Bubble Baths and Handguns....Part 3

Ray raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “Kitty Basher? Uh…that’s a….unique name.” He knew better than to ask a woman such as herself if it was her real name. If it wasn’t it was the identity that she had decided on for herself and questioning it anymore would only piss her off and he did not think his body could handle that. The look she returned to him was one with no humor whatsoever. Her eyes bore into him with little patience behind them.

“So what the hell would make you think it was a good idea to follow the best shot you’ve ever seen to her car? Do I look like a woman who wants company?” She had already noticed the gun strapped to his side but as she gave him a full once over she also noticed the bulge at his boot line. “What ya packin down there,” she asked motioning to his boot.

Ray’s eyes went to his boot. “Just a small .22, nothing that will do too much damage but it’ll sting enough,” he chuckled.

Kitty’s patience was wearing thin. “So what is it you want Ray,” she asked her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Really I just wanted to see if you wanted to get a drink or coffee or something. If it helps any, I’m gay so you don’t have to worry about me hitting on you.” He kept as still as a rabbit cornered by a fox, afraid that any movement would set her off again.

“You’re gay,” she asked with surprise. Her body relaxed slightly. “I didn’t see that one comin,” she admitted. “It is almost noon so I guess a shot of whiskey wouldn’t hurt.”

They had spent the rest of the afternoon drinking and talking in the corner of a dark little bar. Much to Kitty’s pleasure Ray never asked any really personal questions. He was content to have her company and her knowledge of weapons, never once asking where this knowledge and skill had been acquired.

Late into the night, when they had had their fill of drink and talk Ray passed Kitty a cocktail napkin with his name and number written on it. The look she gave him caused him to throw his hands up defensively. “I barely survived just trying to talk to you, didn’t think I would live through askin for your number.” He lowered his hands at the small smile that crossed her lips. “Just call if ya ever wanna just hang out again. No strings.”

Kitty paid their tab, shook Ray’s hand and walked to her car, glancing one last time at Ray as he got in his car and waved bye.

It was a week later, as Kitty was packing up her guns to head over to the range when she found Ray’s napkin tucked into her bag. She really had enjoyed to talking to him and on a whim called and asked if he wanted to meet at the range and then head over for drinks again.

Over the next two years they had become as close as two people could get (without sexual interaction) and Kitty trusted Ray completely. A year into their friendship as they finished off a third bottle of Riesling, Kitty had confided in Ray what had happened to her as a child. The pain and humiliation she had suffered. They never spoke of it again. But Ray knew, on the nights that they were drinking heavily and she went quiet, her eyes staring at nothing, that she was playing out in her head what she would do to the man that gave her the scar if she ever found him.

It was almost two years to the day they had met when Ray came to her with a proposition.