CONFESSIONS
It Was My Gun
If you start reading this, I beg you, please read to the end. This is a story that has needed to be told for a long, long time.
In 1985 I was a year out of college and just starting to get comfortable in my first post-academic job. Life was, as they say, nice, boring, and routine.
My best friend Gary was a maintenance guy in my company. A quiet fellow, Gary was the one guy you could count on in a pinch. Need to move a desk? Gary. Cleanup someone’s mess? You guessed it: Gary was the guy. Even though my job was white collar and Gary’s was blue, we hit it off quickly and became fast friends.
On weekends, Gary and I would go to the range for target practice. My uncle had gifted me his immaculate Beretta M9 that he had acquired during his stint as a police detective in Arizona. Once he retired, he explained, he didn’t have much desire for the weapon, and knowing my affinity for handguns and target practice, he figured it would be a good addition to my small, but growing collection.
Both Gary and I loved “Target Practice Saturdays”. We’d meet in the parking lot outside the range. I’d bring the Beretta and Gary brought the ammo. Gary didn’t have his own weapon, so this was the trade. Back then, 9mm ammo was pretty…
