
“My gun, um … well, it won’t shoot,” said the man. “I tried shooting it today and it didn’t fire,” he said unwrapping a new looking Kimber 1911. “I want you to fix it.”
“Won’t shoot?” said Amos. “What’s that mean exactly?”
“I put ammo in it, and when I pulled the trigger, it just clicked. No bang. Like I said.”
“Is it a gun you’ve had for a while and it’s suddenly acting-up now?” said Amos.
“Uh, no … I um, just got it. First time I tried to fire it,” said the stranger.
“Okay, but you’ll need to leave it with me. I’m closing right now, and I’ll look at it tomorrow. Here,” said Amos, sliding a form across the counter, “fill this out with your info. I’ll give you a call.”
“Um, uh … I don’t got a cell, so just tell me when to come back.”
“Oh, in that case, how about Friday, around two?” said Amos.
“Uh, yeah, sure, around two. I’ll be here. Get it done, eh?”
“You bet,” said Amos. The stranger left after filling out the form with his name and an address. Amos locked the front door, added the serial number of the 1911 to the form, logged it into his FFL books and stowed the gun in the safe. The girls stayed close by his side while he locked up. A long day — with a strange ending.