Special Operations (Badge of Honor 2)

Jesus! Black lace! Who would have ever thought! I wonder if her underpants are black, too? Black lace bikinis! Jesus H. Christ!

“That’s an Army rifle,” Martha Peebles said. “Model of 1819. That particular piece was made in 1821. It’s interesting because—”

“It has a J. H. Hall action,” Pekach chimed in.

“Yes,” she said.

“I’ve never seen one in such good shape before,” David Pekach said. “That looks unfired.”

“It’s been test fired,” Martha said. “It has Z.E.H. stamped on the receiver just beside the flintlock pivot. That’s almost certainly Captain Zachary Ellsworth Hampden’s stamp. But I don’t think it ever left Harper’s Ferry Armory for service.”

“It’s a beautiful piece,” Pekach said.

“Are you interested—I was about to ask ‘in breech loaders,’ but I suppose the first question should be, are you interested in firearms?”

“My mother says that’s the reason I never got married,” Pekach blurted. “I spend all my money on weapons.”

“What kind?”

“Actually, Remington rolling blocks,” Pekach said.

“Daddy loved rolling blocks!” Martha Peebles said. “The whole wall case on the left is rolling blocks.”

“Really?”

He walked to the cabinet. She caught up with him.

“I don’t have anything as good as these,” Pekach said. “I’ve got a sporting rifle something like that piece, but it’s worn and pitted. That’s mint. They all look mint.”

“Daddy said that he regarded himself as their caretaker,” Martha Peebles said. “He said it wasn’t in him to be a dogooder, but preserving these symbols of our heritage for later generations gave him great pleasure.”

“What a nice way to put it,” Pekach said, absolutely sincerely.

“Oh, I’m so sorry Daddy passed over and can’t be here now,” Martha said. “He so loved showing his guns to people with the knowledge and sensitivity to appreciate them.”

Their eyes met. Martha Peeble’s face colored and she looked away.

“That was his favorite piece,” she said after a moment, pointing.

“What is it? It looks German.”

They were looking at a heavily engraved, double-triggered rifle with an elaborately shaped, carved, and engraved wild cherry stock.

“German-American,” she said. “It was made in Milwaukee in 1883 by Ludwig Hamner, who immigrated from Bavaria in 1849. He took a Remington rolling block action, barreled it himself, in 32-20, one turn in eighteen inches, and then did all the engraving and carving himself. That’s wild cherry.”

“I know,” Pekach said. “It’s beautiful!”

She turned and walked away from him. He saw her bending down to lift the edge of the carpet by the door. She returned with a key and used it to unlock the case. Almost reverently, she took the rifle from its padded pegs and handed it to Pekach.

“I don’t think I should touch it,” he said. “There’s liable to be acid on my fingertips from perspiration.”

“I’ll wipe it before I put it back, silly,” Martha Peebles said. When he still looked doubtful, she said, “I know Daddy would want you to.”

He reached to take the gun, and as he did so, his fingers touch

ed hers and she recoiled as if she was being burned, and he almost dropped the rifle.

But he didn’t, and when, after an appropriately detailed and appreciative examination of the piece, he handed it back to her, their fingers touched again, and this time she didn’t seem to recoil from his touch; quite the contrary.