Page 46 of Intoxicating Pursuit

A Weapon

THE OPPORTUNIST

M aybe the gun was supposed to feel frightening. . . or dangerous. . . or evil.

But it didn’t feel like any of those things.

It felt like holding power in the palm of your hand. The sturdy grip, the dark matte barrel, the trigger cool against your finger. The heft of deadly lead, packed like rows of soldiers in the magazine—thick, heavy bullets that could finally make things right.

This was the muscle to get what you needed. The power to make things go the way they were supposed to.

It felt good. It felt final. It felt like the last word.