Conspiracy

78

“Didn’t know you were a gun nut!”

Startled, Jimmy Fingers turned to his right and saw Sam Iollo, one of the capitol police supervisors, standing nearby.

“I hope I’m not a nut,” said Jimmy Fingers.

“What is that little peashooter you got there?” asked Iollo, pointing at Jimmy Fingers’ pistol.

Jimmy held out a Colt Detective Special, a .38-caliber two-inch snubby. Though old, the weapon was in showroom shape, its blued finish gleaming and the wood bright and polished.

“Pretty,” said Iollo. “What, you don’t trust us protecting you?”

“Of course I trust you,” said Jimmy Fingers.

“Hey, just busting on you there, Counselor.” Iollo seemed to think that everyone who worked for a senator was a lawyer. He gave Jimmy Fingers a serious look. “Can you shoot a rifle?”

For a brief moment, Jimmy Fingers was filled with fear.

Surely this wasn’t an idle question, nor an idle meeting.

“Of course I can use a rifle,” he told Iollo.

“Maybe you’ll want to come out to the annual turkey shoot then. Good food, and the competition’s fun. If you’re as good with a rifle as you are with that pistol, you might take yourself home a bird.”

“Maybe I will. Let me know when it’s coming up.” Jimmy Fingers started to leave, but Iollo held out his hand to stop him.

“Tell me the truth now — you think he’s going to be President?” Iollo asked.

“Without a doubt.”

“He is looking real good. Be careful no one shoots at him again, though. Next time, they may not miss.”

“Yes,” said Jimmy Fingers grimly, before walking away.