A Good Guy With A Gun (2 page)

Alton puffed through his lips, “Well, it looks like you’ve got the qualifications we need to do the job—
more
than qualified.” He scratched his chin. “I’m a little puzzled though, with that kind of experience, doesn’t this job seem a little beneath your capabilities. I mean couldn’t you be a police officer?”

Shupe shrugged. “Sure. But nearly every community in Florida is laying-off police. This seems like a lot more secure job—given what’s been happening around the country these days”

“Hmm Hmm,” Alton mumbled

“Then I got the job?”

“Well, I still have to run it through my board, but I think it should be a slam dunk.”

Shupe stood and extended his hand. “When do I start?”

Alton took his hand. “As soon as the approval goes through I’ll be in touch”

Shupe started for the door.

Alton raised a finger. “Oh, one other thing. It shows here that you’ve had two other security jobs over the past three years. Why were let go?”

“Economic factors sir. The one job at the housing development ended when they went belly up, and the other one at the chemical factory had to lay-off people—it’s the economy you know.”

Alton said, “Just curious.”

“That’s it?”

Alton said. “That’s all. We’ll be in touch.”

After Shupe had left, Alton sat staring at the paper on his desk. He’d done the math. Although the guy was obviously more than qualified for the position of armed guard at Emery High, something still didn’t seem to add up. But he had too many other important things to worry about that right now.

As Board Chairman Alton had predicted, Shupe’s appointment as armed guard for Emery High breezed through. A week after his interview, Clay Shupe, decked out in a khaki uniform, Smokey Bear hat, and dark-tinted sunglasses stood legs apart with his thumbs hooked into his gun belt watching as the students filed into the school each weekday morning, and then left the school at three each afternoon. The rest of the time, he either walked around the school building or lounged in his office. Visitors, even parents, who wanted to enter during school hours, had to show IDs. Anyone one who did not belong there was not getting in on his watch.

Billy Edwards sat propped against the wall of the parking lot partially hidden by a large sawgrass plant. His
sort-of
girlfriend Melissa sat next to him. Both had cut class preferring to hang out together than to suffer the drudgery of another history class.

Melissa looked behind her
, “Do you think he sees us?”

“I don’t know. He seems to just be staring at us.” mumbled Billy

“Don’t you think we should move?”

“If he starts to come over we’ll run for it, but let’s just see what he does.”

Clay Shupe, the armed guard, stood in the shade of a Willow tree his eyes never moving from the couple.

“That guy is just creepy!” uttered Melissa.

Mostly he let the White students, like Billy and Melissa, alone—not that many of them cut classes. Some of the Black students found out the hard way, though, that you don’t try to cut classes at Emory High. If he found them in the parking lot during class hours, Shupe would collar them and lead them into the principal’s office.

Melissa and Billy were drawn together by being
social outcasts
. Neither one of them had siblings. Both lived with single moms— Billy’s father had left when he was eight, and his mom had to work two jobs to support them. That left Billy a latch-key kid most of the time.

Melissa also lived with just her mom. Her father had been sent up to the State Prison in Starke on an armed robbery charge.

Billy rated close to zero on the personality scale— in fact he rarely even spoke. Some of his teachers thought he might be autistic, but his IQ test results fell in the middle percentile. Because of what was perceived to be his moodiness, the principal at his last school recommended that he be evaluated by a psychologist, but his mom begged off saying they had no health insurance and the State Medicaid would not pay for it. Nothing further was done.

Aside from Melissa, Billy wasn’t interested in girls. It wasn’t that he was gay; he just didn’t show any real interest in
anyone
or
anything
. He was usually passed along from grade to grade, doing just enough work to pass. Besides, none of the teachers relished the thought of having Billy in their class for two years in a row.

Melissa actually was smart and she had a natural aptitude for music and dance. The rest she could care less about. She liked the fact that there were now some cool Black kids at the school. All the others students seemed to be into Country Music or Rock and Roll. She liked Rap and Hip Hop. When she could, she’d sneak into the dance studio and try to make up dance moves to her favorite music. She dreamed of being chosen for a spot
on
the
So You Think You Can Dance
television show. Her mom worked long hours at the hospital in the laundry room. They were only barely able to afford the rent for their two bedroom apartment in Orange Gove. From time to time she’d get depressed and then go on a drinking binge. Her mother’s working hours meant that the two seldom ate together let alone conversed. The two lead separate lives. In addition, her mother’s fondness for booze did not sit well with her daughter. Their fights were more frequent than their good times together.

She was only seven when her father was sent up and he wasn’t around that much before that, so she didn’t really have a lot of memories of him. She never went to visit or write to him in prison.

She hung out with Billy not so much because she was romantically inclined toward him, but because he was quiet and didn’t put any demands on her.

She looked around again and said, “Is he still there? He just stands there staring at us. He’s just creeping me out!”

On that note she gathered up her backpack and left Billy alone in his spot against the wall.

Billy glanced over again and Shupe was still there, standing under a tree, just glaring at him. It was not as though this was the first time
either. Over the past couple of weeks wherever he found a place to hang out, Shupe would be not far away just staring at him. This time though Shupe walked over toward Billy.

“How ya doing son?”
He said smiling.

What did he want from him and what right did he have calling him
son
? Billy thought of him as a cop and he wasn’t sure if he was going to find himself in trouble with him. He struggled to his feet.

“I-I’m okay.” Billy Stammered

“Why’d your girlfriend take off? Have a fight?”

“S-she’s not my girlfriend, and we didn’t have a fight.”

“I noticed some of the other guys pickin’ on you. Must bother you some, right?”

Billy wondered why this guy was paying so much attention to him. Wished he’d leave him alone.

“They don’t bother me.”

“Sure they do.” Shupe countered, “How old are you, son? Sixteen? Seventeen?”

“Seventeen” Billy replied.

Shupe looked Billy up and down and said, “You know you sort of remind me of someone - Do you know who?

Billy shook his head.

“Me! I was just like you when I was your age. Didn’t have no friends. My old man was a drunk. He’d beat me up if I looked cross-eyed at him. I felt like a piece of shit, pardon the expression. Know what changed me?” Billy shook his head.

“The Army!” replied Shupe.

“The Army?”

“ Yessir, the Army!” Shupe replied, “They put a gun in my hand and, man, that changed my life. I was no longer a piece of garbage anyone could kick around. I had a gun and I could fight back
.”

Billy was listening absorbed. This guy seemed to have him pegged.

The school bell rang and Shupe patted him on the shoulder.

“You’d better get going, but if anyone gives you a hard time, you come to me, hear?”

Billy stumbled back to the school entrance still perplexed after listening to that man treating him like a friend.

Wednesdays were the one day of the week Melissa most looked forward to. Although the school district had had massive cutbacks over the past three years, it was able to keep some semblance of an arts program going.

Emory High School had a dance studio complete with video recording equipment, and an arts/music teacher who taught there three days a week. Melissa liked her. The last music teacher she’d had at her previous school was a total yokel. All he cared about was
Old Thyme Country Music
. She could almost hear his twang now. Mrs. Watson though was different. She was new to teaching and had spent enough time in big cities to get a feel for the local black culture. She understood Rap
and Hip Hop music, although some of the raunchier stuff offended her. Most of the other white students at Emory weren’t interested in that stuff. Melissa relished the chance to try out new moves to music in the dance studio

She spoke up, “Mrs. Watson, could I possibly come in after school today and work with you on some of the new dance moves I’ve been trying?”

“”I’m so sorry, Melissa,” said Emily “but I have a teachers meeting today. Maybe we could do it later this week or next week?”

“Okay”, said Melisa, her disappointment showed

Emily Watson felt sympathetic toward her. She knew that Melissa was smart and talented, but just not motivated by the cookie cutter curriculum the high school offered. She also knew how hard things were at home, and she could tell whenever her mom had gone on a binge and fought with her. She really hoped that maybe she could help her.

About a week after their conversation, Billy found Shupe in his usual perch under the Willow tree. This time Billy came over to talk to him,

“Not liking class much today?” asked Shupe, “That’s OK, I didn’t much care for that stuff either –— all that BS they teach you in History class! They got it all wrong. The
real
Patriots are the ones that shaped this country, and someday will reshape it again.”

Billy didn’t hear much of what he said. He just kept staring at the hand gun holstered on Shupe’s belt.

He said, “C-could I look at your gun?”

Shupe looked down at Billy, “Don’t call it a
gun
, it’s a
handgun
. A
Glock nine millimeter, semi-automatic handgun
to be specific. It deserves the respect to call it by its proper name”

He glanced around to be sure no one was close by, then unholstered his sidearm and handed it to Billy, butt first. . “This baby can stop anything!”

Billy carefully took the gun with both hands, holding it as though it were a poisonous snake. It was heavier than he thought.

“Is it loaded?”

“Yessir!” Shupe spoke up sharply. “Always point it toward the ground, and keep your finger off the trigger. Hold it with respect, like you intend to use it!”

“You ever fire a handgun?”

“No Sir” replied Billy.

Shupe pondered a moment, “How’d you like to come down to the shooting range with me someday after school and maybe fire off a few rounds?”

Jesus! Someone was offering
him
a chance to shoot a gun!

“Yes sir! I’d really like that!” Billy stammered

Shupe took back the gun and holstered it.

“OK, maybe next Wednesday, after school. Until then you try and stay in class, OK? “

He added, “Oh, and don’t go telling anybody about this. A lot of people don’t understand about guns and get real upset about good honest people shooting them. So for now it’s just between you and me. Got it?”

The following Wednesday, Shupe pulled Billy aside as he came out of the door after school.

Quietly he said, “Be at the corner of Spruce and Fourth in about twenty minutes. I’ll be driving a green Ford pickup.”

Billy’s eyes opened wide. “We gonna do some shooting?’

Shupe nodded. “I hope you didn’t go blabbing about this to anyone. It’s bad enough I’m meeting you alone after school. If the people at the school ever got wind that I took you to a shooting range without your parent’s OK, I’d be toast”

“No sir,” said Billy, “No one else knows about this, I promise!”

Twenty minutes later, Shupe pulled up to the curb where Billy stood waiting. They drove in silence for about twenty minutes along a paved state route east of Orange Grove. They turned off at a rutted dirt road and bumped along through a forest of slashed pine,
 and
red mangrove trees. The dirt trail ended at a wire fence topped by barbed wire. A gate in the fence was secured by a chain and padlock. On either side of the gate were warning signs reading,
Private Property No Entry
, And
Trespassers Will Be Shot
.

Shupe got out of the pickup and unlocked the metal gate, then drove through and relocked it. They drove on for a few hundred yards coming to a clearing in which stood a gray two-story farmhouse. A pickup was parked alongside the house and a man sat on the dilapidated porch. As they drove up, the man waved at Shupe but Shupe didn’t stop or acknowledge him.

A few yards further they came to a cinder block three-sided shed with a tar paper roof in which sat a well scarred table. The open side of the shed faced a large open field.

In the field, about 20 yards in front of the shed was a row of five wood pedestals on each of which was mounted a black life-sized torso cardboard cutout. The bottom of each pedestal was fitted with crossed foot-long metal feet to steady it but still allow it to be moved.

Shupe reached into the space behind the pickup driver’s seat and pulled out a gym bag. He and Billy got out of the truck and Shupe placed the gym bag on the table and unzipped it. From it he withdrew two earmuffs, one of which he gave to Billy.

“When we start shooting, you’ll want to put this on so you don’t damage your eardrums.”

Next he unholstered his Glock and pushed a button at the base of the grip to eject the magazine.

“This is how you load it.”

He fed six rounds of 9mm ammunition into the magazine. Standing legs apart, he raised the gun with both hands, squinted down the sights at one of the targets, and fired off six shots in rapid succession. Six holes were in the center
bull’s-eye
in the chest area on the target.