Final Notice, page 2
“Can you give me an example, Dwayne?”
“Sure. Most seniors with guns will probably be open carrying, and we suggest that they make the weapon as visible as possible. Even if you are licensed for concealed carry, make your gun visible from time to time, especially in situations where there are a lot of people around, to make the most impact. Ladies can take their guns out of their purses and put them on the counter when checking out. When that piece of steel hits the counter top, everyone around will know that this is someone you don’t want to mess with.
“In addition to the visibility aspect, over 30 states have passed ‘Stand Your Ground’ laws, allowing people feeling threatened to brandish or even use their guns, in public, in cars, and at home. These laws vary from state to state so we urge you to become familiar with the laws in your state to see when you are within your rights to defend yourself.”
“Thanks for those tips, Dwayne. I’ll bear all this in mind the next time I have the urge to knock down an old lady.” (Sean and Dwayne laugh.)
Vince was angry, upset and confused as he replayed the afternoon incident over and over in his mind. “If I had been carrying a gun that wouldn’t have happened, would it?” Or, “If it happened and I had a gun, would I have used it? Could I stand my ground?” Then he mentally re-enacted the scene where the guy knocked him down, but this time with him pulling out a gun and saying, “OK, asshole, so now how tough do you feel?”
Vince muted the TV. “I’ve had enough of this. And what kind of a name is Dwayne? ‘What’s your name? Duh … Wayne.’ A million, armed senior citizens? God help us all!”
Trudi countered by saying that a number of her friends talk about incidents they have seen or experienced, and that some are even thinking about getting a gun.
“But that’s crazy! A bunch of armed geriatrics who can’t see or hold their hands steady?” It was almost as if Vince was arguing with himself.
Surprised by the intensity of Vince’s reaction, Trudi asked, “Want some more wine?”
“Sure, just a bit,” he said, as he switched to CNN with the remote.
Trudi poured the dark red wine. “But you know, if some tattooed skinhead asshole knocked me down, and then sneered at me, he’d have one more hole to sneer from if I had a gun.”
Vince quickly looked at her to see if she knew what happened
to him, “What? Where is that coming from?”
Trudi laughed. “Flashbacks from my sixties’ Berkeley days, I guess. But I’m kidding. I don’t want a gun.” And then, laughing at the news anchor’s name on the screen, added, “Well at least you found someone with a normal name: Wolf Blitzer!” (Both laughed.)
TV: “This just in from Arizona. As many as 12 residents at a Senior Citizen home outside of Tucson have been shot. Authorities are saying it was not an act of terrorism. I repeat, it was NOT an act of terrorism. Reports coming in say that an 89-year-old resident of the home wheeled himself into the dining room and just started shooting the other residents as they sat at their tables. The facility’s armed security guard shot and killed the gunman. Details have not yet been released pending notification of next of kin. So far, there is no apparent motive. Four of the 12 shot are dead, and six are in critical condition. A spokesman for the NRA praised the security guard’s action and pointed out that this validated the policy of deploying armed guards in schools and healthcare facilities.
“In other news, the President’s relationship with Russia … ”
Vince hit the mute button, “Twelve people? Must have had two guns or big clips. Sounds like a good shot though, getting 12.”
“Are you praising him?”
“No, just thinking that he’s 89 and did that. I don’t even know how to load a gun, and I’m almost 20 years younger than he is.”
“How hard can it be? You hear some of these good ol’ boys talk and they don’t sound like the brightest sparks, but they sure know how to handle a gun. Excuse me, I need to go to the bathroom.”
Vince thought to himself, I know nothing about guns ... what kind of guns there are, what they cost, how to load them and how to shoot them. If I had a gun, would I have used it today? A million, armed seniors? Am I that far out of the loop?
Trudi returned. “Are you sleeping?”
“Not yet. I was just thinking that we seem to have fallen out of the loop, or at least I have. We watch the news most nights but then I hear about a million seniors getting guns and it shocks me. We’re seniors. Should we have guns?”
Trudi settled down on the couch, “Don’t be ridiculous, Vince! I was just kidding about blowing away the skinhead. Really. Guns are not the answer to anything! And just because a lot of people are going along with something doesn’t make it right.”
“Well, that’s true. I guess I just feel out of it. I’m not ready to get old but I’m afraid it might be too late.”
“You’re not old. 70 is the new 50, remember?”
“Yes, I do. Sometimes I forget how good a memory I have.” Vince looked squarely at Trudi. He knew she loved him, even if a big piece of shit knocked him down in the parking lot. He also knew that she was concerned about him, about his anger and distance that night. And he knew that he loved her and that together, things were good. “Thanks for your patience tonight. I had a rough day. But I know that you’re here for me and you make me happy.”
“That’s why you married me!”
“You got that right, Trudi James, although your dazzling smile and amazing voice helped.”
“Let’s go to bed while you’re still thinking of me in the past ... as in way past!”
Vince laughed. “OK. Come on, Miles, let’s get you outside for your evening business. See you in a minute, Hon.”
* * *
San Diego, California. Stan Mason had just hung up the phone with police in Tucson, who had called him about his father. His mind was a sea of confusion with new questions that popped up like popcorn in a microwave. “Why?” was the one that came up over and over again. He had just spoken with his dad three days ago and all seemed good. Or was that what Stan wanted to hear? He said his health was good, but he always said that. Was he perhaps a bit more maudlin, morose, even fatalistic? He tried to remember the conversation but couldn’t.
He didn’t think his dad mentioned any issues with the Home or people there. Stan knew he wasn’t happy at Green Valley, never had been, and hadn’t made any friends there; but given his loss of mobility, there weren’t any real alternatives. Stan’s place was too small and, with the stairs, impossible for his father to navigate.
Stan scrolled back in his mind and being honest, his father had not been happy since his wife died - 53 years together and then he was on his own. He’d had a successful career in banking, starting as a teller and rising to vice-president. But he had a difficult time adjusting to retirement. He didn’t have any hobbies or special interests and the big change from being an important person in an organization to a “nobody” was hard. When his wife died, and along with her, the “honey-do” list, he felt completely irrelevant. As Stan thought about his father’s mental state, suicide wouldn’t have been so difficult to understand; but killing people?
And the guns! His dad had told him, about three weeks ago he thought, that the Home had planned a field trip to a nearby gun show because there was interest amongst the residents, in part, due to an NRA discount. But his father never mentioned it again. Then the police told him that his dad had two guns with extended magazines. That blew his mind. His dad had been in the Army but that was a long time ago. They never had guns while he was growing up. Ever. And the police report detailed that there was no apparent motive, pattern or specific targets. Just the closest and most accessible.
The police asked Stan if he could come to Green Valley and go through his father’s possessions to help them find some possible trigger to the carnage. They would be interviewing witnesses and other residents in the meantime. Stan couldn’t imagine what he’d find, but he knew he’d just acquired two guns, although the police told him that he couldn’t take them just yet. And then his mind exploded again with questions, disbelief, and confusion.
* * *
CHAPTER 2 – THE NRA DISCOUNT
Pasadena, California. The next day, Vince woke up at 6:30 AM as he had done for the past 40 years. Old habits die hard and although he had retired over two years ago, he still woke up at the same time, with or without an alarm. Of course, he had some help from Miles, who was even better than an alarm clock. Wagging his stub of a tail, Miles led the way to the back door, his portal to the outdoors, waiting for Vince to assist him. Vince opened the door and mused again – for the thousandth time – if they should install a doggie door; and then the thought immediately receded as a parade of past arguments against it began to swirl through his head.
Passing back through the house, he went to the front door and emerged into another cloudless California day, framed by the towering San Gabriel Mountains. His copy of The Los Angeles Times rested on the walk, protected from the mostly non- existent rain by its sheath of plastic film. As he now did each morning, he looked at the masthead to see what day of the week it was, since without the ritual of a Monday to Friday job, the days all seemed the same. Today, the Sunday paper’s bulk was a giveaway.
He took in the headline, “Ill-Prepared for Dangers Ahead,” a story about migrants coming up from South America and trying to reach the United States. There was another front- page story about inner city gang shootings, and a couple more about politics. Not finding anything of immediate interest, he began to thumb through the paper, allowing the slowly rising sun to warm his back.
As Vince scanned the pages for anything of interest, he spotted an article in the USA NEWS section, reiterating last night’s news:
ARIZONA RETIREMENT HOME SHOOTING CLAIMS 6 LIVES.
Twelve people were shot, six have died and four others remain in critical condition as a result of a mass shooting yesterday at the Lazy Pines Retirement Home in Green Valley, Arizona, outside of Tucson. A police report stated that a lone gunman and resident of the home, John Mason, 89 years old, opened fire in the dining room of the facility before he was shot dead by the home’s security guard. Mr. Mason had lived at Lazy Pines for five years. He had two guns with extended magazines and enough spares to hurt many more people. An investigation is ongoing and at this stage, a motive has not been established.”
And Vince thought for the second time, “An 89-year-old gunman.” That thought was interrupted by Miles’ bark from the back yard … time for Miles’ breakfast and Vince’s coffee.
* * *
Miles lay there licking his lips in a futile search for some remaining crumbs as Vince poured himself his first cup of the day. There would be two to three more as the day wore on … another habit from his working days. And although she retired, along with Vince, Trudi appeared, right on cue in her robe and slippers, proving that her habits don’t recognize Sundays, either.
“Hi honey. Did you sleep well?”
Giving her a kiss on the cheek, “Yes, how about you? Ready for a cup?”
“Yes, please!” Miles waddled over to her for his morning scratch between the ears. Seeing the paper on the table she asked, “Anything of interest today?”
“Not much. There was an article about that retirement home shooting we saw on TV last night. Six people killed. Four still in critical condition. Guy had two guns and was armed to the teeth with extended ammunition clips, so it’s a good thing the guard got him when he did. An 89-year-old mass killer!” He handed her a cup of the strong coffee, laced with a squeeze of agave.
“Thanks. Did they say what prompted him? Was he crazy?”
“No. Not much more than what we heard last night, but it sure
seems like something snapped. I was wondering if he had two
guns because he got the NRA Senior Discount,” he said, smiling.
“Vince. That’s not funny. Six people, like us, died.”
“Sorry. There was an article about a gang shooting and my imagination shifted into high gear. Imagine rival gangs of senior citizens shooting each other with their senior-discounted guns for the best tables at the early bird specials.”
Trudi had to smile as she shared that thought and added, “Maybe as members of the notorious Gray Panthers ... or new splinter groups, like the Gray Jets or Gray Sharks.”
“You’re showing your age there. Actually, the Gray Whales might be more appropriate.”
“Now that’s really not politically correct!” But she laughed just the same.
After breakfast, Trudi ran out to the store to pick up a couple of things for their Sunday lunch. Vince finished the paper and noticed a copy of the AARP magazine, “Real Possibilities”, lying on the coffee table. He’d glanced at the occasional copy, but for some reason, he never enjoyed it. Perhaps it was too much like proof that he was a real senior citizen; and the fact that virtually all the people featured in it looked far better than he did, even when they were far older: Warren Beatty, James Taylor, Mick Jagger. Well, Jagger didn’t look better. But he was loaded and still enjoyed a high-octane life. The parking lot incident returned, and he tried to ignore it.
Turning the pages and scanning the advertisements – mostly for stair-lifts, walk-in bathtubs, hearing aids, life alert devices, drugs, phones with large number keys, and life insurance – didn’t cheer him up either. And there it was, the NRA advertisement:
IT’S NOT TOO LATE TO PROTECT YOURSELF AND YOUR LOVED ONES.
“You haven’t worked your entire life to suffer injuries or death by predators who see you as an easy target. Even more horrific is the possibility that someone might harm your spouse, children and grandchildren while you stand by helplessly, unable to defend them.
“At the NRA, our motto is ‘Never fight if you can avoid it, but when you must fight, don’t lose!’
“The NRA is on your side and we are offering AARP members a discount on the purchase of qualified guns, along with an NRA discounted membership so you can support the fight for Freedom and your 2nd Amendment Rights.
Vince was still processing the ad when he heard Trudi return. “Need any help with the groceries, honey?”
“No thanks. Just this one bag. What have you been doing?”
“Not much. Just reading the paper.” Vince said, putting down the magazine.
“Find anything else of interest?”
“Not really.” For some reason, he didn’t want to mention the NRA senior ad. There was something about the concept that both thrilled and scared him. Appealing and abhorrent at the same time, and he couldn’t let go of it.
Vince recalled his thoughts of last night. He didn’t know a thing about guns. The only guns he’d ever fired, even held, were those pellet guns at carnivals, knocking down swimming ducks … or trying to. He remembered that he wasn’t very good at it. Perhaps it was this knowledge gap and his natural curiosity that drove the intrigue. He knew generally that there were rifles and handguns, but that was about it. How much did they cost? What were the different types? Could he even have one in California? And if he had one, would he, could he, have used it yesterday?
It was this association of questions that made Vince realize, once again, that since his retirement, his access to information was limited to what the TV or LA Times chose to share with him. There was no coffee break banter to catch up on hot topics or ask questions in a relatively safe environment. Trudi was actually better-connected through her frequent get- togethers with her friends, but even that was limited. He received so few emails now that he rarely fired up his old laptop, and simply used his iPhone. He couldn’t even remember the last time he used his laptop after giving back the company-issued one. His PC was so slow. He thought of his son’s amazement and disbelief when he discovered that they hardly ever used it. “Dad, you’ve been using a computer at work since I was born. Why don’t you use it now? We could chat, FaceTime or Skype, and use Facebook.”
“Vince? HELLO!” Trudi appealed in louder than usual voice. “What planet are you on?”
Vince jumped. “Sorry. Yes, off in space. I was just thinking about computers and how it might improve our lives and connectivity. If we have a new one, we can do Facebook with Dave and Barb and at least see pictures of Caleb.”
Caleb was their 5-year-old grandson and Barb and Dave were their daughter-in-law and son. Barb was a school Administrator and Dave a teacher in Austin, Texas, so they didn’t see as much of them as Vince and Trudi would have liked.
Trudi asked, “That sounds like a good idea. Why do we need a new one? Doesn’t our old laptop work?”
“It works, or probably does, but it’s so old, doesn’t have much memory, and can’t handle a lot of the newer technology.”
