Desperado

Two days ago, a double-murder-convicted prison escapee crashed a stolen car in a neighborhood across the river. Shortly thereafter, his shoe was found on a nearby boat ramp, implying he might have taken a swim over to our side.

See the featured image. I don’t want to find him hiding under the stairs. We’re locking doors, burning outdoor lights, setting the alarm, and packing heat.

The latter is a practice to which I’m not unaccustomed. Since Indiana is a reasonably enlightened state, the issue isn’t whether or not to carry, but rather what to carry.

Police agencies are combing the area. There must have been eight officers dining at McCallister’s last night. These guys are on high alert. I will be noticed.

I thought I had it covered. I’ve been sporting a vintage Smith & Wesson Model 37 revolver, Absaroka Kid holster and Hilason basketweave-pattern gunbelt.

Tasteful. Classy. An exercise in small-arms fashion sense. It says I’m prepared for trouble, but not looking for it.

But I couldn’t find my second holster, and that’s a problem. If I’m walking the dog and a sheriff’s deputy stops his car for a chat, I don’t want to look like some dork who doesn’t know how to dress.

Deputy #1: “I saw Mr. Dyer wearing black shoes and a brown carry rig.”

Deputy #2: “What a dork.”

I looked for it everywhere, finally going back to where it was supposed to be, and there it was, under a box of ammo. Crisis averted.

Linda says if I was a woman, I’d have a closet full of shoes and handbags, which I don’t think is fair. I only have two holsters for this revolver. Although, now that I’m wearing it more, I might order Goncalo Alves grips. See below. I wonder if they have them in black.