Gun Training 1 - Shotty Skills

Subject: Gun Training 1 - Shotty Skills Mon Mar 02, 2009 2:28 am

Previous RP: Putting in Work 1

A few days pass after the fiasco at the club when the police raided it. In that experience things had gone wrong with the arrival of the law enforcement, but somehow we managed to accomplish what we had set out for. I was annoyed that the police had time to investigate drug trafficking but not enough time to look into the assassination of my parents. During the events of that night, I felt that my protective act supporting my cohorts should have gained me a few points of trust with each of them. I would need to rely on that to continue smoothly in the future. It did bother me that I had not heard from anyone in the days that passed, but I assumed everyone made it away from the club and home safely like I had. I recline on the black leather sofa in my living room in a relaxed position in a pair of black slacks and a white tee shirt. My arm rests on the edge of the sofa with my fingers intertwined slightly in the black locks of my hair. My gaze is focused on the television as I watch a reality television show based on women attempting to “train” their men at an institution renown as a world-class dog training facility. I wasn’t necessarily into such foolishness, but I found myself captured much like a witness to a bus accident, at the sheer stupidity of the concept and those participating in it. Needless to say, I watch with a fervent frown gracing my lips. My attention is drawn to the upper right hand corner of my screen as a circular pulse indicates that I have an incoming call. “Answer,” I say calmly as a box forms in the upper right hand corner of the screen and the audio switches to the call. I recognize the upper body shot of Tre in a black tee shirt filling the screen with a normal white wall in the background. He looked as if he hadn’t gotten ready for the day or had awoken recently.

“What up, Ghost?!” he says in a jovial tone. At least it was better than Dango-san. With a nod I greet, “good morning.” It was good that he was in a good mood; that meant there were no problems. In that case, there were a few things I needed to ask him about, but I would get to it with the natural flow of conversation. “You seem well,” I observe. He grins, “I’m always good, homie. But bullshit aside, it’s time to talk about business.” I wondered if this was he being serious. “My cut was reduced?” I inquire. He laughs slightly and shakes his head, “why you worried about money? I got your cut, but it’s going to have to wait for a hot minute. I got something better than money!” “Bullets?” I ask. “Bullets?… man, there you go FOCUSING and stuff. See, the reason I’m around is to safe you from all of that. But that was kind of funny, trying to hold off a cop with an unloaded pistol. Boy, you’re gonna get shot like that. But you got balls… pale little ghost balls, but they’re there.” An eyebrow twitches, “you called to talk about my tentacles?” He is amused; “there you go using the big words. Anyways, nah... I got you something better than money or bullets… but real talk, when I give you this money at the end of the week, you’re going to need to go out and get some bullets. You can’t be our enforcer and you’re shooting blanks left and right.” I continue to fail to see where he’s going with this. “Enforcer?” I ask. He nods, “hell yeah. We can’t put you on the street to push packs… I mean… look at you. Shit, you run around in a trench coat all day and you punked that security guard, so damn right you’re going to be our back up. That’s why I signed your ass up for weapon training down at the Bastion.” Gunner’s Bastion. My head rises as it lifts from my hand, “weapon training?” He nods, “yeah, foo. Shotguns, rifles, pistols… you’re going to learn all that shit homie, so when shit pops off, you can put shit down.” I didn’t know about that, but if I didn’t have money for bullets, how was I supposed to pay for weapon training. “Now…” he continues, “you don’t even have to worry about the training costs. I got the hook up there, so all you got to do is show up. This dude named Nigel’s gonna take it from there. He used to be in the policing force, but he was kind of crazy, so they let him go. Don’t worry, he’s cool peoples.” From the sounds of things, he was a psycho. My next question comes, “so, when does the training start?” Tre smiles and answers, “two o’clock, dawg! Better get ready and get your ass to the range.” I lean up, “but I don’t have a car…” I stop myself knowing that rationality wouldn’t be something to use as an excuse. He continues, “aite then, homie. I’ma holla atcha. I saw this nice little thang outside at the bus stop. I think I’ll go pick her up.” Bus stop; a place I’ll soon be heading. The call ends and Tre’s box minimizes and the normal audio to the show comes on. I am left with mixed emotions. I was happy that I would get professional weapons training, but I did not feel like trying to catch the next bus with such little warning; plus there was something about that guy that annoyed me from the inside. With a soft sigh, I stand up and run my hand through my hair from the front. “I guess I should get ready…”

Time passes and I find myself alone at the corner bus stop in my usual attire consisting of a large black jacket, slacks and a collared shirt. I had gotten used to wearing this in college and my old job where the attire was business casual. I didn’t feel normal in jeans and a tee shirt. The sun hangs overhead and the passing cars push soft breezes into the covered booth where I wait leaning against the side. My gaze is down the street and I watch, as the bus I want gets larger and larger during its approach. Eventually there is the squeal of breaks as the bus slows in front of me with a soft hissing sound as it comes to a stop. The doors open and I step forwards into the bus, placing my change for the fair into the receptacle and moving to an empty seat towards the middle of the bus. Sitting, I shift to the wall of the bus and rest my shoulder against it as I glance out of the window and watch the world pass by as the bus continues on.

Subject: Re: Gun Training 1 - Shotty Skills Mon Mar 02, 2009 2:28 am

My stop is reached and the bus pulls off leaving me there after depositing me on the sidewalk in Gunshyne Bastion. The place was more of an amusement park than an actual place, but for some reason, there was a feel to this location that set it apart from the city. It probably had a lot to do with the local gangs about and their preferences of atmosphere. Before me looms the City Metro Range (CMR) which would be the equivalent to the YMCA only with guns instead of exercising equipment. Picking up my feet, I walk to the CMR, thought the parking lot and to the main entrance. As I make my way through the urban gun range, I can hear the sound of gunfire coming from the practice areas. As I make my way around unfamiliar surroundings in a sparse population of ‘gun jocks’ walking about from here to here, I feel a tap on my shoulder that causes me to turn around. My eyes come upon the person who would have to be Nigel. He stood in a pair of fatigue bottoms, combat boots and a black tank top with what appeared to be a utility belt or a very elaborate holster about his waist. His head was bald and his skin dark. Just turning around to such a militant and seemingly aggressive figure catches me slightly off guard, though it would be hard to tell with my normal visage. “You must be Ghost,” the male speaks in a deep tone, “yeah, he said you were a weird looking, dude.” Look who’s talking, Captain Kill Everyone Around. With a nod, I confirm it. “The silent type,” he observes, “good. Because if there’s something I don’t like, it’s a loud ass whiney bitch!” Now the last word was spoken with enough hatred to choke a giraffe and with it, his face came close to mind violating my concepts of personal space. He leans back and nods, “aite then. Let’s get you strapped up, Papi.” He motions for me to follow him as he lumbers off, not necessarily a large man, but he had a large aura. He was a few inches taller than myself and pretty bulky and muscular; he and Lil Knock Knock were about the same size, but the man in front of me now was more lean muscle than Knock Knock who was mainly body mass. I follow Nigel as we make our way from the outside to an indoor armory where he seemed to have access too. He opens a caged door and motions for me to continue to follow as we make our way in where the guns are. “Now I hear you got a piece,” he says. He was referring to the pistol that Tre gave me. With a nod, I reach my hand into my coat and pull the pistol from my belt and hold it up. “Man, you’re going to need a holster. You can’t just stuff your gun in your pants. You’ll either fuck it up, or it’ll fuck you up. You don’t have a holster?… well I guess if you did, you’d be using it. Basically… get a holster. Stop being a cheap bitch.” I didn’t particularly like being called names, but since I was sure he could eat me, I simply continue to listen. “Alright, since you got this, I guess you know how to use it. You can play with that piece of shit on your own. When you’re with ME,” he says as he turns to the wall and where a rack of guns are resting and reaches for a shotgun, “you’ll be working with the big boys!” He takes a double barrel shot gun and does something with it so that it opens up and snaps in two, then lifts it up by the base and snaps it back in place with one hand. I put my pistol away, since I figured we wouldn’t be using it and my focus shifts to the shotgun. With a grin, he looks over the double barrel, then places it back on the wall and pulls out a single barrel commenting to start off with that one first before moving on to what I would take to be the more complex of the two. He begins, “now I don’t give a shit if you know how to use one of these or not, just shut up and pay attention.” I look up to him and his brow lowers, “that’s right… you don’t talk… well, shut up anyways and pay attention.” He stands to the side with his body facing me as he showcases the shotgun to me with both hands. “To load it, you press the release here,” he points out the release switch and toggles the portion of the under belly of the barrel where the shells go, pushing the portion in and releasing it several times, showing that it was now free. “Then you put in the ammo,” he continues as he reaches to his belt and takes out a shell and puts it into the space where he was pressing. “Then you charge it,” he says as he pulls on a level and two clicks are made. “To unload it,” he continues, “you pull this level all the way back.” As he does it the shell flies out and I catch it in my hand. “Good hands,” he says as I hand it back to him. “Here’s the safety,” he points out, “DO NOT have that on when it’s go time. You don’t need to be fucking up in action… now when you shoot, for a rookie like you, make sure the butt is on your shoulder good.” He raises the shotgun to his shoulder and shows where it should rest. “The kick back’s a bitch,” he explains, “for someone your side, it might push you around a little. You’re gonna have to get your weight up before you go doing some off the wall shit with this. Line the shot down the barrel, and use this to aim…” He points out and then continues, “… and boom. But since it’s a shotty, you won’t have to worry about aiming too much.” He presses the gun to my chest and my hands rise to hold it. “Now let’s get you out there on that range and get you used to shooting it.” I nod as he motions with a jut of his thumb, the direction we would be heading, before we make our way out of the gun cage and to the open door ranges. As we walk, he explains, “now when we move to rifles, we’re gonna be using the underground facilities. For now, we get to enjoy the great outdoors. You smell that gunpowder, foo? Bask in it!” We make it to a range cage, which resembles a batting cage only with targets set down a manicured lawn. After we situate in the cage, he looks to me, gives me a box of rounds and folds his arms ordering, “alright, Ghost, load that shit.” With a nod, my attention turns to the shotgun as I set the box on a table to the rear of the cage. I take one shell and then turn back towards the front as I press the release on the gun and load in the first shell. After its in, I pull back the lever to charge the load. With a nod, he approves, then nods towards the targets scattered about the end of the range and says, “hit the closest one you see.” I nod and make my way to the center of the cage and lift the butt of the gun to my shoulder. He uncrosses his arms and walks outside of the cage to watch me from a better protected area. It felt funny in my arms holding it in place. I aim looking down the barrel with one eye closed. “Don’t do that,” he scolds, “that shit ain’t gonna help you. Aim with both eyes.” He crosses his arms back and widens his stance as he watches on. Obeying the order, I aim with my finger on the trigger. I pull the trigger back and my ear and shoulder are both assaulted: one with sound and the other with pain. My body rocks back slightly as I recall his words about the kick back of the weapon. I am a bit unfurled by the experience as I look down at the gun after lowering it from my shoulder. I can hear the sound of laughter coming from Nigel, but then he comments, “…well, you hit the target, so it’s not that bad.” Looking up, I had indeed hit it, though it was nowhere near the center.

At the end of the day the gun is handed back to Nigel and he tells me to meet him here at the same time tomorrow. “You did good today,” he compliments, “but you’ve got a while to go before you’re holding your own on the streets. When it’s time to hold it down, you got to be comfortable holding something that can do some damage. That little pea shooter’s only going to do so much in a shoot out. If I know Tre, the shit you guys are about to get into is gonna get real deep. I’ll introduce you to a double barrel next time and maybe see how a rifle feel in your hand. Ya feel me?” I nod and he seemed pleased with the answer as he pats my shoulder and nods, “aite then. Later, foo.” With that, I turn, heading back to the bus stop as he makes his way to the gun racks to put away the guns. The sun was starting its decline from the sky. I had been shooting for a few hours and by now my shoulder was killing me, but hey, at least it was free. There was no way I could afford the amount of amount that we used to practice with. With that thought, I am reminded that I still had to buy bullets for the pistol I was given. I still hadn’t received my share of the cut, so my hands were still tied on that issue. Hopefully I wouldn’t have to use it too much. I was in this to find answers, not to slaughter people; but still, if they were street scum, one may think ‘the less the better.’ As I make my way to the bus stop, the vision of going home and sinking into a tub of warm water was an inviting image for me. I make a mental note to check and see if I had any Epson salt, or something similar for the soaking. It isn’t long before my steps arrive making it to the bus stop. There were a few people already standing there already, a usual assortment consisting of a group of three high school girls, standing in a circle and talking with a middle aged man and an elderly woman sitting on the bench within the booth. Not entering the book, I lean on the outside of it to wait for the bus to come and take me home. I needed a form of transportation; but good things came to those who waited, or something like that.

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Subject: Re: Gun Training 1 - Shotty Skills Mon Mar 02, 2009 12:41 pm

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