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complain about. I won that huge teddy bear for her at one of the carnival games.”
    “Shooting gallery?” Perez asked, a ham-handed approach to see if he could find out a little something about the man who might or might not have been involved with the girl’s murder.
    “God no, I hate guns,” Charlie said emphatically. “My dad made me take firearms safety when I was twelve. No idea why, as we never went hunting, and there were no guns in the house, at least not that I ever knew of. I learned pretty quick that I’m no marksman. I can’t shoot for shit. Besides, I’m not sure I’ve ever been in a situation where a gun would have made things any better. I kinda don’t see the point,” Charlie said. “No offense.” He smiled and nodded in the direction of Perez’s gun. 
    “Have you been in a lot of situations where guns were used?” Perez asked.
    Nikki shot him a strange glare, as if she thought it was a dumb or poorly executed question.
    “I was speaking in generalities,” Charlie said. “Personally, I try to avoid talking about them altogether, as they seem to be something of a hot-button issue these days. When I was coming into town, I saw someone with a bumper sticker that said ‘Piss off a liberal. Buy a gun.’ What’s that supposed to mean? That we should go around pissing each other off? Or the flip side, placing blame where it doesn’t belong? I mean…” Charlie looked down at Perez’s holster. “Well…what kind of gun do you carry?”
    Perez hesitated a moment but found no reason not to tell him. He slightly turned his hip away from Charlie, defensively, and answered, “Sig P225.”
    “Okay. What if your Sig P225 was used in some kind of a shooting and people started to picket outside of Sig Incorporated or something?” Charlie stopped and looked at Nikki when she snickered.
    “It’s Sig Sauer, not Sig Inc.,” she said with a smile, clearly finding his naivety endearing.
    “Sorry,” Charlie said. “I don’t know guns too well. Anyway, if that happened, would you stop carrying that particular type of gun, even if they were still legal?”
    “Um…well, I—” Perez could barely follow Charlie’s train of thought and desperately wanted to start asking close-ended questions.
    “Of course you wouldn’t, because you’re a law enforcement officer. People go around yelling about this and that, picketing, loading up their cars with bullshit bumper stickers, and trying to get each other mad, when they really oughtta just sit down and talk things out like the civilized, rational human beings we’re supposed to be.”
    Perez felt a tension headache coming on and decided it was time to excuse himself to the bathroom in hopes that his partner, Sergeant Nikki Hamill, would be a little better suited to listen to the  ramblings of the man with the weird hat. He promptly made his way to the men’s room and splashed cold water on his face. He didn’t sleep much anymore and coffee didn’t always do the trick, especially when it came to ramblings of meth heads, trailer trash, or Charlie Kelly.
    When Perez exited the bathroom only moments later, he found Nikki talking up a streak, and Charlie leaning back in his chair with a smooth smile on his face, that hat perched on his head like he was just happy to be there.
    “I mean, come on. What choice did I really have? It was either join up or get my criminal justice degree and join the force,” Nikki said, her body leaning toward Charlie.
    Charlie just smiled and nodded, as if he agreed with every word she said.
    Perez made a point of shutting the door louder than he needed to, and the two new buddies turned to look at him.
    “Hey, Sergeant Perez,” Charlie said. “I was just getting acquainted with your partner here.”
    “So I see,” Perez said, making no attempt to hide his blatantly judgmental stare. “Look, Mr. Kelly, I’m sorry about your friend and appreciate your answering our questions. Do you think you’re just about done