"You're not thinking what I think you're thinking?" asked my wife, Amy as we idled past the entrance to the shopping mall as our two daughters, Trisha and Tammy argued incessantly in the back seat of our Dodge Ram.
"I don't see the sign," I said as I sped away to the nearest parking spot. "That means I have the right to conceal and carry."
"I still don't why you bought that damn thing," said Amy as she crossed her arms and stared ahead.
"You know why," replied. "To keep us safe."
As we exited the truck, I slipped my freshly cleaned Colt 45 into my holster and slipped my windbreaker over top.
"Dad's packing," said Trisha and Tammy as I locked the doors. I smiled proudly at my two girls.
We entered the mall through a department store and were on our way through past the perfume counters when I first saw him. He was a tall lanky man in a cowboy hat and boots and beige leather jacket. I didn't consider him much of a threat until he sudden drew out a Smith and Wesson Model 29.
I swung my arm to stop Amy and the girls and motioned them to move back as the girl behind the counter screamed and ran.
"No Kyle," said Amy as I drew out my own gun.
"Get to the truck," I yelled as the man with the Smith and Wesson fired two quick shots. "I have a duty."
As the man spun quickly towards me, I fired my first shot and Amy and the girls bolted. The mirrored pillar exploded above the man's head exploded. I shot again as he ducked, shattering the display case infront of him. My third shot ricocheted off the floor as the man dove behind a clothing rack. I launched myself forward after the shooter as the manican beside me was hit.
"Son of a bitch!" I swore as I spun around in surprise. I was frozen in shock as I saw a man in sunglasses and a thin mustache walking calmly towards me armed with a Glock. He walked two more steps and aimed his gun at my head. I dropped and launched myself behind a clothing rack as he fired his weapon.
"I'm not the shooter," I yelled over the noise of the gunfire as I ran through the cover of the clothing racks. "It's the other guy."
I fired two shots over my shoulder as I ran, but soon found myself trapped in the corner of the store. I saw the man's head as he took cover at an abandoned cashier counter dangerously close to me. I figured he was out of ammunition, but he merely dropped one Glock and grabbed another. I fired again towards him as I tried to rush past the cashier counter, but I ran out of bullets. I reached for my other clip, but then realized that I had left it in the truck. Suddenly the man was right in front of me. His Glock was pointing right at my face.
"You're dead," squeeled the man as he gasped frantically for breath. He took two more breaths and cleared his throat. Then with a smile and in the deepest voice he could muster, he said, "you're dead."
Then right as I saw his finger clench on the trigger, the man's head exploded in a grotesque shower of red and crimson. With my hands raised I started screaming.
"Are you okay?"
I turned slowly and saw the man in the cowboy hat with the Smith and Wesson.
"I thought you were a gonner," he said as he holstered his weapon. "Sorry about that stuff earlier, but the damn cashier wouldn't take back the perfume I bought for my ex-girlfriend. I sort of lost it when she said I needed the reciept. She needed to be taught a lesson."
