Author's note: Seriously, thanks for all the reviews! This is a blast to write; Lassiter is just so…prickly!
Winchester Canyon Gun ClubCarlton scowled at the papers on his desk, as if he could cause them to spontaneously combust by sheer force of will. Juliet, glancing over at her partner, recognized the 'I just got more legal demands from my soon-to-be-ex-wife's lawyer' look in his eyes. Steeling herself for probable rejection, she took a deep breath and sauntered casually over to his desk.
"You know what you need? A hobby," she blurted without preamble.
"Excuse me?" Lassiter was dumbfounded. Where had that come from?
"You know; get out, meet people of similar interests…"
"Similar interests." Carlton stared at her as if she had grown a second head, then leaned back in his chair and spread his hands to the side, humoring her. "All right. Like what?"
"Well, what do you like to do?" O'Hara asked.
"My job," he replied dryly, tilting forward, setting aside the legal letter, and pulling a casefile from his inbox. "Perhaps you should follow my example."
His partner just shook her head in mock resignation. "Come on, Carlton." Her eyes widened with an idea, and she snapped her fingers. "I know! With as much time as you spend on the range downstairs, why don't you join the Winchester Canyon Gun Club? It's the only civilian firing range in Santa Barbara, and you might make a friend or two." She shrugged, "At least you'd enjoy yourself."
"I'd 'enjoy myself' if you let me get back to work. You should do the same." He stared pointedly at her desk.
Nodding once in defeat, she replied, "Right. Work. Going now." Without a backwards glance, she ducked her head in embarrassment and retreated to her own desk.
Lassiter completely forgot the suggestion until the following Saturday. The only thing on TV was a 'Cops' rerun he'd seen 4 times, so he decided to research the facility. Booting up his computer, he did a quick search. Their website claimed that it was an outdoor range, with facilities for shotgun, rifle, and pistol practice. Worth a look, he supposed. It was a nice day, after all.
A short drive up 154 brought him to a squat, clean, single-level brick building. He parked in the paved visitors' lot, then walked inside. The interior was surprisingly comfortable; upscale enough to appeal to his more refined sensibilities, but functional enough to entice his practical side. He strode up to the front desk, where a professional-looking young man in a button-down shirt was just hanging up the phone.
"May I help you, sir?"
"Perhaps." Carlton was unwilling to commit to anything. "Guns are my…hobby," he used O'Hara's word, for lack of a better one of his own. "I was interested in a tour of you facilities."
"Let me get a Rangemaster."
The young man was efficient; Lassiter had only been waiting a few minutes before he was approached by a gray-haired man in his fifties wearing a shoulder-holster.
"Hello. I'm Bill Richards, one of the Rangemasters at the club today. I understand you have a few questions, Mr….?"
"Lassiter. Carlton Lassiter." He almost added 'Head Detective of the SBPD', but stopped himself at the last moment. 'Need to know' information, and they didn't need to know. "I'm interested in possibly joining your club."
"Well, Mr. Lassiter, they say 'a picture is worth a thousand words'. Let me show you around the facility."
Without further ado the tour began. The club had several outdoor, sheltered shooting areas with fifty, seventy-five, and two hundred yard ranges, and was open sunup to sundown seven days a week. Targets were paper, clay, metallic silhouette, and falling plate. They even had an area for muzzle-loading fire, which was forbidden at the police range, but would be quite helpful for his Civil War reenactment practice. Throughout the tour, Mr. Richards kept pointing out and stressing the safety features as well as the rules and regulations that helped prevent stupid accidents. Carlton was impressed.
Back at the clubhouse, Mr. Richards offered him a cup of coffee, then asked, "So, what do you think?"
Lassiter allowed a small smile. "Frankly, I'm surprised. I was expecting something much less professional."
"Well, we've been incorporated since 1955; we've had time to learn from our mistakes and get it right."
"I notice that you have muzzle loading black powder rifle competitions every month. Do many members work with antique weaponry?"
"Oh yes, about fifty. We also have monthly IDPA matches on the 200 yard range, falling plate action pistol on the 25 yard range, and 'cowboy action shooting matches' where people even dress up." He led the way over to an awards cabinet. "We participate on State and National levels as well; there's the California Bear Trophy we won two years ago." He pointed proudly at the cup set prominently in the center of the case.
Lassiter's eyes wandered over the other awards, until his eyes widened at a familiar name. Jabbing a finger at the plaque, he demanded, "Shawn Spencer? Thirty-ish, brown hair, slender, about 5'8"?"
Richards chuckled, "Irreverent sense of humour? Yep, that's him. He shows up every once in a while, shoots for hours at a time, day after day, then disappears again for months. I think it must be stress relief; the jokes don't start coming out until he's nearly ready to go." He studied Lassiter quizzically. "Why, you know him?"
Carlton was going to be sick. "I…work with him, sometimes." He studied the Rangemaster with narrowed eyes. "Is he really that good?"
Richards snorted. "I'll say. That boy can hit whatever he wants, whenever he wants, at any distance. Damnedest thing I ever saw. Once Johnson talked him into competing in the monthly IDPA contest; got the second highest score on record at the club. That's his name on the plaque, there." He shook his head appreciatively. "Someone taught him right, probably since he was a child; you don't come by that kind of skill unless you grow up around guns. I'd sure like to see him on the club pistol team; can't talk him into it, though." He shrugged. "Says he doesn't believe in commitment, whatever that means."
Lassiter rolled his eyes. "Sounds like Spencer, all right."
TBC…
Author's Note: Now, I have never been to this range, but I did the same thing Lassiter did - googled it and went to their website. Much of the info the rangemaster was reciting comes from there, to include the types of contests held monthly. The rest was pure fiction.