Double-clicking the x2 icon on the key fob, I popped the truck to the Mustang. A sleek, edgeless tactical black box the size and thickness of a thesaurus was tucked in the right of the trunk. There was a dial pad like that of a telephone styled in the center of it, with two small oval-shaped glass on each side of the pad. There was a tiny red light just above the number two, indicating that it was locked. Less than a year old, at the time it was the latest in biometric security to deter unauthorized usage. I set both mines and Kassidy’s even though I knew she probably wouldn’t come near the weapon I still wanted her to be able to get to it if push comes to shove.
Kassidy felt it was unsafe to have it anywhere inside the car where the kids could become curious. Even with the black box being secure with our thumbprint, she didn’t want to have them asking questions or being curious as to why Daddy needed a gun. Of course, I could easily give the copy and paste kind of answer most parents would give their children. “To keep us safe.” However, that answer isn’t as accurate as we want it to be. I knew that guns never really kelp anyone safe; they level the playing field. The very moment you draw a weapon, then you’ve accepted both the possibility and responsibility for someone dying. Though you don’t think about it, you ultimately have made the judgment that the person or persons at the end of your muzzle life are less important than that of your own and the person you are protecting.
Pulling the box from its corner, I rested my thumb onto the reader; within seconds, the light went from red to green. With the lock disengaged, the mini hydraulic arms pushed the cover open. The Smith & Wesson M&P shield 9-millimeter lay undisturbed between the thick gunmetal gray foam lining with three fully load clips nestled underneath it. Each clip held about seven to eight rounds giving me a total of twenty-four.
It was both light and heavy all at the same time as I lifted it from the foam bedding.
“Always remember to respect the weapon and in return, it will respect you.” Mr. Williams would always preach. The M&P fitted firmly into the creases of my hands, even while unloaded it still felt like pure power, I had my fingers wrapped around.
Taking one of the magazines from the safe, holding it with an index grip; I slid the magazine in a solitary smooth motion, then pulled the slide back racking the first round into the chamber. A small orangish like fin popped up signifying that weapon was armed with a bullet now resting at the ready in the barrel. Holding the now active weapon in my trembling hands, I was unsure if the shaking was from the cold getting to me or the fear, maybe it was a cocktail of both? A simple romantic trip has somehow turned into something out of a movie. Part II