A Rift in the Fabric of Time

Chapter 8: Pistol Packin' Momma

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. . . . .

"Is that all you can offer for them?" Good lord, the jokes about the Scotch being tight- fisted with their money wasn't altogether a joke.

"Aye. Sorry, Lass, but I've been feelin' the pinch since the war ended."

"I'm sorry too." I gathered up all Jamie's things and began putting them back into the bag. "Maybe I'll have better luck in Edinburgh."

MacNab rubbed his chin. "Now—wait just a minute there. Let me reconsider. Hmn ... All right, I'll increase the price by ten percent. Would that be satisfactory to ye?"

"Indeed, it would." I returned the empty sporran to the bag, shoving it in with his bandoleer, and belt.

Yes! That money would tide us through for more than a month, until we could secure work. I strolled around the shop while he put the treasures behind the counter. That's when I saw a glint of silver on a shelf against the wall. "Is that a German Luger?"

He winked, smiling at me. "It is. For a lass, ye do have a sharp eye for yer weaponry."

This was indeed my lucky day. I had experience with the Luger, as several service men I had acquaintance with, came to appropriate the weapons from the hands of dead soldiers on the battle fields. They would show me the pistols, and even give me some tips on firing one.

"I'd like to buy it. My husband is a historian, and would enjoy owning one. Do you have a cartridge for it?"

"What use is the pistol wi'out ammunition?"

I nodded. "Sold ..." 

. . . . .

My sack felt so much lighter with all the metal-works missing, and I, myself felt lighter knowing what my next move was. This situation definitely called for desperate measures.

Confidently, I sauntered into the station, my Luger safely hidden in the haversack. It was quiet in the office. Were they all at the memorial service like Bayne said? Not wanting to assume that the man at the desk was the only guard present, I asked, "Is officer Bayne around?"

I wanted to make entirely sure that the Bayne of my existence wasn't present.

"No, Lass. I'm the only one here. I'm Duncan, by the way."

Just to be doubly certain, I inquired, "What about officer Strothers?"

"Sorry, everyone's at a funeral for our late captain. I offered to stay and watch o'er the prisoner, but maybe I can help ye?"

Could the timing have been any more perfect? I fished about the inside of the bag, wrapping my palm around the handle of the gun.

"Yes, you most assuredly can. I'll thank you to grab the keys to Jamie's cell, and kindly let him out."

The man leaned back in his seat, and actually laughed. "What? You must be jokin'."

I lifted the Luger from the sack, and pointed it at his face. "Does this look like I'm joking? I asked you politely to get the keys. Now, do I have to get nasty? I assure you, this gun is loaded."

Putting his hands up in surrender, Duncan stammered, "Hold on, hold on. I'll get them for ye."

"Good boy ... and don't do anything stupid. I wouldn't want to waste a bullet on you. These were very expensive."

Without putting the gun down, I walked behind the desk, and watched as he drew out the keys from a drawer.

"All right then, let's go."