It was Friday 13th July, but it felt more like April 1st. I’d collected my luggage, and was on my way out of the JFK airport when a uniformed officer stopped me. 

“Come with me, sir.”

 He turned on his heels, and I followed like a little puppy. He stopped by an open door and smiled, indicating that I should enter. Inside, was a long display cabinet. “Take your pick, sir… whichever one takes your fancy.”

I stared at the objects is the cases for a few moments, wondering what to say. I’d read on the news about these things being offered to foreigners arriving in New York, but naturally I hadn’t taken the reports very seriously.

“They’re guns!” I replied.

“Very observant of you sir.”
“What’re they for?”
“One of them is for you sir, for defending yourself. For killing people, if necessary.” He wasn’t smiling. 

“Well, that’s very kind of you, officer,” I replied, semi-sarcastically, “but I don’t really think…”

“Don’t think, sir, just choose one,” the man commanded, blocking my exit. I didn’t know what to do next, but my mother had always told me to always accept gifts from people in uniform – even if you didn’t want them. But which one?

“What are the, er, selection criteria?”

“Entirely up to you, sir. But I’d strongly recommend a hand-gun, rather than a rifle or machine-gun. Something you can keep on your person.”

“Well, if you really insist…”

“I do sir! Take the freaking gun now!”

“Okay, okay!” I replied. “I’ll have this one.” I pointed towards a cowboy-style revolver with a walnut handle. He carefully removed the firearm from the case, and I accepted the gun, holding it in my hands. God, it was heavy! “How much do I, er…”

“It’s a free loan, courtesy of the people of New York, sir. It’s a legal requirement to carry a gun in the city these days – everyone has to. You just have to return it when you check in for your flight home. Assuming you will be taking a flight home…”

“What?”

“I mean, you might be flying to another destination after your stay in New York… San Francisco perhaps? Have a nice day sir.”

Had the World gone mad, I wondered, placing the revolver carefully in my shoulder bag as I headed for the taxi rank. Whatever next! 

Outside the air was heavy and humid with the smell of… was that gun smoke? I was glad not to have to wait long for a yellow cab. I put my case in the trunk, as they call it over there, and took my seat in the rear of the vehicle.

“Welcome to New York sir… where to?” I gave the Indian-looking driver my taxi card for the Edison Hotel (close to Broadway) which I’d kept from my last trip to the Big Apple.

“Know it, sir… we’ll be there in just under twenty minutes, god willing.” I didn’t like the sound of his ‘god-willing’, and I was even more uncomfortable when he looked back at me through his rear-view mirror and said: “Anything you need whilst you’re in New York sir? Bullets, body bags, insurance? My brother can get you very good deals in this merchandise.”

“What has got into people here!” I exclaimed. “Can it be so dangerous that everyone must carry a gun? What about policemen, or law enforcement officers, as you call them here? Surely it’s their job the protect people like me!”

The driver chuckled. “That’s funny sir, real funny. Did you know that if a distinguished gentleman like yourself gets shot in New York City, you can be eighty-five percent certain that the cops did it.” 

I sank back in my chair. What was the world coming to!

Arriving at the hotel, the driver opened the trunk automatically without stepping outside the vehicle. So no help with my case then. “You have a nice day sir,” he called, without looking back at me, “and keep your head down as you exit the vehicle.” 

Naturally, I thought he meant be careful about hitting my head on the low-roofed sedan, and I couldn’t resist quipping, “Thanks I will… I don’t want to get caught in the gunfire, do I!”

“Exactly right sir,” he smiled as he sped off. Seconds later I heard the ping-ping sound of bullets hitting metal, no more than a couple of metres away.

“Jesus!” I exclaimed as I ran for cover. 

“He’s not going to help you,” grinned the doorman as he opened the hotel door for me. I staggered over to reception to check in, my nerves completely frazzled.

“What on Earth is going on out there?” I asked the clerk, pointing outside. He looked puzzled. “The gunfire – outside – the bloody gunfire! What’s going on?” 

“Oh, that’s perfectly normal sir, though it can be quite heavy during July and August. Do you have any body armour? We stock a very nice designer range with a fifteen percent discount for Edison guests.” I shook my head in disbelief and accepted my key card.

A porter showed me to my room and I was glad to close the door and escape the crazy world I’d landed in. The room felt quite muggy. I wanted to open the windows to let in some fresh air, but found they were all sealed closed. I was about to phone reception to ask them why, when the now familiar sound of gun fire could be heard outside. So, let’s forget about opening the windows, shall we? Drowning out the sound was my best option, so on went the television. The first channel I tried was a gangster movie, the second was a cowboy flick, and the third was an educational programme on how to use firearms safely without killing your children. Apparently, an early programme – one aimed at young kids – talked about how to use firearms safely without killing your parents. I flung the TV remote into the corner of the room in frustration and lay on the bed.

 I was just dozing off when I heard the sound of something flicked under my door. Oh, I knew what that was. I’d spent enough time in hotels to familiarize myself with cards bearing photos of scantily-clad, sexy beauties advertising their nightly services in your own hotel room. I picked up one of the two cards: I was wrong. ‘Gun Party 2Night!’ the card proclaimed, with pictures of crazy guys and girls shooting at everything in sight. Give me the scantily-clad girls anytime. 

***

The next morning, I was on my way down to breakfast when one of the receptionists called me over.

“The manager heard that you seemed a little nervous when you checked in yesterday sir, and he wants me to assure you that you’re perfectly safe in this hotel. Gunfire is not permitted within the hotel building, except on the firing range on the second-floor, where you can practise your aim. Also, the hotel has specially-toughened bullet-proof glass installed throughout, so don’t worry about that.” 

“Thank you,” I replied, “very comforting. I’m just off to breakfast now… okay to take my gun?”

“No problem sir, handguns are allowed in the dining area, though you cannot fire bullets, naturally. Automatic rifles and machine guns are strictly prohibited during breakfast and lunch, but okay for outside on the patio after dinner.” 

“How about hand-grenades?” I mocked.
“Again, okay on the patio between seven and nine-thirty.” 

I shook my head in disbelief and made my way over to the dining hall, where I had a look at what was on offer. A middle-aged man was picking up some sliced ham from the buffet.

“What’s the selection criteria? I asked.”
“Oh, anything that takes your fancy. They’ve got a nice seafood section in the corner.” Then he stopped and looked up at me. “How are you enjoying the show?” he smiled. I assumed he meant the Broadway shows. 

“Actually, I just arrived last night – no time to catch a show yet…”
“I mean the wild-west show – the gun-fire outside! You didn’t think that was for real, did you?” 
“What? You mean it’s just fake?” The man nodded. “What about the gun I was given at the airport?”
“They fool everyone with that one!” he grinned. “I bet they tell you it’s a legal requirement to carry a gun in the city now.” 

“Actually, they did!”
“What did I tell you! Come with me,” he said putting down his breakfast plate.  

I was reluctant to follow him at first, but he insisted. “Don’t be shy! You’ll see that it’s all just a show.” I followed him like a pet dog onto the balcony. It was only nine in the morning, but already the air was heavy with gun smoke, with the sound of gun fire in the distance. I clung to the building, still not convinced that this wasn’t real.  “Come on, come and see the show!” the man goaded me. I carefully made my way out onto the far reaches of the balcony overlooking the main road. The gun fire seemed to get nearer, and nearer… and then the man was hit! He recoiled momentarily with the impact, then looked at me and smiled. “You see? Hardly felt a thing!” The shot was a blank, and all this was just entertainment – a Disneyland experience in the heart of New York City!

“Bring it on!” I announced, standing proudly on the balcony. Seconds later, I was also hit. The impact threw me to the ground, and I automatically clutched my left shoulder. There was blood!
“Shoot!” the man exclaimed. “Aren’t you wearing body armour?”
I passed out. 

***
When I came to, I was in a hospital – with a nurse looking at me lovingly. “Ah, glad to see you awake sir! How are you feeling?” 

I tried to stretch my body, then realised I had no feeling in my left arm. And then I noticed it was completely missing! I passed out, again.

I awoke for the second time to see a male doctor looking at me sympathetically. “Sorry for the shock… and sorry for your loss. We tried to save the arm, but it was not possible. However, we do have a range of prosthetic limbs that you can choose from…”
He pulled back a curtain to reveal an array of false limbs – all left arms. I stared at them in total disbelief, then turned back to the doctor. 

“Okay,” I sighed deeply, “what are the selection criteria?”

END.