Phil’s jaw twitches, but after a moment, he says, “One week. I will not update the council on this matter, and they will likely forget April is here. She may leave on the weekend.”
“Great,” I say. “Now, hand over the gun.”
“What?”
“This is the second time you’ve pulled it,” I say. “You’re a cop’s worst nightmare. The dude who carries his handgun to the grocery store and pulls it on the guy who cuts him off in line.”
“That is—”
“True,” Dalton says. “One hundred percent true. You’ve got the gun, so you yank it out, with no idea what that means. You’re going to get yourself shot. Give it to Casey. We’ll lock it up.”
Phil slips the gun under his jacket. “No.”
“Is that in your waistband?” I say. “Please tell me you are not carrying a loaded gun in your waistband.”
“The gun is mine, Detective, to do with as I like.”
“And you like shooting your balls off?” Dalton looks at me. “It would be wrong to make a crack about him not having any to shoot, wouldn’t it?”
“Totally wrong. Phil, I’m giving you one last chance to hand over the gun. It is against town rules for anyone other than law enforcement to possess a firearm. In light of what happened with Val, I would strongly suggest this is not a rule you want to break.”
“The gun is for my personal protection, Detective, and as you’ve pointed out, I have no official role in this town. Therefore, I will continue to carry it.”
“That makes no fucking sense,” Dalton says. “Unless you’re arguing that you aren’t a member of this town at all, in which case…” He points. “The forest is that way. Hope you’ve got a knife to go with that gun, or you’ll be ripping dinner apart with your teeth.”
“Forget it,” I say. “We’ve got more important things to do. We’ll take this up with the council. You’re dismissed, Phil. April? We need to discuss who I call and what I say. I’ve got a notebook in my bag. Just let me grab that.”
I walk to the plane while Phil turns to leave. As we pass, I grab his wrist and throw him down so fast April yelps.
I pin Phil on the ground, take the gun from his waistband, and then hold it up for Dalton. “You wondered what a three-eighty looks like?”
“Fuck.”
“Yes, when we were counting handguns in town, we forgot about this one.”
Once Phil gets his wind back, he launches a litany of threats that I ignore, backing away from him with the gun in hand.
“I tried asking for it nicely,” I say.
“That is personal property.”
“Nope,” Dalton says. “It’s evidence in a crime, and you refused to surrender it.”
“Crime? What are you talking—?”
“Do you keep this weapon secured?” I ask.
Phil gets to his feet, brushing himself off. “Of course I do. I am a responsible gun owner.”
“Good. So you knew its whereabouts at all times. Do you keep it loaded?”
“A gun is hardly useful if it’s empty, Detective.”
“Fully loaded? When’s the last time you fired it?”
“At the range, a few weeks ago.”
“Mmm, no, I don’t think so.”