.Sit down and drink a cup of coffee, open my laptop and check a few things – email, the local news station.Barry’s in the news. Apparently getting assaulted in a parking lot by a bat-wielding dumbass is newsworthy, especially when you’re forced to perforate the doofus. I resign myself to the fact that Barry’s probably getting a lot of questions about it as it becomes public. At least the TV station didn’t send a reporter out to cover the event.And a look on-line for the application process for getting the concealed carry permit. It’s right there. Not rocket science. Quick phone call. The local police department will give me a couple of fingerprint cards I need for the process. I change clothes and go by there.Nice officer takes care of me. “Doing your concealed carry permit?”“Yessir. Husband says I need it.”He reexamined my cards, reading the name. “Harris,” he said. He looked at me. “Any relation to ... yesterday...”“That would be my husband,” I said. “If he hadn’t, you know, that. He was reminded of a rattle snake coiled with the rattles buzzing and the snake hissing and poised to strike."My men were on surveillance duty last night," the General continued tightly. He was almost trembling in his effort to control his own anger. "They were assigned to watch you Mr. Bronson. They were parked in front of the Major's home this morning and there was an incident. One of my men died and I want to know why," the General said in even colder tones. He was trembling now at the internal struggle to control his anger."Do you mean the gay guys in the van this morning?" Jim asked with feigned surprise on his face and in his voice. "I know 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' is the rule in the military now days but I didn't know that it applied to the high end units like you seem to have General," Jim concluded allowing disbelief and uncertainty to creep into his voice.General Branch snapped. He took two quick steps forward until his face was less than a foot from Jim's and he said in.
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