The next afternoon I went to the police firing range. I had to sign for the piece, show my warrant card. Again I used the name Det. Sjt Waller Alman. The woman at the desk barely glanced at the card or the signature. She issued me with the standard semi-automatic, the same as the one used by most cops, the same as the one I kept at home. The serial number engraved on the barrel was recorded against Alman’s name.

The rule was the same here as at other police ranges, and loosely applied. We were all cops. Alman was recognized as a serving officer. After training with the weapon I would be able to check it out for official use for a fixed period afterwards. I specified two days. No questions.

I paid the deposit. I bought three clips of the range ammo, then went with an instructor. We both put on eye guards. I wore white cotton gloves. The instructor fired a few rounds to check my piece, watched me take five shots, then she left me. She muttered that she could tell I was a good shot. My right shoulder is weaker now, but I had trained to the level of senior marksman. She wouldn’t know that. She was right – I’m still good.

There were guys in the lanes on each side of mine. I guessed they were also cops. The shooter next to me was a rookie. His shots were missing because of the recoil. He hadn’t yet learned how to brace. He had an instructor showing him and he was learning well. The cartridge casings from his gun flew away from him, some landing close to where I was standing. A sign on every lane said spent cases must not be touched. I saw staff who cleaned up every time a lane became empty, before the next shooter took over.

When I was finished the target was spindled back to me. I needed it to collect back the first half of my deposit. As the target arrived I turned towards it, bent down and scooped up a small handful of the rookie’s casings. I held them in my gloved hand until I had the target in the other. Then I found a natural way of sliding the cases into my pocket. There were four. I might need all of them but one should be enough.

I went back to the desk, handed in the target, picked up my deposit and left. I was wearing the gun in the holster provided by the range. I dumped the cotton gloves in a trash can in the street. The bin smelled of rotting food and some kind of sickly perfume.