Young Love and Old Weaponry

2011

A giant mosquito turned into a huge yellow stain on the windshield. Shawn registered this with some satisfaction. The only reliable means of getting rid of those pests were high speed and a hard surface.

"Are you going to tell me now where we're going?" Juliet asked. She was sitting on the passenger seat of her own car, looking somewhat disturbed because he had insisted on driving. "After you told me not to wear heels, I'd like to know if I packed the right clothes."

He turned his head and smiled at her. "These," he said, dangling a key ring with two keys from his right middle finger, "belong to a small, cozy cabin out in the forest somewhere along Pine Mountain Ridge. With any luck, it won't matter what you packed."

"You're impossible." She poked him in the arm. "Nice idea, though, to take a weekend off. How did Gus take it?"

"He wept a little."

Juliet laughed. "No, he didn't."

"No, he didn't. But the old puppy-eye routine almost worked." He swayed his head. "Made me want to take him along."

"I'm glad you didn't." She stroked his neck just below the hairline. "We need some time off." She paused. "Why are you driving so slowly?"

"Take a look in the mirror. The red pick-up truck? Those guys were there when I picked up the keys down in Ojai, and they've been following us."

"But why?"

"I have no… here we go." The truck sped up and overtook them, still accelerating when it vanished around the next turn. "No reason to go all detective on the redneck folk."

"Redneck – we're still in California and barely thirty miles out of town, Shawn. You can't start calling everyone we meet here a redneck."

"Of course not. Only the ones in red pick-up trucks wearing flannel shirts and greasy trucker hats."

"They did?"

"Oh yes, they did."

She laughed again. Then she fell silent. "This is our first time away from everything," she finally said. "We'll need to talk."

"Already?"

"Not like that. We do need to get some things straight, though."

"What kinds of things?" Shawn shifted a little in his seat.

"Where all this is going and what we want in this relationship, for example. How we're supposed to work together and what will happen when everybody knows are on my list, too."

"I was hoping we could just wait and see what happens." He tried a coy smile, but it did not work on Juliet right now.

"This is too complicated to wait and see," she said. "Promise me that we'll talk seriously about this."

"Okay, promise. If you promise to make your brother keep Lassie from killing me – or himself – when he finds out."

"I'll see what I can do."

"That sounded enthusiastic."

"I don't believe Carlton will go into shock or on a shooting spree just because he finds out we're a couple. In fact, he must have seen it coming."

"Oh, really?" The benign surprise in Shawn's voice was only marginally over the top.

Juliet ignored it. "Definitely. He'll be good."


Detective Carlton Lassiter's hands were shaking. "Oh my God. This – this can't be true," he stammered.

"What is it, Sir?" Buzz McNab asked nervously. The tall police officer was standing in front of Lassiter's desk, fiddling around with an evidence bag.

Lassiter raised another one, which he was holding. "You say this was found at the scene of a liquor store robbery? If this is some elaborate plan to take me for a ride, you better tell me right now, Officer", he said lowly with a threatening tone in his voice, "or there will be maiming."

"What – no, Sir, I never would", Buzz assured. "I just know that you're good with old guns, and as this clearly is an old gun, well, not Civil War old, but still old, I thought I'd take it to you rather than googling it."

"Google it?" Lassiter looked at him, honestly appalled. "Mr. McNabb, this might just be the most expensive handgun in existence. If it's real, that is. Look", Carlton offered the bag to Buzz, but did not let go when his colleague wanted to take it. "No, don't touch, just look. This is a .45 ACP Luger. These were tested back in the early 20th century for their suitability for military purposes. When the manufacturer, DWM, withdrew from the trial, they stopped producing this gun. Only five, maybe six were ever made. One of them, bearing the serial number 1, was destroyed after the tests. Three or four others are not accounted for. Serial number 2 is the only one that is known to have survived until today, and it is worth a fortune."

"And this is it?"

"No. Look closer. Here, on the frame under the left grip."

Buzz looked closer, and then raised his head again. It took him a second or two to process the information, and when the result came in, he swallowed hard. "Wow."

"Yes, wow." Lassiter carefully placed the bag with the gun on the desktop. "Serial number one. If this is real," he repeated, "we have more than one mystery on our hands. One being how and why this pistol was saved from destruction. Next - who had it in possession over all these years, and why he kept it a secret. But first and foremost, how in all the world did it get into the hands of somebody who would lose it while trying to rob a liquor store? We'll have to get this into the lab and checked for authenticity."

"That will take some time", McNabb replied. "The forensic analysts have their hands full with the Antonelli shooting. What a mess."

"Well, then make this a top priority", Lassiter growled. "But as for a quick check..." He picked up the telephone receiver and dialed a number.

"Who are you calling?"

"Spencer," he grumbled.

"Which one?"

"The more annoying one. Which one do you think?"

Buzz knew when to leave. "I'll speak with the analysts", he said and fled the room.

The phone rang several times, but all Lassiter got was Spencer's voicemail. "Fantastic," he murmured. "Why is it that this psycho only shows up when he is not wanted?" He dialed another number. "Guster," he said when the phone was picked up. "I need to speak with Spencer. Where is he?"

"He went away for the weekend," Gus replied. "He wouldn't tell me where he was going, though."

"Oh, you finally underwent surgery? Congratulations! Who got to keep the colon? Or was it a lung you were sharing?"

Gus sighed. "There's a woman involved."

"Oh." An image that he had tried to repress forced its way back into his consciousness. Spencer in the interrogation room – with O'Hara. Kissing. Lassiter's sarcasm dissipated. "Oh," he repeated. Silence followed.

"Are you still there?" Gus asked after a while.

"He told you," Lassiter snarled.

"Told me what? Where he was going?"
"Oh, come on. The other… thing."

"He may have. But how do you -"

"Tell this disgrace to mankind that if he blows this, I'm going to club him to death with his own arms, and psychic or not, he will not see it coming", Lassiter said in a friendly voice.

"O-okay."

"So, where were you saying he went?"

"Honestly, I don't know. He was very secretive about this."

"Fantastic." Lassiter hung up. He slammed a fist on the table, then buried his face in his hands. The world was rapidly going down the drain. Potentially priceless pistols were used by petty criminals, O'Hara had completely lost her mind and/or her good taste, and he was sitting at his desk on a Friday night pondering over the authenticity of a gun that was not even supposed to exist. And making up silly alliterations, as he realized when he reconsidered his last thought. If he wanted to make any progress in this case, he would have to do research. And he needed some action anyway.

"McNabb," he shouted.

"Yes, Sir?"

Lassiter had not really expected him to still be within earshot. "Weren't you going to speak with the analysts?"

"I've done that, Sir. They will take a look at the gun as soon as they can squeeze it in, but they'll have to wait until tomorrow morning before they can contact a gun expert in Los Angeles."

"That was impossibly fast," Lassiter commented. "However, I'll be working overtime tonight. Get me everything you have on that liquor store robbery. Who's working on the case?"

"Carter, Sir."

"Not anymore. You get the gun to the analysts. I'll pay the store a visit. Let's see if we can find the little punk who tried to rob it and track down the owner of that gun."