IT WAS ALMOST DAWN when the two set off to meet Brad Clooney.
Martin felt like an old man, wearing the old clothes and smelling of mothballs that the stranger had given him. He didn't complain, he wasn't in a position to refuse any help, and he felt a sincere willingness from the stranger as he received assistance. Trusting in the young man's commitment, Benedetti also lent him one of the revolvers from his collection. It wasn't the type of weapon he preferred, but it would serve in this moment of emergency.
— Do you know how to use it? — Benedetti asked, mocking him as he handed him the gun.
Danny Martin was not used to the old man's joking tone, except for his acquaintance with his friend Gregory Evans. Without recognizing the joke, he responded naturally:
— I'm not exactly an excellent shooter, but I know how to use the main types of weapons we have access to.
— Terrible sense of humor! — Benedetti grumbled, sighing discouragedly.
— This revolver seems to be quite old... — Martin said, handling the weapon.
— Bah! Age doesn't mean anything! It's working perfectly and has ammunition! That's what matters! — replied the old man, irritated.
— I didn't mean to offend you, I was just making an observation... Normally, after a certain amount of time of use, we usually change our weapons at the Bureau.
— You don't know anything. — Benedetti complained, still annoyed. — I'll teach you something, boy. Guns are like women. — and he began to handle the revolver he was holding, cleaning it with a cloth made for that purpose. — You have to treat them right, with care, and they will always be by your side. If you don't do this, they will end up jamming, jamming and betraying you.
Martin simply observed the philosophy of the "stranger he had just met." He found the old man's manner curious. It reminded him of the way of thinking of certain Siberian criminals he had met on an old case. The men treated crime with religiosity and weapons as family. His memory was interrupted by the lack of coffee, as if he were suffering from withdrawal. Then he said:
— Tell me, do you have coffee?
— Cooking isn't my strong point, kid. Better you don't have to try me at it. I always visit a café nearby, but it looks like it's closed, like everything else in this town...
With the taste issue unresolved, they finally headed towards the address mentioned in the message.