Short story "Laser Vision"
She slips the gun out at the register. She sniffs its handle, scented slightly with Josh's after-shave. Then she swings out the cylinder and slides the brass cartridges in and out. Her fingers memorize their shape and weight and her ears, their metal-on-metal sound. She rubs the barrel. She steadies her hands and clutches the grip. She sets the laser on the Crazy Eights, then lets it follow the second-hand on the clock above the door.