Free Printable Gun Inventory Sheet Novels & Stories

She was hopeful that there would be no escaping and it would be an unnecessary precaution. She took a moment to go over the photos she had taken the night before as the team got into place, which was actually more for Aaron's benefit than her own, though she wouldn't admit it. She was armed with two Glocks, both in holsters on her hips. She decided the Beretta, their other typical weapon of choice, would be too cumbersome under the circumstances. Once she realized everyone was in place, she pulled a Glock out, and clicked the after-market safety off. She was just waiting for Cale to give his signal.

Cammie immediately interjects, “I want to hear what happened! I want to stay!” The Sheriff gives Robin the go ahead to carry on with his statement. Robin reluctantly carries on. “As I said, I had my rifle trained on one of the men, and I had my glock tucked away in my belt.” “I didn’t see another hand gun?” Cammie asks bewilderedly. Robin says, “it’s a back up I keep it in the back of the kitchen larder cupboard.”

"Someone put it there! You have to believe me!" The lead agent approached and looked at the gun, turning it over in his gloved hands. "Semi-automatic pistol, 9mm caliber. Serial number..." He tilted it towards the light, his fingers running over the metal. "...completely scratched off and impossible to read." He turned to me and, for the first time, looked me directly in the eyes. His gaze was neutral, professional. "Sophia Morgan, you are under arrest for possession of an illegal firearm. You have the right to remain silent..."

They noticed what the arguing soldier intended to do, and it put me on edge to see that they were not trying to stop him. I had a clearer view of the scene, but the man in question still backed me. I noticed the guns spread on the plastic table beside him. The shiny surface of the silver 40 calibre Smith and Wesson caught my eye. A Sig Sauer P238 was also among the clump and no one had to tell me. I sure as hell knew who this man was. There was only one person in this world that could carry as many weapons as these and still forget his ID and license. This time, I could imagine he would say he had left it on a kitchen cabinet or in his fridge…

There are three cell phones – one each from Tony the driver, Mailin, and Duplass, not to mention Duplass’s Bluetooth earpiece. There’s the contents from my backpack. The cash and credit cards are worthless, but there are several GPS trackers still left, plus some tubes of super glue. As for guns, we have five: one semi-automatic pistol from Grant, plus four more from the FBI – two from Mailin and Duplass, and two from their fallen comrades. All in all, there are about 100 bullets. Hopefully that will be more than enough. I stop hacking for a minute and stare at all the objects laid out on the table. They are pieces of a puzzle I have devised, but not yet put together.

As she walked up to me, she pulled out an old number book and set it in front of me, and beside it was a silver 9-millimeter. “What is this?” I asked Glancing up at me, she scoffed, “They’re a hobby of mine, okay? I like to collect things and this just happens to be one of the things I collect. I know I don’t seem like the kind of woman to own a gun, but I do, so let’s not make a big deal of it.”

I pressed. “This doesn’t even have a serial number,” Swift stated. “No manufacturer’s logo. No trafficker tag. Nothing. There’s not a single identifier on this piece. Nor any evidence that there ever was.” “What do you mean ‘no evidence’?” Jaden asked. “There aren’t really any underground manufacturers, per se,” Swift explained. “All weapons are basically made legally. Which means they all have at least a serial number. Traffickers will remove those serial numbers, for obvious reasons. However, it’s not foolproof. The etching is obvious and there is a way to chemically reverse the damage to reveal the numbers.” He held up the hand of the gun. “This gun — has none of that.”

He sniffed, liquid snot running down his nose from his coughing fit, and opened the bottom right drawer of his desk. Built into the drawer was a fireproof safe. The back half held a hanging folder for important documents, and the front half was open to hold a variety of shapes and items, and the whole thing was lined in black felt. One of those items was a loaded pistol and a small box of ammunition.

Then suddenly she sprang into action. The moment she was sure Oliver was gone, she shoved her hand beneath the pillow. A grin spread across her face. Her fingers wrapped around cold metal. She pulled the weapon free and held it up beneath the room's light. The handgun gleamed beautifully. Amber examined it with growing admiration. "A 9mm Browning." She muttered, holding up the gun. "Limited edition." Her eyes widened slightly. Even she knew how valuable something like this was. This wasn't an ordinary weapon. It was the kind of firearm collectors dreamed of owning.

Damian I grabbed a few of the handguns out of the bag and walked out of the closet back into the major section of the cabin. I placed a gun in the drawers in the kitchen, one on either side of the counter, and placed another one in the drawer on the island. I walked into the living room and placed a gun in the drawer on the coffee table then went into the laundry room and placed a gun in the cabinet above the washing machine. It might be overkill, but you can never be too safe. I walked out of the laundry room and went over to the couch, kicked off my boots, pulled my gun from behind my back, and set it on the coffee table. I laid down on the couch. I felt exhausted even though we had stoppe