The Historians
Chapter 5
Once they were down to street level Cranbourne hailed a taxi. Matt was as amazed as Kitty had been with the speed at which the vehicle took them through the winding streets. Cranbourne laughed, "I know you Americans are used to wide straight roads. Here our streets are not laid out on a grid, it seems like every time this city is destroyed the people build it back on the same layout as before. Most London cabbies," he indicates the driver, "know all these back streets so they can get around easier and avoid the delays on the main routes. Just hang on and we'll be there in a minute. Its just over on Broadway in Westminster."
Matt did hang on until the cab stopped outside an imposing building that must have ten or fifteen floors according to his estimation. They walked in through big glass doors and Cranbourne showed his badge and warrant. Dillon did the same, trying not to appear bewildered by all that was going on around him. The guard looked at their identifications and disappeared to a back room for a few minutes. When he returned he had a brief word with Cranbourne and then escorted them to one of those lifts. They descended through several floors before the door slid open again.
"Welcome to the best equipped firing range in London, Dillon. Not many people know it is here."
They walk partway down a long hallway and entered a gallery on the right.
The area was only about twelve feet wide, but probably about hundred and fifty feet long. Matt looked down the length of the range and saw targets in the distance. He is more accustomed to practicing out on the prairie with old whisky bottles propped up on a fence. These targets where so much further away than he was used to. His colt would not be accurate – even if it could fire a bullet that far. Now he had to he tell this man that he had no idea how to load or fire this gun he was given? He decided on honesty.
"Allen, I have never used a gun like this before, you are going to have to show me."
"No problem, I figured you would be used to different weapons. What do you usually carry."
Difficult question.
"Well I have a colt pistol that I kinda like."
"Oh yes I have seen a couple of their latest automatics – nice weapon."
Matt knew they were not picturing the same gun, but at least the man asked no further questions.
Cranbourne picked up Matt's gun, "This is a Glock, nice workmanship. I usually use a Walther P22 myself. Its not new but I like the feel of it."
"You load the magazine like this." He picked up a black box-like object from a shelf under a small table and clicked it into place on the grip. Laying the gun down on the table he picked up two sets of noise cancellers and handed one to Dillon. Matt watched as the man put one set over his ears and he then did the same. Almost instantly he heard Cranbourne's voice. "These are fitted with audio so we can talk," the voice said.
Cranbourne waved his hand and from somewhere a target appeared about half way down the range. Cranbourne raised his gun and fired. He hit it a little off centre.
"Your turn," the man stepped back. Matt started to aim using his usual one hand technique. "No you'll have to use two hands on that one, too much recoil." Cranbourne stepped forward again to demonstrate. Matt nodded and tried again. His first shot went wide, but after three or four goes he got the feel of the gun. Then he began hitting the center of the target easily.
Cranbourne stepped forward and waved again. A new target appeared, further in the distance.
"Let's have a competition," he told Matt after they have been shooting for about fifteen minutes. Matt was impressed with this gun. The aim was much more accurate than his colt peacemaker, and over much greater distances too. Just as well they don't have these in Dodge City, every gunslinger would be carrying one, he thought.
The two men fired at the targets for about half an hour more. By that time Matt was as good, if not better than Allen Cranbourne. They declared the competition a draw.
"You need a better holster for that Matt. Follow me down the hallway here and we'll find you one."
They entered another room. "This is the Master of Arms, he'll fix you up."
An older man appeared, asked no questions, sized Matt up with his eyes, and looked at the Glock. He went into a back room and returned with a small box.
"Try this for size."
Matt opened the box and removed the shoulder holster, he was glad that he had figured out how the other one worked. This new one was much better. It felt like leather and fitted both him and the weapon securely.
"Charge it to The Agency." Cranbourne told the man as they were leaving.
Both men put their jackets back on before heading up in the lift.
"Okay Matt, I'll get a cab and drop you off home on my way back to the office. I'll call you in the morning and we'll get an early start."
"That will be fine. Thank you for your help."
"Don't mention it. You did well with that gun this afternoon."
"Guess I've had a lot of practice." Matt laughed at the thought of the number of shootouts he had taken part in during his few years as Marshal of Dodge City.
TBC