Gunpowder smelled strangely like death, and tasted even worse.  Katherine remembered the taste from the night her mother killed herself, a cloud of the stench carried by steam from the bath.  It was a thought Katherine was trying to rid from her mind.  She inhaled slowly through her nose, trying to keep her hands from shaking, both of them cradling the gun she held like a jewel and not a deadly weapon.  On the long exhale she pulled the trigger, trying not to flinch and jerk the barrel upwards.  the bullet actually hit the target.  It was wide, but she could see she had hit it.  She tried not to smile. 

Her father had kept in contact with her, but he had also insisted that she take her safety more seriously.  Seeing as how her prowess with a breadknife had not impressed him, she chose to learn how to handle a gun.  And now here she was at Lenny's Gun Range, out in Hickville USA.  It had been hard to find a gun range willing to train a woman, but some of the money her father had sent seemed to grease the right palms.  katherine had briefly flirted with fixations on several other weapons, like a Tommy gun or a shotgun, but the first had been too damn heavy and after firing the second and knocking her shoulder out whack she decided she'd stick with something she could actually hold. 

She pulled the trigger again, trying to keep the sights level.  This time the bullet landed closer to the target than she had ever gotten.  She would have shot once more, but the gun was empty and she was running low on ammunition.  Plus, it was getting late and she needed to have dinner.  She had just put down the weapon when Lenny walked up to her, looking a bit nervous.  

"Miss Katie, there's a man here to see you?  I think he might be a cop."  Katherine arched an eyebrow but nodded. 

"Don't worry Lenny."  She flashed him a smile and walked out, trying to look confident and collected.  When she got out to the office she saw the man standing at the counter and laughed. "Well I'll be!" 

Keats was limping as he approached the shooting range. He supposed it was something he'd have to get used to- but hopefully it wouldn't be permanent. The doctors weren't sure yet. As of now, he was resisting using a cane. He just walked slower, although a disjointedness as he moved was still evident. He sent the guy running the range to go fetch Katherine. He'd had bad luck with bullets recently and didn't want to push it further. 

She smiled as she turned the corner. It was a strange thing for Keats. He'd spent decades of his life flirting with women, pursuing them- but knowing he had a daughter had crossed several wires in his brain. Still charmed plenty of women, of course. But he thought about what he was doing a hell of a lot more. He'd even talked a couple particularly young women into going home alone. The version of himself from twenty years earlier- the one who'd met Katherine's mother- would have fainted from the shock. 

But here was the result of that summer with Ellie, walking toward him. He stood still, so she wouldn't notice the limp. He returned her smile.

"Katherine. Glad I managed to finally track you down. I apologize for the delay. It's been... he waved his hand, not wanting to express himself more. Perhaps we could have dinner and talk?

"Dinner would be wonderful Mr. Keats."  She placed her hand on his arm in a friendly gesture, taking care that Lenny and any of the other mooks at the range didn't get any weird ideas.  Most of them were stand up fellows but a few of them seemed to ignore her hints that she wasn't interested in what they had to offer. "I know this great little place right down the street that serves some amazing pot pies.  And the lady who runs it is practically my aunt!"  What she didn't mention was that she had been doing some side jobs for the owner in return for room and board.  She smiled up at Keats and waved goodbye to the owner of the range.  "I hope you like chicken." 

Keats froze for a split second as Katherine put her hand on his arm. He'd walked like this before with many women, but he was still getting used to the whole daughter thing. Perhaps it would have been different if he'd known her as a child. But here she was, a grown woman who just happened to be his daughter.

"Pot pies sound excellent to me. Lead the way."

Keats tried to smile warmly as the exited the range.

"So, doing some shooting today? I hope life has been treating you well since our first meeting? I hope you've received my letters?"

Realizing he just asked Katherine three questions in rapid succession, Keats promptly shut his mouth and listened as they got into his car and he began following her directions to wherever they'd be eating.

Katherine realised how her hand on her father's arm must have felt to him and let go as soon as they'd cleared the front door.  "Sorry about that dad," She paused, trying to find a less formal way of addressing him than Mr. Keats or Father.  "But some of the guys are handsy and think that anything in a skirt is fair game.  I figure I'd rather send the right kind of wrong message than let them think I'm open for business."  She winced and shook her head.   A few blocks down the smells of baked bread and chicken wafted out into the night air  "Here's the place!"  She opened up a door and lead him into a cozy eatery, gingham curtains over the windows, matching fabric on the tables. 

"Miss Jameson, table for two in the back please!"  Katherine lead her father to the furthest table, out of site of any of the small windows.  A candle in a soup can flickered dimly and before they could seat themselves a waitress came by with two piping hot cups of coffee.  

"What can I get y'all?"  She smiled at Katherine, the girl was a regular and had even rented a small apartment over the backend of the cafe.  Katie smiled back, happy to see her friend. 

"I was thinking two big pot pies if you will, mashed potatoes on the side, extra gravy, two cups of sweet tea and rhubarb pie for dessert!"  Katie grinned, looking at the arched eyebrows on her guest.  "What can I say? A long day at the range works up an appetite!"  She sipped her coffee and sat back.  "To answer your questions, I was indeed shooting, life has been alright, is as much as a quiet life in the country can be, and I have been getting everyone one of your letters, in fact, I was just about to mail you my latest reply!"  She took another sip from the chipped china cup and slid a sealed envelope across the table.  

Before he could open the envelope the clanking of bowls and plates let them know that the food had arrived.  Tender chunks of chicken dripping with brown gravy were the only things that held their focus and for few minutes nothing could be heard other than the clinking of spoons against bowls.  The pie had just barely been put down next to refilled coffee cups when the rickety wooden door exploded off of its hinges, splinters flying everywhere.  Katherine grabbed her pie and ducked under the table. 

 "Dad". It was just weird. It was a total shift of perspective. Even though he didn't know Katherine that well, he still felt a connection with her after he realized that she was his daughter. He felt guilt that he wasn't there when she was growing up- that he had never known about her. But he also felt many things in his life shift to get used to the idea of fatherhood. He would help her however he could, unsure if he could make up for a lost 18 years but willing to try. But where to even start? God, she was talking about handsy men.

"Any of those 'handsy' guys get out of line? I could handle them, if you'd like."

Entering the the small eatery, Keats quickly glanced around to asses any potential threats- but it seemed like it was fine. At least she requested the back. Smart tactical thinking. And as he listened to her order, a good taste for food as well. He was just about to ask her about the range when the front door shattered.

Keats, at 40, didn't precisely have the reflexes that he did when he was 20 years younger. But he trained hard and he was physically almost as good as he used to be. Mentally, however, he was leaps and bounds ahead of where the young Keats was. Before the pieces of the now flying door hit the floor, he'd used his left hand to upend the table that he and Katherine were eating and dragged her down behind it, even though she'd already been moving toward the floor. Simultaneously, his gun appeared in his right hand. Why did she grab her pie? Reflex, probably. He'd have to poke fun at her for that one later if they weren't dead.

As the bullets started flying through the door and the small windows, Keats pushed Katherine's head down and ducked beneath the table himself. Fortunately, it was an old, thick piece of furniture. He heard a couple bullets hit the table, but everyone seemed to be okay. Well, he and Katie. He didn't truly care about anyone else; it looked like an old man drinking coffee had been hit a couple times and a waitress was moaning somewhere behind the counter. Hopefully she was just upset, but Keats thought she might have taken a bullet as well. 

As soon as the shooting stop, Keats started pulling Katherine toward the back door in a crouch. She started to moved faster as she approached the door that led outside, but Keats grabbed her shoulder and hissed "Could have posted someone to watch the back. Or it's an ambush and they've got five guys out there."

Grabbing a coat rack with several coats on it and a hat on top, Keats opened the door a crack and stuck it outside, wondering if it would draw any fire from a jumpy gunman.

"There are only three of them godammit."  Katherine put her pie down, upset that she wouldn't be able to eat it.  "The owner of this shop was running a speakeasy but he died of a "heart attack" six months ago and his wife closed it down, but ever since then, every 2 week or so, this place gets robbed or broken into."  She huffed and pulled back the hammer on her Colt M1917 and stood up.  "GET OUT OF HERE ASSHOLES!"  She fired all six shots then ducked back down.  

"I hit one of them, the other one ran out.  Probably some punks."  She got up out of her crouch and scouted around the diner, as soon as she saw it was clear she dashed over to the old man.  "Mr Conolly are you ok?"  She rolled him over and saw he'd been shot in the arm but was breathing.  She went behind the counter and checked on Milly.  "Milly, I'm calling Dr Farmer from the office phone ok?"  She made the call, stepped over the broken glass and boxed up a Rhubarb pie that hadn't been ruined.  She paid double for their lunch and the pie and came over to Keats.  "We should leave, these idiots might not have been here to rob the place after all." 

Raising an eyebrow at his daughter, Keats ran, stumbling with a limp, for the door to chase after the men. He could hear Katherine talking to people, then to him, as he cautiously tested the door with the coat rack, seeing if it drew any fire. When it didn't he dropped it and began running as best as he could, although his right leg was starting to scream. He could see, every several steps, small amounts of blood  from one of the assailants on the sidewalk. There were three of them. Keats saw one get into a car while a second helping a limping man toward it. Narrowing his eyes, Keats dropped them both. He wished he could aim for their knees, but at this distance the only safe bet was to aim for the center of the target. The car screeched away as he limped toward the two men on the ground.

One of the men- the one who had been wounded before- was obviously in the process of dying. Keats quickly put him out of his misery with a bullet to the head, which caused the other man to scream. Keats grabbed him, pulled him to his feet, and began the slow process of heading back to the cafe.

At this point, Keats could see a couple cautious faces start to appear in windows. He continued to make his way back to Katherine, but as a small crowd began to gather he realized something needed to be done to disperse the crowd. Reaching for his pocket, he held up a badge.

"Listen up! My name is Detective Byron- FBN. You are all in danger; we have reason to suspect that another attack is imminent. Return to your home or place of business and seek shelter until you hear the all clear. Now!"

With people walking fast or running away, Keats saw Katherine walk outside of the cafe. They'd have to get this guy somewhere they could ask questions. Robbers didn't shoot up a business without asking for money. Maybe it was a protection racket and the owners didn't pay up? He suspected that those men were there for him- or perhaps Katherine. As he glared at the half conscious man he was dragging, Keats looked forward to getting some answers.

Katherine gave Keats a look that was a cross between a withering glare and icy daggers.  "We'll talk in the car."  Then she paused, purse on one arm, pie cradled in the other. "Then again, you take the bleeding man in YOUR car, I'll meet you at 431 Willits avenue, pull around back, there's a small house with an attached garage.  Park your car in the garage.  Leave the guy in the car." 

She huffed off to her Packard and threw the pie on the front seat, seeing her dad was exciting, discharging her weapon had been exhilarating but she was shocked at her willingness to draw her gun and well, the rest  felt weirdly familiar.  She wondered if Keats was always so gun happy, and if so, why?  She drove to her small Mother-in-Law cottage and parked her car on the street, then gave the pie to her elderly landlady.  By the time she was done Keats was pulling into the drive way.  

"God I hope this goes well." 

As Katherine gave her father a hard look, Keats returned it calmly. He had nothing to apologize for. What did she expect him to do? Wordlessly, he finished dragging the unconscious thug to his car. Best to get away before the cops arrived, even if they were well paid. With the thug in the back seat, Keats drove 5 under the speed limit as he made his way to the address Katherine mentioned. As he drove, his mind evaluated approaching cars and passerby for potential threats; he also was trying to figure out what the hell had happened. Were they after him? He'd certainly made enemies in the last few decades. Or Katherine? Was it the truck thing, coming back to bite them? 

Parking the car, Keats grabbed a mostly clean gardening canvas and brought it into Katherine's place before dumping the thug on it. The bleeding man moaned; it seemed like he was waking it. 

Whoever it was, he'd find out. And he'd handle it.

"Where do you want this guy?"