GUN CONTROL
By
ELLIOTT CAPON
Joey Penner made sure he hadn't missed any spots while shaving, brushed his teeth twice and used hair
spray. He put on a brand new shirt and a sport jacket that was still in the plastic bag from the cleaners.
He was sure that they could--and would--turn anyone down for any arbitrary reasons whatsoever, and
he wasn't going to let his appearance turn anyone off.
Sloping Valley was two hundred and eleven miles from the state capitol, and while the police department
shared little of the fabulous criminal forensics technology that their colleagues in the large city did, they
did have a 911 system and each officer had one of those little radios strapped to his shoulder and they
even had two female officers (one was the desk sergeant Wednesday through Sunday, and the other
headed and totally composed the police department's Social Services/Sex Crimes/Child Abuse/Battered
Spouse division. She was thankful in a way that most of the time she had nothing to do). The Sloping
Valley Police Department had direct hotlines to the state police and law enforcement offices in neighboring
communities. But most important, at least to Joey Penner, they had all the licensing forms.
Hunting, fishing, commercial development, marriage, dog, putting up a new fence...you name it, and
some facet of government had their hand out before you could do ahead and do it. Almost all license
forms had to go through someone at the state capitol, someone in a room filled with paper and a window
overlooking the parking lot. The Town Council of Sloping Valley, in their infinite desire to make the town
as pleasant a place to live as possible, had struck deals with the various departments of the state
government so that no Slope (as they goodnaturedly called each other) need drive the two hundred and
eleven miles to the state capitol or the sixty-four miles to the county seat. They'd determined that the
easiest thing to do would be for every conceivable license application and request form to be made
available right there in town. And since there was no functioning Town Hall as such (the town's Business
Manager was a practicing attorney who handled most of the day to day business right out of his private
office; the Town Council met every Monday night at the Legion Hall in public and generally friendly and
straightforward meetings), it had been determined that all such accommodations would be found at the
police station, a converted ex-feed and grain store in front of which some wag had put a sign that said:
'Sloping Valley Police Department. Ten Cops, No Waiting' and which was still there three years later.
Sloping Valley was, by all criteria, a very nice place to live.
Joey Penner carefully stopped his car at the curb not far from the police station and almost reverently
put a dime into the parking meter, leasing him two hours of space on West Main Street. Making sure he
didn't slouch or in any way present an unpleasant figure, he entered the police station.
Acting Sergeant Kay Carter was behind the desk this Friday morning and she really had nothing to do.
Car One was helping a disabled motorist out on the county road, Car Two was on a Code 4 coffee break,
and Car Three was at the grammar school's auditorium, giving an anti-drug lecture to a bunch of awed
second through fifth-graders. She was actually pleased to see someone come in through the front door
and she displayed a genuine smile.
Joey Penner calculated how much eye contact he should make as he approached the desk: he didn't want
to seem shifty, nor did he want to appear to be challenging the woman behind the counter. So he met
her eyes as he entered the building, shifted to some posters, caught her eye again, looked at a display of
antique guns, then held her eyes for the final approach. All in eight steps.
"Good morning," Acting Sergeant Carter said. "Can I help you with something?"
"Um, yes, please," Joey said, making sure to keep his voice steady and firm, yet friendly. He did not
want to seem to be guilty about doing something wrong--which he wasn't--nor did he want to seem
overbearing. "I need an application for a license."
Kay Carter was a little disappointed, but she didn't show it. She'd kind of been hoping that this man
had walked in to report that he'd uncovered a hidden cache of drugs or guns, or a jumbo jetliner had
crashed in the high school athletic field. Something to...well, liven up the day. Alas, this was Sloping
Valley, not Dodge City. She nodded and pointed to a table across the room.
"All the forms are there," she said. "Fill out the one you need and then just bring it back to me. Okay?"
Joey met her smile and said, "Okay, sure. Thank you."
He went over to the other side of the room. Kay went back to putting State Police bulletins in
chronological order.
There was a table that ran most of the length of the room, pushed right up against the long window.
Neatly stacked on top of the table, in white, blue, green, canary, and pink, were dozens of different
license application forms. The seventh one Joey looked at (pink) was the one he needed.
APPLICATION FOR LICENSE TO POSSESS FIREARMS, it said, along with lots of indecipherable numbers
citing state laws and codes and sections and words like 'pursuant' and 'amended' and 'ratified.' Joey
took an envelope from one jacket pocket and a brand-new pen from the other and began to fill out the
application.
NAME: Joseph Roy Penner [he wrote].
ADDRESS: 23 Cornwall Street, Sloping Valley
TELEPHONE: 952-555-9751
OCCUPATION: Store owner
NAME/PLACE OF BUSINESS: Friendly Hardware, County Mall, County Road 42, North Hills
FIREARM DESIRED:
Joey had been very conscientious. He opened the envelope he had brought with him and shook out the
carefully-folded papers. He opened one and copied the information.
FIREARM DESIRED: Bradley & Smith #870 Shotgun
PLACE OF FIREARM PURCHASE: Domenico's Sporting and Hunting, Regional Mall, State Highway 12,
Brookdale
STATEMENT OF INTENT TO SELL? YES/NO (IF YES, ATTACH, IF NO, PROVIDE EXPLANATION)
Joey unfolded another piece of paper from his envelope. It was a photocopy of a preprinted form, with
the necessary blanks filled in, which he had received from Domenico's when he had inquired about
purchasing the shotgun, stating that a person who had proved his identity to the satisfaction of said
Domenico's had inquired about the purchase of a B&S #870, and that said person had been instructed
to apply for the proper license, and that said person had been informed about the state law (number so
and so, amended and ratified and coded and whatnot) mandating a waiting period of fifteen to thirty
days before Domenico's would sell said person said weapon, etc.
PURPOSE/PROPOSED USE OF FIREARM:
Joey Penner took a deep breath and wrote:
To shoot large and noisy crows causing disturbance at place of residence.
There were other lines of desired information, such as military service, education, references, arrests,
etc. Joey took his time and filled out the entire form neatly and carefully. He took the shiny paperclip he
had spilled from the envelope and used it to attach to the license application the statement from
Domenico's, a photocopy of his driver's license, a copy of his honorable discharge from the U.S. Navy,
and two original utility bills to prove his address. He clipped them together very carefully, very evenly,
and walked back to the counter, where he handed the papers to Acting Sergeant Kay Carter. And then
he just stood there with a small smile.
She gave him another quick smile and glanced at the form. "Shotgun, huh?" she asked. "Mmmhmm,
yes," he agreed.
She scanned the form. "Birds giving you a hard time?" and her smile this time was one of people
sharing an embarrassing little secret.
"Yes, they're very noisy," Joey said. "Sometimes I can't even sleep. They start right at the crack of
dawn and don't shut up until well after midnight."
"Have you tried other ways to get rid of them?" she asked. It was her duty to help citizens any way she
could.
"Yes, but nothing seems to work," Joey sighed.
Acting Sergeant Carter flipped through the other papers. "Well, you sure did your homework, Mr.
Penner. I don't know, I mean, I'm not a licensing expert, but I can't see why you wouldn't get the
permit. Everything here looks fine. It's just you might have to put up with the noise for another thirty
days or so."
Joey's polite smile turned into a grin. "I know. It's the state's gun control laws. They've got to check
me out. But that's good. You can't be too careful with guns, and who gets them."
"You're not kidding," Kay Carter said. "There's too many people out there who have firearms who
shouldn't be allowed to handle silverware. This stuff--" she wiggled the papers--"it's not the answer, but
it helps a little bit."
"And a little bit is better than nothing," Joey said. "Umm, well, if you'll excuse me, Officer, I've got to
open the store."
"Sure," she said. "You'll hear right from the state. Good luck."
"Thank you," Joey said, and he left.
Acting Sergeant Kay Carter put the application in the Chief's in-box. The Chief was actually a Captain,
but he was the highest-ranking of the dozen cops on the Sloping Valley force, so he drew a little extra
pay as administrator. When he got back later that morning from his lecture at the grammar school, he
went through his accumulated paperwork. He opened the phone book twice, to see that one Joseph
Penner was indeed listed at 23 Cornwall Street and that there was indeed a Friendly Hardware in the
North Hills strip mall. He called Domenico's over in Brookdale and verified that this Penner had inquired
after a B&S #870 and had met all the proper criteria. The Captain/Chief initialed his OK on the license
application and put it with the rest of the mail that went by Express Mail every other day to the state
capitol.
A clerk in the State Police headquarters was routed Joey Penner's application papers four days later.
She entered the information onto a computer. When she got to his reason for desiring a shotgun, she
cross-referenced a software package that compared grounds for wanting to possess firearms with all the
laws passed by the State Legislature. Section This, Subsection That, Paragraph The Other, the computer
told her in a matter of fifteen seconds, held that the elimination of certain vermin including but not
exclusive to, rats, gophers, moles, voles, mice, squirrels, and pigeons was a valid and lawful reason for
possessing the following types of firearms, among which were the B&S #870. She called up another
software program that automatically printed out letters of inquiry and confirmation to Domenico's, the
U.S. Navy, the utility companies, police departments in four adjoining states, and the county Tax
Department. All told, it took her less than six minutes to process Joey Penner's application.
When the replies dribbled back in over the course of the next three weeks, the same clerk stuck them in
a file with Joey's name and social security number. When she received the last answer, she took a fast
look and noted that everything seemed to jibe with the information the applicant had put down. She
passed the completed file to a Senior Clerk at the State Police's Firearms Control Bureau, and it only took
her ten minutes to approve Joey Penner's right to possess a shotgun for the purpose of shooting at
some noisy crows.
His license was mailed out twenty-seven days after he had first walked into the Sloping Valley police
station, and he got it the next day.
Two days later he went back to Domenico's in the nearby town of Brookdale and purchased a Bradley
and Smith #870 shotgun and a box of shells. He spent a good half hour there as George Domenico, the
owner, explained how to safely use the weapon, and promised to attend a gun-safety course sponsored
every other month by the local Red Cross chapter.
That evening, shortly after eight, Joey Penner loaded his shotgun and went out his back door. He
walked across his yard and through a gap in the hedges into the yard of his next-door neighbors. As
was common in Sloping Valley, their back door was unlocked. He entered the house.
Four people, a middle-aged man and woman, and two teenaged boys, were sitting in the living room
watching TV. While the man could be said to be obese, the woman and the boys were merely
overweight. They all gaped at Joey as he entered their living room from their kitchen. One of the boys
spilled popcorn on the floor.
"This is for your damn radio blasting all night!" he said, and fired two barrels into one of the boys.
Thanks to hours of practice, he was able to reload in less than four seconds. "And this is for you and
your friends drinking beer and shouting obscenities in the backyard under my window all summer!" he
said, and fired two barrels into the other boy.
The man was struggling to get out of his chair, but his obesity held him back. The woman was keening.
Joey reloaded.
"This is for your filthy garbage cans which you never cover and I've got your crap all over my front
yard!" Joey said, and fired twice into the woman.
Joey reloaded the shotgun just as the man got to his feet. "And this is for your damn car with its damn
muffler scraping the ground every time you pull in and out in the middle of the damn night because
you're so damn fat!" He fired twice into the man's abdomen, then reloaded and gave him two more, just
in case.
He shut the TV off and relished the quiet. Four people lay in various contorted positions half-on the
living room furniture, half-on the floor. Their wounds were so massive, so explosive, that there wasn't
even the split-splat of dripping blood. There was just silence...dead silence.
"That's better," Joey said.
He went back through the kitchen and out the back door. As he carefully and quietly closed the door
behind him, he paid no attention to the rubber mat he was standing on. It said:
WELCOME TO OUR "NEST"
THE CROWS
By
ELLIOTT CAPON
Joey Penner made sure he hadn't missed any spots while shaving, brushed his teeth twice and used hair
spray. He put on a brand new shirt and a sport jacket that was still in the plastic bag from the cleaners.
He was sure that they could--and would--turn anyone down for any arbitrary reasons whatsoever, and
he wasn't going to let his appearance turn anyone off.
Sloping Valley was two hundred and eleven miles from the state capitol, and while the police department
shared little of the fabulous criminal forensics technology that their colleagues in the large city did, they
did have a 911 system and each officer had one of those little radios strapped to his shoulder and they
even had two female officers (one was the desk sergeant Wednesday through Sunday, and the other
headed and totally composed the police department's Social Services/Sex Crimes/Child Abuse/Battered
Spouse division. She was thankful in a way that most of the time she had nothing to do). The Sloping
Valley Police Department had direct hotlines to the state police and law enforcement offices in neighboring
communities. But most important, at least to Joey Penner, they had all the licensing forms.
Hunting, fishing, commercial development, marriage, dog, putting up a new fence...you name it, and
some facet of government had their hand out before you could do ahead and do it. Almost all license
forms had to go through someone at the state capitol, someone in a room filled with paper and a window
overlooking the parking lot. The Town Council of Sloping Valley, in their infinite desire to make the town
as pleasant a place to live as possible, had struck deals with the various departments of the state
government so that no Slope (as they goodnaturedly called each other) need drive the two hundred and
eleven miles to the state capitol or the sixty-four miles to the county seat. They'd determined that the
easiest thing to do would be for every conceivable license application and request form to be made
available right there in town. And since there was no functioning Town Hall as such (the town's Business
Manager was a practicing attorney who handled most of the day to day business right out of his private
office; the Town Council met every Monday night at the Legion Hall in public and generally friendly and
straightforward meetings), it had been determined that all such accommodations would be found at the
police station, a converted ex-feed and grain store in front of which some wag had put a sign that said:
'Sloping Valley Police Department. Ten Cops, No Waiting' and which was still there three years later.
Sloping Valley was, by all criteria, a very nice place to live.
Joey Penner carefully stopped his car at the curb not far from the police station and almost reverently
put a dime into the parking meter, leasing him two hours of space on West Main Street. Making sure he
didn't slouch or in any way present an unpleasant figure, he entered the police station.
Acting Sergeant Kay Carter was behind the desk this Friday morning and she really had nothing to do.
Car One was helping a disabled motorist out on the county road, Car Two was on a Code 4 coffee break,
and Car Three was at the grammar school's auditorium, giving an anti-drug lecture to a bunch of awed
second through fifth-graders. She was actually pleased to see someone come in through the front door
and she displayed a genuine smile.
Joey Penner calculated how much eye contact he should make as he approached the desk: he didn't want
to seem shifty, nor did he want to appear to be challenging the woman behind the counter. So he met
her eyes as he entered the building, shifted to some posters, caught her eye again, looked at a display of
antique guns, then held her eyes for the final approach. All in eight steps.
"Good morning," Acting Sergeant Carter said. "Can I help you with something?"
"Um, yes, please," Joey said, making sure to keep his voice steady and firm, yet friendly. He did not
want to seem to be guilty about doing something wrong--which he wasn't--nor did he want to seem
overbearing. "I need an application for a license."
Kay Carter was a little disappointed, but she didn't show it. She'd kind of been hoping that this man
had walked in to report that he'd uncovered a hidden cache of drugs or guns, or a jumbo jetliner had
crashed in the high school athletic field. Something to...well, liven up the day. Alas, this was Sloping
Valley, not Dodge City. She nodded and pointed to a table across the room.
"All the forms are there," she said. "Fill out the one you need and then just bring it back to me. Okay?"
Joey met her smile and said, "Okay, sure. Thank you."
He went over to the other side of the room. Kay went back to putting State Police bulletins in
chronological order.
There was a table that ran most of the length of the room, pushed right up against the long window.
Neatly stacked on top of the table, in white, blue, green, canary, and pink, were dozens of different
license application forms. The seventh one Joey looked at (pink) was the one he needed.
APPLICATION FOR LICENSE TO POSSESS FIREARMS, it said, along with lots of indecipherable numbers
citing state laws and codes and sections and words like 'pursuant' and 'amended' and 'ratified.' Joey
took an envelope from one jacket pocket and a brand-new pen from the other and began to fill out the
application.
NAME: Joseph Roy Penner [he wrote].
ADDRESS: 23 Cornwall Street, Sloping Valley
TELEPHONE: 952-555-9751
OCCUPATION: Store owner
NAME/PLACE OF BUSINESS: Friendly Hardware, County Mall, County Road 42, North Hills
FIREARM DESIRED:
Joey had been very conscientious. He opened the envelope he had brought with him and shook out the
carefully-folded papers. He opened one and copied the information.
FIREARM DESIRED: Bradley & Smith #870 Shotgun
PLACE OF FIREARM PURCHASE: Domenico's Sporting and Hunting, Regional Mall, State Highway 12,
Brookdale
STATEMENT OF INTENT TO SELL? YES/NO (IF YES, ATTACH, IF NO, PROVIDE EXPLANATION)
Joey unfolded another piece of paper from his envelope. It was a photocopy of a preprinted form, with
the necessary blanks filled in, which he had received from Domenico's when he had inquired about
purchasing the shotgun, stating that a person who had proved his identity to the satisfaction of said
Domenico's had inquired about the purchase of a B&S #870, and that said person had been instructed
to apply for the proper license, and that said person had been informed about the state law (number so
and so, amended and ratified and coded and whatnot) mandating a waiting period of fifteen to thirty
days before Domenico's would sell said person said weapon, etc.
PURPOSE/PROPOSED USE OF FIREARM:
Joey Penner took a deep breath and wrote:
To shoot large and noisy crows causing disturbance at place of residence.
There were other lines of desired information, such as military service, education, references, arrests,
etc. Joey took his time and filled out the entire form neatly and carefully. He took the shiny paperclip he
had spilled from the envelope and used it to attach to the license application the statement from
Domenico's, a photocopy of his driver's license, a copy of his honorable discharge from the U.S. Navy,
and two original utility bills to prove his address. He clipped them together very carefully, very evenly,
and walked back to the counter, where he handed the papers to Acting Sergeant Kay Carter. And then
he just stood there with a small smile.
She gave him another quick smile and glanced at the form. "Shotgun, huh?" she asked. "Mmmhmm,
yes," he agreed.
She scanned the form. "Birds giving you a hard time?" and her smile this time was one of people
sharing an embarrassing little secret.
"Yes, they're very noisy," Joey said. "Sometimes I can't even sleep. They start right at the crack of
dawn and don't shut up until well after midnight."
"Have you tried other ways to get rid of them?" she asked. It was her duty to help citizens any way she
could.
"Yes, but nothing seems to work," Joey sighed.
Acting Sergeant Carter flipped through the other papers. "Well, you sure did your homework, Mr.
Penner. I don't know, I mean, I'm not a licensing expert, but I can't see why you wouldn't get the
permit. Everything here looks fine. It's just you might have to put up with the noise for another thirty
days or so."
Joey's polite smile turned into a grin. "I know. It's the state's gun control laws. They've got to check
me out. But that's good. You can't be too careful with guns, and who gets them."
"You're not kidding," Kay Carter said. "There's too many people out there who have firearms who
shouldn't be allowed to handle silverware. This stuff--" she wiggled the papers--"it's not the answer, but
it helps a little bit."
"And a little bit is better than nothing," Joey said. "Umm, well, if you'll excuse me, Officer, I've got to
open the store."
"Sure," she said. "You'll hear right from the state. Good luck."
"Thank you," Joey said, and he left.
Acting Sergeant Kay Carter put the application in the Chief's in-box. The Chief was actually a Captain,
but he was the highest-ranking of the dozen cops on the Sloping Valley force, so he drew a little extra
pay as administrator. When he got back later that morning from his lecture at the grammar school, he
went through his accumulated paperwork. He opened the phone book twice, to see that one Joseph
Penner was indeed listed at 23 Cornwall Street and that there was indeed a Friendly Hardware in the
North Hills strip mall. He called Domenico's over in Brookdale and verified that this Penner had inquired
after a B&S #870 and had met all the proper criteria. The Captain/Chief initialed his OK on the license
application and put it with the rest of the mail that went by Express Mail every other day to the state
capitol.
A clerk in the State Police headquarters was routed Joey Penner's application papers four days later.
She entered the information onto a computer. When she got to his reason for desiring a shotgun, she
cross-referenced a software package that compared grounds for wanting to possess firearms with all the
laws passed by the State Legislature. Section This, Subsection That, Paragraph The Other, the computer
told her in a matter of fifteen seconds, held that the elimination of certain vermin including but not
exclusive to, rats, gophers, moles, voles, mice, squirrels, and pigeons was a valid and lawful reason for
possessing the following types of firearms, among which were the B&S #870. She called up another
software program that automatically printed out letters of inquiry and confirmation to Domenico's, the
U.S. Navy, the utility companies, police departments in four adjoining states, and the county Tax
Department. All told, it took her less than six minutes to process Joey Penner's application.
When the replies dribbled back in over the course of the next three weeks, the same clerk stuck them in
a file with Joey's name and social security number. When she received the last answer, she took a fast
look and noted that everything seemed to jibe with the information the applicant had put down. She
passed the completed file to a Senior Clerk at the State Police's Firearms Control Bureau, and it only took
her ten minutes to approve Joey Penner's right to possess a shotgun for the purpose of shooting at
some noisy crows.
His license was mailed out twenty-seven days after he had first walked into the Sloping Valley police
station, and he got it the next day.
Two days later he went back to Domenico's in the nearby town of Brookdale and purchased a Bradley
and Smith #870 shotgun and a box of shells. He spent a good half hour there as George Domenico, the
owner, explained how to safely use the weapon, and promised to attend a gun-safety course sponsored
every other month by the local Red Cross chapter.
That evening, shortly after eight, Joey Penner loaded his shotgun and went out his back door. He
walked across his yard and through a gap in the hedges into the yard of his next-door neighbors. As
was common in Sloping Valley, their back door was unlocked. He entered the house.
Four people, a middle-aged man and woman, and two teenaged boys, were sitting in the living room
watching TV. While the man could be said to be obese, the woman and the boys were merely
overweight. They all gaped at Joey as he entered their living room from their kitchen. One of the boys
spilled popcorn on the floor.
"This is for your damn radio blasting all night!" he said, and fired two barrels into one of the boys.
Thanks to hours of practice, he was able to reload in less than four seconds. "And this is for you and
your friends drinking beer and shouting obscenities in the backyard under my window all summer!" he
said, and fired two barrels into the other boy.
The man was struggling to get out of his chair, but his obesity held him back. The woman was keening.
Joey reloaded.
"This is for your filthy garbage cans which you never cover and I've got your crap all over my front
yard!" Joey said, and fired twice into the woman.
Joey reloaded the shotgun just as the man got to his feet. "And this is for your damn car with its damn
muffler scraping the ground every time you pull in and out in the middle of the damn night because
you're so damn fat!" He fired twice into the man's abdomen, then reloaded and gave him two more, just
in case.
He shut the TV off and relished the quiet. Four people lay in various contorted positions half-on the
living room furniture, half-on the floor. Their wounds were so massive, so explosive, that there wasn't
even the split-splat of dripping blood. There was just silence...dead silence.
"That's better," Joey said.
He went back through the kitchen and out the back door. As he carefully and quietly closed the door
behind him, he paid no attention to the rubber mat he was standing on. It said:
WELCOME TO OUR "NEST"
THE CROWS
