The House That Jack Built by Robert Asprin & Linda Evans

“Black-powder firearms can’t be any more challenging than service-rifle competitions.”

Kit raised his brows. “You’ve done long distance shooting, then? All right. We’ll start you out with, say, the Remington Model 1875 single action revolver in .44-40 and a Remington Number Three rifle in .45-70, the Hepburn falling-block model. Tell Ann to put Creedmore sights on it, and if you take the time to learn it, that’ll give us a half-mile range if we end up in a long-distance shootout with the Ansar Majlis. And put a .41 Remington derringer in your fancy coat pocket, Mr. Kaederman, if you want a hideout gun. Just be careful you don’t blow your foot off with it. Those derringers don’t have safety mechanisms and the firing pins are longer than the breech faces. Drop one hammer down, it’ll blow a .41 caliber hole in your gut. Get Ann to show you how to safely load and unload it. Tell her to bill the senator. Meet me in the station’s library first thing after dinner. You’ve got a lot of research ahead, if you want to go on this mission. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Mr. Jackson and I have some unfinished business waiting.”

Senator Caddrick sputtered, “Now, wait just a damned minute—”

Kit narrowed his eyes and held Caddrick’s gaze coldly. “Those are my terms, S enator. You hired him. So don’t try to blackmail the station into paying his expenses. Those are your problem. Mr. Kaederman,” he nodded curtly, “I’ll see you at the library, six-thirty sharp. Don’t be late.”

Skeeter all but tripped over his own feet, rushing into the elevator ahead of Kit. Senator Caddrick was still sputtering. But as the elevator doors slid shut, Sid Kaederman gave Kit a small, satisifed smile and a tiny flick of the fingers at his brow, acknowledging a minor victory in the murderous little game in which they were embroiled. Skeeter Jackson rearranged sweat on his forehead with a glistening forearm. “Sheesh, Kit, you really do like to live dangerously, don’t you?”