the gun . by Harry Richman . a very short story that is not what it seems . Gino stopped pacing the floor and walked over to the sideboard . gently , he pulled open the middle drawer and stared at the huge black Luger that was once his father &apos;s , lying serenely in the farthest corner . still without a sound , he closed his huge brown hand over the cold steel , and hastily transferred it to his jacket pocket . a few seconds later his wife walked into the room . Gino , what are you doing ? nothing ! - thinking . he walked away from the drawer and put his hands in his pockets to stop them from trembling . why you no think about getting the work ? she wiped her hands on a dirty apron . thinking - walking up - down &amp;hellip; . no food in the house , what you think about that , huh ? you gotta any plans about that ? we &apos;d be better if we stay in Viareggio . she wiped an imaginary tear from her rosy cheek . you wan na go back to Viareggio - go ! I no stop you . I stay here . go back if you wan na go . you think I no try and get the work , huh ? what you think - you think I no try ? Gino turned and stalked out of the house . a hard , loud slam of the door stopped his wife &apos;s voluble Italian adjectives from following him out . ever since he &apos;d lost his job two weeks ago , they &apos;d done nothing but squabble . he pulled out a cigarette packet and stared disconsolately at the last Woodbine . he placed it carefully between his lips and lit it . he winced as the empty packet landed in the gutter . food he could manage without for a few days , but cigarettes &amp;hellip; . he inhaled deeply and kept the smoke inside of him for as long as he could . he walked all morning . in the afternoon it began to drizzle . Gino pulled his jacket collar up high and for the umpteenth time placed his hand on the Luger . he felt nervous and undecided . he glanced up at a clock hanging over a jeweller &apos;s shop . it was four o&apos;clock - he had time . he decided to wait in a doorway for the rain to stop . he wanted to think . he would n&apos;t go back to Viareggio . if she wanted to go , let her . he dug into his pocket for a cigarette , and was irritated when only a box of matches came out . his irritation made him think about his wife &apos;s mother : I do n&apos;t let you to take my daughter to London . a daughter &apos;s place is by her mother - you no right - you no right to take my bambino away . she &apos;d gone on and on , even when the train moved off she was still shouting . he would n&apos;t go back , no matter what . he ran his hand over the gun and the anger he felt subsided slightly . he &apos;d show her . he &apos;d show everybody . Gino moved out of the doorway into the drizzle , that showed no signs of stopping . it was four-thirty and plans had better be made . his face was covered with thoughtful wrinkles as he walked steadily forward . from time to time his deep concentration was floored by the aroma of hot coffee from the many caf&amp;eacute;s . the smells of fresh bread and fried chicken caused his stomach to scream in anguish . cigarette smoke seemed to find his nose from all of a hundred different brands . he dug his nails deeper into the palms of his hands , as his head began to reel . frantically he swallowed huge gulps of air and then closed his eyes to help stop the buildings from going round and round . in desperation , he branched off into an alley-way , and there , breathing heavily , and by now almost wet through , he waited for peace to return . it was now five . Gino wiped his face and head with an old handkerchief . it had stopped drizzling , and he was annoyed at having allowed himself to be soaked . he squeezed the water from his handkerchief and strode forward . his mind was made up . he walked straight toward a little shop he had once seen in one of the many side streets that ran like arteries off Soho &apos;s more public thoroughfares . there were only a few people about . some fifty yards from the shop , he put his hand on the Luger and made it feel comfortable . an old woman stopped to look into the shop &apos;s windows . Gino hesitated . the gun was heavy in his pocket . the whole left side of his body seemed to feel the weight . the old lady went away . Gino moistened his lips . he &apos;d never done anything like this before . he uttered a swift , silent prayer , finishing with dear Father and Mother , please forgive me . his forehead was covered in perspiration . he arrived at the door and stopped . he could n&apos;t go through with it . he was from a good family . the name Farrari was known all over Italy . if the news ever got back home - he shuddered . he moved to the corner of the quiet little street and watched a light come on in the small shop . dear God , whispered Gino , what shall I do ? the gun was beginning to feel heavier and heavier . suddenly , he knew what he must do . his face grim , his demeanour calm , he again walked forward . what did he care what anybody thought or said ! no one worried about him . nobody cared . he stalked into the shop and stopped three yards from the counter . there were two men inside . the older one was putting something away on a shelf . Gino put his hand on the gun and walked toward the fat one , who was reading the evening paper . with a short , jerky movement , he drew the Luger from his pocket . his hand shook , and he felt sick with shame . how &amp;hellip; , he put the gun on the counter , how much you give me for this , please ? communication . terror roared at his family out of the lonely night . but no one could help him , in his agonising struggle to save them - and prove himself . by A E Treppass . illustration by Bernard Blatch . the large illuminated sign at the road side etched its message sharply in the cool darkness : stop - one hundred yards ahead - for the last cup of tea for miles . Charles Corran smiled and remembered the red brick caf&amp;eacute; with its rose garden and gravel car park . they had been tempted to stop there at the beginning of their holiday . now , late , on the way home , he was more than tempted . besides , just beyond the caf&amp;eacute; lay the twenty-mile long , lonely road across Rannet Moors ; a wearisome journey , particularly so late at night when all he wanted to do was doze over the steering column . he slowed the car and turned to Meg , his wife . in the half light she looked tired and a little sad . it had been a good holiday and they had all been reluctant to leave the sea and the sun . shall we ? he asked . she nodded lazily and stirred in her seat , enough to glance at the two children who were snuggled sleepily in the back . Tony , who was five and precocious , opened his eyes and murmured : shall we what , Daddy ? have a cup of tea , Meg replied . I want orange , Belle informed them , with all the authority of her eleven years . with a straw , Tony added . good . Charles signalled that he was turning left , and , at the very moment he nosed into the caf&amp;eacute; car park , there was a noise beside them like an aero engine and two unsilenced motor cycles carrying black , helmeted figures roared right across his path , spraying gravel over his bonnet . he braked instantly and the steering wheel hit his chest and he gasped . Meg cried out as her head bumped the windscreen and Tony began to sob on the floor . the devils ! the fiendish devils ! Meg snapped as she leant over the back seat to help Belle gather Tony into her arms . Charles said nothing . he realized he had heard the motorcycles approaching and he knew they had had time to see his signal . he waited until his family were settled , then he accelerated into the car park . he caught the motorcycles and the riders in the full glare of his headlights , braked and slipped purposefully out of the car . do n&apos;t ! Meg pleaded , but he ignored her . he had the acrid taste of fear in his mouth and his chest ached . his legs were rubbery but he was angry . he pulled his tired body off the rack of the long , weary drive from Dorset and clenched his fists . the riders were standing beside their motorcycles waiting for him . they were dressed from head to foot in black ; black leggings , boots , zipper jacket , goggles . their manner was as insolent as the startling white skull and crossbones on each black crash helmet . they were young and Charles wanted to lash out at them . you maniacs ! he snapped , and they stared at him . turn the light out , Mister , the slighter one drawled . it hurts my eyes . he stood a yard away from them and tried to feel he was towering over them , but they were as tall , or even taller than he . he tried to control his fury and his hammering heart by taking a deep , slow breath . you crazy lunatics , he said , and his voice sounded strange and weak . you &apos;ll kill someone someday . one of them laughed ; a sharp , hysterical sound . the other spat . so what ? as long as it is n&apos;t you why should you worry ? Charles stepped forward , incensed beyond reason . instantly the taller thrust his body forward and warned viciously : you touch me , mate and I &apos;ll call the cops . amazed , Charles hesitated , and the taller one sensed his advantage . he flipped Charles &apos; tie out , turned and caught his companion &apos;s arm . c&apos;m on , boy . let &apos;s blow ! man , this fella &apos;s a drag ! Charles watched them strut into the doorway of the caf&amp;eacute; and realized his inadequacy . there was no way in which he could communicate with them . they were in their own , arrogant , teenage world ; a world of curt questions and harsh answers , of sudden irrational impulses ; a world that had changed radically in the twenty years since he had left it . at the car he was faced with the silence of his family . he sensed their fear , saw Meg &apos;s sharp , shadowed profile , saw Belle sitting tense , wide awake , her arm round Tony . it was Tony who spoke first . what did the man do , Daddy ? hush ! Meg silenced him quickly , but he would have felt better if she had said nothing . he wanted no protection from someone weaker than himself . nothing , he said and tucked the tie back inside his jacket . Meg watched him , then held the car door for him and his anger switched to her . he was not an invalid . but he checked himself , held the anger back , and slid into the driving seat . shall we go on ? she asked and it was really a request , not a question . he nodded . twenty miles across Rannet Moor , through Bisset and Scowlea , then home . he could wait an hour for a cup of tea . I want some orange , Tony begged , and Meg soothed him . hush , darling . when we get home . there is n&apos;t any here . but daddy did n&apos;t ask , the boy insisted . he did , Meg replied easily as Charles switched on the engine . he drove the first five miles along the black ribbon of the moor road carefully , in silence . he was ashamed and he felt that all his family , even Tony , were ashamed of him . slowly his body calmed and his brain cooled , but he wanted home ; the touch and sight and smell of familiar things . he tried to tell himself that the car was an extension of home and that while he was in it nothing more could go wrong . but the moors were a cold , uneasy waste where every bush and shadow and dark rise hid watching eyes and alien fingers . suddenly Meg nudged him gently and he glanced in the rear view mirror . 