..”I heard him chuckle, “I think you do.”“Actually, I don't. I don't like being stalked like this. This *is* kinda creepy.”“And exciting.”I sighed, “No more following without me knowing. Seriously, you could get hurt.”He laughed, I could see the grin on his face, “Hurt me? How would you hurt me?”I smiled sweetly from the window, “I was able to get a CCW permit a couple years ago.”Silence.I raised a finger, “Wait, I'll prove it.”I walked to my work desk. I pulled the drawer out, picked up my .38 revolver, one of two and walked back to the window where I pulled it from its holster and held it up, “See?”“I see. No more stalking.”“Good. Sorry to be a bitch, but there's a reason that I have it. Long story that I am not going to talk about right now.”“Ok.”I put the firearm back in the holster, placed it on the couch. I placed a hand on the tall night table to my left and leaned on it. He was still looking at me from the garage. Neither one of us saying anything to each other. He. Or Robert thought it was a moment; but his arm was a bit tired when he lowered the shell.At the end of the day, he took the bag of shells to his usual tourist trap and put several twenties into his wallet. But he kept the black shell. That night he put it on his dresser and had strange dreams.In the morning Robert Hardy put on swimming trunks and took a blanket and some gear and spread out on the beach. He was beginning to look his age; he was still in good shape, but he was starting to strike out with women more often than he used to, even if it seemed to him that they were often easier to get to bed than they used to be.He tried to talk up a blonde in a red two-piece outfit, maybe twenty-three, and he was getting nowhere. Then he had a sudden impulse to ask her to listen to the shell, which he had brought with him for no reason he could remember.She gave him a cynical smile, but she listened. Within a minute or two she was walking with Robert back to his cottage, leaving her.
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