About gunfights. If you have survived one, it was the luck of happenstance. If you have survived five you are a gunfighter
A gunfight is all chaos and adrenaline.
It is extremely difficult, yet critical that you identify the source of the gunfire. You must determine if it is friendly fire or hostile fire.
You do not want to return fire on a policeman or another "GGG"
Not all loud noises are gunshots. It takes experience and training to tell which is which.
Before leaving home, I checked my phone for messages. Good! There were none. I slipped my inside-the-belt-holster on my hip. Convenient, but comfortably concealed. I inserted a 10-round magazine into my Glock 29 short frame. I worked the action and racked the round to make sure it worked smoothly.
.I removed the bullet from the action and reloaded it into the magazine. I did not want an accidental discharge. I had tickets for the 8:15 PM showing of “John Wick Chapter 3”. Nothing more relaxing than a shoot-em-up in an air-conditioned dark theater with lounge seats.
Thank God I don’t have to wait in line. It must still be 90 degrees and the humidity is oppressive. Damn, my glasses are all fogged up after leaving my car’s AC.
I ordered two hot dogs, a tub of popcorn, and a big orange drink for the movie, found my seat and settled in for a relaxing evening. There were the usual distractions of cell phone conversations and people talking loudly to each other. But the volume of the theater's surround sound system was extremely loud and drowned out much of the transient noise of a rude audience.
. It was a great movie. It hung between suspense and sudden action. I started on my first hot dog backed by buttered popcorn and washed it all down with the addictive sugary orange drink. Finishing the first hot dog, I dived into the second one. Halfway through the second hot dog during a particularly gruesome scene, I heard a popping sound that just didn’t belong.
I heard the sound again and the guy sitting in front of me lost half his head in a rainbow of blood. I looked toward the sound and saw an unmistakable muzzle flash. My heart jumped, I dumped my popcorn, and knocked over my orange drink. I dive for the floor and slipped my pistol out of its holster.
. I jacked a round into the chamber and started shaking all over. I was tormented by fear. Isn’t this why I carried the pistol? I had to ask myself if I was ready to kill someone or be killed. The shooting continued. People were screaming and running for the exits. I popped up and aimed in the direction of the muzzle flashes
I snapped off two quick shots. People were still falling. Suddenly I was tackled from behind and my pistol fell from my hand and clattered across the floor. I was slammed into the seat backs. Somebody shouted, “I got him. I got the shooter.” Two more people jumped on me.
I could tell one was a policeman. He handcuffed me. I was dumbfounded. I was the good guy. I was to shocked to speak. The shooting stopped. I was dragged to a police car and driven away. I was read my rights at the police station. I tried to explain that it wasn’t me. The officer said, “You were seen shooting. We have your gun.” I asked for an attorney.
When my lawyer arrived, he told me the outlook was bleak. But I was the “Good Guy with a Gun”, I exclaimed. The lawyer said,
“Good Guys don’t carry guns.”