Towards the end of my federal law enforcement stint, I had been transferred to mid-sized city. Lot slower, lot less dangerous and a bit more enjoyable. One of the other feds from a sister agency owned a gun store and indoor range, which on weekends, we'd all tend to by way of helping him out.
One Saturday night, I'm sitting behind the counter all by my lonesome--not another shooter in sight--when these longhairs come walking in. I was a longhair "biker from hell" myself, but still looked at them funny.
They wanted to shoot and asked if they could rent some guns. I figured they'd go for the Uzi and Mac 11 we had for rent, but they wanted revolvers and one guy wanted the 1911.
Why the hell not?
I rented them weapons, gave them targets, asked if they were familiar with the weapons and was actually impressed with how they handled the guns--safely, respectfully and experienced like.
They shot for almost two hours, and still no other customers. When they finished up, one of them walked outside "Hey, let me get the money man." I'm checking under my jacket to make sure Mr. 1911 is ready to go when in comes this harried looking, long-haired older guy, pulling out a wallet crammed full of $100 bills.
He asks me what the damage is, and I tell him "No damage--the boys shot good," and he says, "No, how much do I owe you?" It was something like $125 for the four of them, and he gives me $500 and says, "Keep the change."
Now I'm really wondering what the hell is going on and then one of the shooters says something about "Let's get back to the hotel." I ask what they're doing in town and they say "Concert."
Turns out they were Pantera--back in their very early days.
I never have listened to hair-band music, so I had zilch clue who they were even when they told me. But they invited me onto the tour bus to look around and check it out.
Going up the steps, my Levi jacket pulled back and they saw my gun and gold badge. When they found out what kind of cop I was, I asked them if they still wanted me on their bus.
With zero hesitation, they all told me go right ahead and that I wouldn't find any drugs or even any alcohol on the bus--ever.
Strangely enough, I believed them. Helluva bunch of nice guys, damn good pistol shots, very respectful (yes sir, no sir, thank you sir, etc). They just looked like hell.
But that's just the old fart in me.
Jeff
You Met PANTERA!!
