Had an interesting gunnie dream last night. I dreamed I had just finished having dinner with some friends at a small urban cafe late at night and I was walking back to my truck. The landscape struck me as much like Portland where there are some various surface lots and abandoned buildings where you can park for free so long as you’re willing to walk through some shady zones. Wasn’t an issue, as it was a nice warm night, and I had my S&W 642 riding in my pocket. While walking through an alley Suddenly a big set of arms grabbed me. One had me around the chest, and the other was at my throat. I quickly fished my J-Frame out of my pocket cocked my elbow back until I felt the muzzle hit the torso of the man behind me and I touched off two rounds.
Not caring one way or another how things would work out for him I beat feat back to the cafe where the owner was closing shop for the night, told my story can called 911.
911 dumped me into a phone tree that essentially got me stuck with various busy signals and endlessly ringing phone lines. The cavalierly was not coming. I remember being upset that I didn’t have a reload on me, and now my diminutive J-frame only had 3 lives charges, but as some point through dream magic a pair of speed-strips arrived in my hand so I could do a tactical reload and pocket the partially used strip.
With no noticeable time passage it was suddenly morning and I decided it was safe enough to venture home. I was walking through a neighborhood of small single-family houses on postage-stamp lots, when guess who I see standing in a driveway washing a 1950s sedan? Ol’ James Whitey Bulger, and he recognizes me and is not happy about getting shot the night before (of course he looks as limber as a teenager after eating at least one .38 in the gut) He opens the passenger door of the car and pulls out what appears to be a J-Frame sized revolver, but this thing must have been in .44 Special as it had only 4 large holes in the wheel, and it was unloaded, but he was quickly stuffing shells into the charge-holes. By the time he had the cylinder shut I had my J-frame out and I put two in his chest and while he was on the ground raising the gun to me one in his head.
Knowing how he shrugged off the first hit in the alley, and that he seemed to be a bad penny and always turning up, not-to-mention his FBI most wanted status, I decided to put the last two into his head and feed the gun a fresh reload.
Yeah it was a little blood thirsty but I can’t imagine a jury in the world that would convict me.
Interesting dream as my gun ran just as it was supposed to, none of the typical hink that is known to us gunnies. And it appears that bullets not only landed where I wanted them to (with the exception of the two contact shots while I was grabbed from behind) all shots I remember a sight picture and trigger squeeze) and when the shots landed they were noticed by the recipient.
Only odd dream things were that Whitey Bulger seemed to have both found the fountain of youth, but also seemed to be at all interested in me, the magical appearing reload, the bizzaro 911, and that strange 4-shot .44 (I wonder if that is even possible).
Anyway thought I’d share. Oddly enough Mike also had an odd gunnie dream.