”Remember, a lot of these older-style guns and some of the modern ones have no mechanical hammer blocks, Margo. Screw this up with a loaded single-action that doesn’t have a way to block the hammer from striking the firing pin, and you’ll have an accidental discharge. If it’s pointed at your stomach-” Ann forcibly moved the muzzle away from Margo’s middle “ you’ll end up gutshot.”
Margo’s sense of accomplishment dissolved. She felt like crying. First Kit had roughed her up, then Sven had hurt her, and now Ann Mulhaney was making her look like a dangerous fool. “I’m sorry! I’m tired and hungry ….”
Ann said shortly, “Get used to it, Margo. You won’t have the luxury of choosing the time and place for a gunfight to save your life.”
She wanted to scream. Instead she tried to reason with her tormentor. “Yes, but I could choose the time and place for the lessons! How am I supposed to learn this stuff when I’m beat on my feet? Don’t you people ever eat?”
Her tummy rumbled in echo. Malcolm Moore must’ve heard it, too, because he chuckled.
Ann sighed and smiled ruefully, then retrieved the Colt Army single-action pistol. “All right, Margo, point taken. Eight o’clock tomorrow morning and don’t be late this time. I have other lessons tomorrow besides yours.”
Margo wanted to collapse right where she was. “I’ll be here.”
Where she’d find food, Margo had no idea. She didn’t have enough money even for a hotdog.
”Well,” Malcolm said on their way out of the gym, what do you think?”
”You haven’t won your bet yet,” Margo said sourly.