I go visit and old High School buddy every year for a couple of months. Larry is very liberal, and an anti gun nut. Aside from that we get along pretty good. His wife has a concealed carry permit and she carries. Her first husband got her her first permit and a couple of pistols. They have had a few arguments about her carrying her pistols when we go out to dinner. I carry concealed and he never knows I am carrying. Every Friday I accompany him to the bank for his weekly deposits, and to bring back a weeks worth of cash for the business to operate on. Larry says he feels better when I am with him, he does not think anyone would try and jump two men. I feel what Larry don't know won't hurt him.
Febuary 2009: Friday night 1 hour after closing. I was sitting at a computer behind a large cabinet working on some graphics. Larry was doing his weekly accounting. Two men came to the door. Larry had not pulled the metal security door down and locked it since we were going to be leaving soon by the front door, and would do it then. Suddenly one of the men kicked the door and the flimsy lock on the inner door gave way. They came in one fellow brandishing a large Crocadille DunDee type knife, and confronting Larry at his desk. Hearing a noise, but not knowing what was happening I got up and stepped around the cabinet. The second person pulled a folding knife, flipped the blade out, and started telling me what he was going to do to me. I reached inside my jacket and pulled my Ruger P-85. The guy coming at me turned pale, he spun around yelling "The son XX X XXXXX has a gun". Both men ran for the door. The second guy was hurrying so hard he ran into the big knife his partner was holding, and got cut. The last we saw of them they were running down the street.
Larry got up from his desk and walked to the back of the shop while I locked the metal grate. When Larry returned he had a pistol in his hand, a Colt .38 Spl. Larry laid the pistol on the desk and said "Rog I need to learn how to shoot that, and we need to go get some bullets". "That was my Dad's gun, he kept it in the desk". When he died I did not feel it was needed and put it back in the safe. Now I think it is needed back in the desk drawer. "Where did you get that gun you had in your hand"? I told him I had a concealled Carry permit and that is just what it means, concealled carry. No one knows you are carrying it till it is needed.
Today not only is the .38 in the desk, but he carries a .380 behind his belt.
