To their right were the pegboard-mounted assault rifles.
“Do any of these go full-auto?” Cooper asked.
“Only one. The M16. The other two are a semi-automatic AK-47 and a FAL.” Dranko noticed the apprehensive furrowed eyebrows that popped onto Calvin’s face and so he quickly added, “Don’t worry Calvin, the M16 is legal too. Bought and processed through the good ole’ Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms. Machine guns, with the right paperwork, are legal here in Oregon.”
“…and God Bless America!” Freddie sang. At that, everyone laughed.
Calvin laughed loudest and longest, a deep baritone, and grabbed his sides.
“C’mon, my joke wasn’t that funny,” Freddie said.
Calvin gathered himself and shook his head back and forth, “I was a liberal my entire life. I hated guns. Always fought against them. And, now, standing here, I’m as happy as a lark that Dranko has a damned machine gun that we can use! That, my friends, is ironic!” Everyone chuckled once more.
“Well, the times have changed,” Mark said.
“Yes. Yes, they have,” Calvin finished with a wide grin.
Dranko turned his attention to the wall behind them, next to the door. Mounted on hooks on the wall were over a dozen pistols and revolvers of different makes and calibers. He recognized Glocks, Smith and Wessons, Colts, and a few Berettas.
“Depot Prudence, you say? Damn, Dranko, this is Fort Disneyland!” Mark exclaimed when he had finished scanning the room.
Dranko tried to remain serious, but couldn’t contain a wide grin from breaking out on his face. He coughed to clear his throat, “Let’s just say I’ve always had an interest in firearms and in being ready for anything that might happen. I tried building this collection up, but always lacked the time or money.”
Cooper clapped him on the back, knocking him off balance, “How about we just say you’ve always been a pessimistic son of a bitch and we’re all a damn sight thankful for it right about now!”
Everyone burst out laughing. After it subsided, Dranko spoke up, “Alright, it’s time to gear up, but first some basics.”
“Let me guess, the first rule of Gun Club is we don’t talk about Gun Club,” Freddie’s quip elicited another round of laughter.
Dranko let it subside before proceeding. The others gathered around him, in a small semi-circle. Cooper had never seen him like this before, confident and in command around others. Here, Cooper knew they were on his terrain. Firearms and weapons was a subject that Dranko was an expert in; at least relative to everyone else in this room. Dranko spread his feet shoulder width apart, folded his hands together, and began.
“As a matter of fact, Freddie, the first rule is not to talk about what I have. To anyone. Wives too.”
“Why not?” Calvin queried.
Cooper answered so Dranko didn’t have to, “One word: security. You tell someone and then they tell someone. Before we know it, some bad guys find out there are some weapons here and they’ll come looking for them. And, they won’t be coming to politely ask for them. Weapons are in short supply right now—everyone will be looking to get their hands on them.”
Cooper could tell that Dranko was about to move on, so he stopped him. “Everyone understand this? Silence is the rule. When we leave here today, our story is we each had this weapon put aside or you tell them you got it from me. Everyone agree?”
Cooper looked around the room, making each man nod his head. When the circle had been completed, he allowed Dranko to continue.
“The rest is pretty simple. You will all leave here with a rifle and a pistol of your choosing. We’ll do this organized. I’ll explain each of the firearms as best I can and then you’ll choose which ones you want. Got it?”
A series of grunts and nods was his response. “These weapons are now your responsibility. Don’t lose them. You keep ’em on you or locked up at all times. You sleep with it next to you. You shower with it. You lose one, I will be very unhappy and you will not receive a replacement. Understand?” Everyone did.
“Let me add one thing,” Cooper cut in. “If there’s a fight, and I think there will be, we are going to be the difference. Those with the military-style weapons will be bringing firepower the bad dudes won’t be counting on. Remember that. Surprise is key. If you’re joining a fight, come in from a different direction and lay down as much fire as you can. They will think they’re being hit from their flank by a much larger group. For everyone else, you’re the steadiest hands we have in our neighborhood, so be smart and use your rifle or shotgun to best effect in the fight.”
The smiles and giddiness left the men’s faces as he talked. Straight lips, furrowed eyebrows, and clenched jaws replaced them. Cooper knew they felt the same tightness in their bellies that he did in his. Contemplating a firefight in your own neighborhood, where you had played ball in the street with your kids and had bar-b-q’s in your backyards, was a terrifying thought.
Dranko moved to the wall holding the pistols and began explaining the main differences in function between revolvers and automatics. Cooper knew most of the basics and his mind drifted to other needs.
Two hours later, the group was finished kitting itself out. Cooper hoisted Dranko’s prized possession—a FAL with a folding stock. The FAL was a Belgian-made assault rifle that fired the .308 round that was popular in a lot of hunting rifles. At the right distance, it was powerful enough to drop an elk. Against man, it was a devastating round. When he took it from Dranko’s hands, he could feel the resistance when it came time to let go. Cooper took it because he knew his marksmanship would make better use of the harder-hitting round the FAL fired, rather than the lighter-weight M16 round. It had a twenty-round magazine, so he didn’t feel as if he’d lack for ammunition supply. He kept his own pistol. His was chambered in the .357SIG caliber, which was a good pistol round for penetrating car doors and windshields. He suspected that could come in handy.
Dranko kept the M16 assault rifle for himself. Freddie had a Dirty Harry-looking .44 magnum revolver on his hip, while Mark had chosen a .45 auto. Remembering the grocery store, Cooper decided not to mention how that pistol had come into Dranko’s armory. Calvin was pleasantly shifting the weight of a wood-stocked, semi-automatic, AK-47 back and forth between his hands.
“Being a black man in politics, I’m always accused of being a revolutionary. I guess I might as well look the part!” He let loose deep, booming, laughter and the others joined in.
“Maybe back in college they called you that, but you have a house and mortgage now!” Freddie laughed. It was true, ‘revolutionary’ was the last word you would ever associate with Calvin. He was as mainstream as they came.
Calvin had a no-nonsense Glock, in 9mm, holstered to his hip. Jake had been given a tricked out Ruger 10/22 that used the diminutive .22 round but looked like an M16 with a synthetic stock, pistol grip, and forearm grip added on. Jake was beaming from ear to ear. He feels like the big boys now. The other men were leaving with an equal mix of hunting rifles with scopes on them and shotguns.
When they were ready to go, Dranko handed them each a slip of paper with names and a time. “These will be the people you will most likely be doing patrol and guard duty with. Tell them each to be at Cooper’s house at their scheduled time. I will give them weapons and ammunition then.”
“Why Cooper’s?” Freddie asked.
“Like I said before, misdirection. If anyone does find out we have some gear, they go to the wrong house,” Cooper answered. When he saw the look of worry on Jake’s face, he winced. He knew there was nothing he could do about it now. My father told me about the burdens of leadership. He never told me they could involve your son shouldering the burden too. In truth, he hadn’t needed to. Cooper had learned that truth first-hand, while growing up. A shiver ran down his spine thinking that his own son might have to learn it the hard way as well.