2007-03-17: Dirty Harry


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Summary: Ramon goes to the shooting range as he promised Elena, and meets up with Anthony. Anthony helps him with his shooting, and Ramon is evasive about his motives.

Date It Happened: March 17, 2007

Dirty Harry

Shooting Range

Its always real easy to pick out the newbies at a shooting range. They're the ones that hold the gun sort of like they think it's either going to bite them, or like they think it's a water pistol and can't understand why they're not hitting anything. Early in the morning there's only one person at the 20th street shooting range, and he is a water-pistol variety of newbie. He looks like he has a brand new gun purchased and registered from the local sports store, and he's grimacing in a fury as he fires off three rounds and basically misses the little piece of paper entirely. He mutters in Spanish and raises the gun again.

It's Monday morning, and the proverbial excrement has already hit the fan. Gangs are up in arms, Soma seems to be taking over the streets, vigilantes are running around like modern-day Batmen… and the police are stuck scratching their heads. Anthony makes his way to the range. He'd received a note from his supervisor letting him know that he needed to re-qualify on his pistol proficiency. Though Anthony would rather be out in the field getting info and taking a look at Sandwich Hell, he knows that to keep his badge he needs to keep up his marksmanship. After checking in and having his weapon inspected, he makes his way to his own booth, goggles and earmuffs on. He notices the older gentleman with raisded brow, but says nothing. Paper target comes up and he sends a volley of 9mm slugs towards it.

Ramon sort of siiiiidelong glances to see if the younger guy hit anything. Yep. He's way better. So the man starts adjusting things. His stance, his awkward hold on the gun. He squares his feet like some sort of modern day Clint Eastwood gone horribly awry, glances at Anthony again to see if he's anywhere near doing what the other guy is doing, and then lets fly. Hey! He clipped the paper. Someone's ear is now kind of bleeding.

Anthony glances over, noticing the novice-ness of the man's shooting. Another target comes up, and he sends another volley. One hit in each vital area from the proper distance. Enough to qualify him for marksmanship for another couple years. He watches the other man, though he tries not to make it obvious. Some people get self-conscious and angry when they're wached.

Ramon adjusts his stance again, setting his jaw. He's not going to give up, it seems. But he doesn't seem to be self-conscious or angry. Just intent. So far he's in more danger of shooting his own foot off than in hitting anything on purpose, but he fires off three more shots. He's got a .35 mm in hand, a solid, respectable gun, and he's not accounting for things like the kick back of the gun. He's trying to fire too fast for the thing. He's pulling the trigger and not squeezing the trigger. He's letting his elbows fly out all over the place. "Oh yes," he grumbles in his gravelly way at last, beneath his breath. "How hard could it be? De gracias a Dios para su hija mas usted seria el hombre mas estupido vivo."

Anthony safeties and locks his weapon, holstering it while he steps back, freeing up the booth for someone else, though at this early morning there isn't a line for use. He pulls off his goggles and earphones, walking up to Ramon carefully, "Perdoname, Senor." he says in very accent-less Spanish. "Do you mind..?" He nods to the man's stance and shoulders, asking if the man minded a couple pointers without being too wordy.

"Por favor," Ramon says, sounding relieved. He's gotten old enough and wise enough to be ready to accept help when it's offered without the least hint of offense at it. In fact, he gives a grateful, almost sheepish flash of a smile. The smile doesn't last long, racing across his face like Mark Martin at the Indy 500, but it's there all the same.

Anthony nods, and kicks Ramon's feet out gently, helping to widen his stance. He pushes the man's shoulders square and his elbows closer to his body. He raises the man's arms up, attempting to bring the site up to the man's eye level, and then backs away, signalling for the man to take his shot.

Ramon hesitates a minute before he does it, not wanting to look a fool after getting help. He pulls the trigger again, and this time he gets a nice square shoulder shot. The little black shadow man on the piece of paper waves back and forth slightly, as if a little vexed by all of this. Well, anyone would be if their job was to get shot at all day.

Anthony nods and walks up. "Not bad. You have the right stance. Next time, take a deep breath before you aim. Raise your arm up.." he demonstrates this himself.. "Aim. Then let out your breath as you fire. Don't be so nervous. It's only a piece of paper." Luckily he's not trying to shoot back, Anthony fails to add.

"I'm not nervous," Ramon has to say. His machismo demands it, whether its true or not. But he does take the deep breath, steadying himself. He raises his arm, aims, lets out his breath…hits the corner of the piece of paper. He grimaces and looks back at Anthony, silently asking what the heck went wrong /there/. Answer, his elbow sort of flew out again at the last minute, as is instinctive for those who don't know what they're doing. He'd drawn it back in close, but a split second too late.

Anthony nods to the man in encouragement. Instead of frustrating him further by telling him the same thing, he walks back up to his prior booth. He puts on his goggles and ear protection, taking out his weapon and firing. His stance is solid and confident, obvious years of training. Arm is straight, the weapon is a natural extension of the body. Three short shots are made, muzzle flash is quick and tidy. He instinctively re-adjusts his stance in between shots to adjust to the kickback. When the target comes up, there's three decent holes. One in the forehead, one in the left shoulder, and one in the stomach. He safeties the weapon and walks up. "It takes time, Senor. Not everyone becomes Dirty Harry in a day." he says with an encouraging smile.

Ramon flashes him another one of those quick grins. "Or even in less than 40 minutes," he says. He relaxes a bit, adjusts his stance, slows down. He pulls his elbow in. Which means he gets to clip the guy again, leaving a hole between the outline of his body and the white of the paper. But at least he's hitting the paper at all, with Anthony's help, so he considers this an improvement. "How long did it take you to get so good?"

Anthony smirks. "Four years in the Navy, a couple years on my own, and some time with the Police Academy." He smiles, offering the man his hand. "Detective Anthony Shepard."

"That would do it," Ramon says. "Ramon Gomez." No titles there. He's just a dude in a white button up shirt, black slacks, and a leather jacket. "Pleasure to meet you, Detective." He takes the hand and shakes it. A firm, no nonsense sort of shake, that is neither too aggressive nor too wimpy. It goes on just about as long as it should. A very man-to-man sort of handshake.

Anthony nods. "So, why did you decie to buy a gun all of a sudden?" he asks, curiously. Not in any form of interrogation.
"Had one too many personal brushes," Ramon grunts softly, reaching down to adjust his jacket on his shoulders. His eyes tighten just slightly and his jaw sets. There's a little twitch that kind of settles at his left eye, for just a second. "My daughter, too."

Anthony nods. "A good enough reason if there ever was one. And between you and me.." He says softly, between the two so as not to be overheard.. "I don't blame you. Things are getting crazy. I'd suggest staying out of chinatown for a while, if it's possible." he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a business card. "If you have any problems, give me a call. I'll see what I can do from the blue side of things."

Ramon takes the card and studies it. Then he says, "Gracias." And he pulls out, from his inner jacket pocket, a business card holder. He flips this open and gets to an empty slot, then works Anthony's in. He then pulls out one of his own. "The only bad guys I tackle are computer viruses, hardware fries, and networks, but." Ramon Gomez, IT Specialist, RTS, reads the card, with a mobile, home, and pager number. It's a nice blue and white card with a bit of gold lettering around the logo.

Anthony nods, raising an eyebrow, surprised to see a gentleman that age in a business typically is overrun with pimplefaced basement-dwellers. "I'll keep that in mind. Gracias, Senor." he says with a bow of his head before turning and checking out of the complex.

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