I hung up the phone, looked at Sam and sighed. First Henry. Now Sam.
“He’s not going to like the fact that you don’t keep one in the pipe,” I said.
“I’l just smile sweetly and tell him that’s the way I do it.”
“You don’t get it,” I countered with characteristic diplomacy. “This guy’s the man. He knows what you need to do.”
“And I’m from war-torn Africa,” Sam said. “I grew up around guns. I’ve seen what people do with guns. Have YOU ever pointed a loaded nine mil at someone?”
Sam’s tone of voice indicated the onset of an extended rant. I prepared for it the best way I knew how: walking away as quickly as possible.
“There’s no one way to do anything,” Sam said, following me into the kitchen. “If there was there’d be one house. One chair. One life. One shoe. One bag. One car. One gun—”
“And we’d all be speaking German,” I finished.
Sam followed me again, this time back to the map room. She joined the snoozing Schnauzers on the chair.
“Are you going to even consider the possibility that you’re wrong?” I asked, emboldened by the fact that she was no longer standing over me.
Sam took a long time to tell me there was nothing more to say on the subject.
“I’ll tell him I’m leaving destiny a little bit of fate,” she concluded. “The way it should be.”
I knew what she meant. But that’s not how I roll. I like to skew the odds in my favor. Why not?
Sam mentioned something about the kids during her tirade. But it was only a mention. So that wasn’t it. Whatever it was, she wasn’t going to say.
Maybe she’ll tell the rabbi. Maybe not. I don’t really care. I just want Sam to keep a bullet in the Sig’s chamber.
But then, if she does, her Sig’s set-up for that questionable combination of double action – single action. Heavy trigger pull, followed by light. Two different trigger pulls, one after the other. It’s not my favorite recipe for accuracy.
On the other hand, by racking the Sig’s slide and chambering a round, the Sig would be set on single action. The first pull would be light. As light as all the others. Maybe too light.
For life in general and firearms in particular, there are no easy choices. No simple explanations for the choices we make. And no way of knowing if we’ve made the right choices. Until, perhaps, later.
Of course by then it’s too late. All you can do is deal with what happens. A little bit of fate in your destiny.
Sometimes I wish I had Sam’s decisiveness. Sometimes I’m glad I don’t.