I doubt that any of you have been in this situation.
Micky and I had a quiet, romantic dinner this evening. We talked about many different things and remembered some past events. I can't recall
exactly what sparked me to remember this story, but we talked about it.
This is a true story.
About one week from Christmas, in 1991 or 1992, I got a call from a client
who lived close to me, less than 1KM. He believed that he had a virus on
his computer and asked if I could come over and check it out. This was when I still had my computer business. I went over to his house and noticed that he looked "unusual". Thinking nothing of it, I followed him
up the stairs to his office, which was in his home, and started to check out his PC.
While I was doing this, he asks me if I wanted a drink.
I accepted and he pours me a hefty shot of Canadian Club with water as mix.
I can find nothing wrong with his PC and he proceeds to tell me how a cab driver in Miami, Florida killed a mutual friend. I am shocked, but find out that it is just bad luck for our mutual friend who suffered a heart attack in a restaurant and the cabbie didn't get our friend to the hospital on time and so, blamed the cabbie for our friend's death.
My client had been drinking whiskey for two days and had no sleep as I was to soon find out.
I didn't want to be there but I couldn't really leave. His wife was very upset and frightened.
Sitting on a large couch, sipping my CC, he goes over to his desk and pulls out two handguns. One is a .357 Magnum. The other is a Colt .45 Desert Eagle.
"Are you a hunter, Dennis ?" he asks
"No", I say
He picks up the .357 Magnum and says
"Get hit with a bullet from this and you don't call an ambulance...
You call the undertaker..."
I am a bit worried as I can see clips and ammo nearby.
He picks up the Desert Eagle, (beautiful piece of craftsmanship) and aims it at different things.
"Don't worry, they aren't loaded" he says.
The clips and ammo are close by and I begin to wonder if I am ever
going to walk out of there. My heart is beating a bit on the fast side.
He wants to go to Miami and end the cabbie's life or his own. The alcohol
makes him totally unpredictable.
This is serious stuff and now I have to try and talk this man out of doing
something that he is perfectly capable of doing.
The guns are on the table, in plain view. He sits on a couch opposite me and proceeds to say how crappy his life is. I say to myself that if he goes
for the ammo, I will do what I can to prevent him from reaching it.
I don't know my client very well, but I know a few things about him.
His wife is shaking and she is in tears. She thinks that he is going to do something to both of us. I can see the fear in her eyes.
Through all of this, I remain calm and do not raise my voice and behave in
a non threatening way. I couldn't explain it, but I was not afraid.
Over the course of about three hours, I talked and talked and talked.
He wants to drink more, but I keep him away from the whiskey and his mind away from out deceased friend. I tell his wife to make coffee and get some food. He drinks coffee and eats. Slowly he breaks down
and grieves for our friend.
Somewhere, around 11:00PM I made my way down the stairs, with him
going down first, and then left his home.
Micky was worried because I left around 6:30PM and she didn't know
what had happened to me.
When I walked through the front door, I immediately phoned my brother-in-law, who is a police officer and told him what happened.
He asked me one question
"Did you at any time fear for your life?"
"No" was my answer.
"Good, because if you said yes, he would be under arrest real quick"
I was not afraid, but I was ready to fight him if he even made a move for the ammo.
Something came up today that caused me to remember this. It still sends
a chill up my spine, even after all these years.
After that incident, I never made a housecall again, no matter what the client offered to pay me.
If this art thing fizzles out, maybe I would make a good diplomat or negotiator.