Wrong weapon: the Der/Kifer incident - The Ayoob Files

American Handgunner, Sept-Oct, 2003 by Massad Ayoob

Situation: The intruder snarls, "I'm going to kill you." Believing you and your partner are going to be shot, you perform the indicated response. Next thing you know, you're on trial for Murder.

Lesson: It's the reasonable perception that counts. Conceal nothing from your attorney, understand the law, and know "the truth will set you free."

June 30, 2001, about 9:30 PM. The big, dilapidated building at 1301 North Wolfe Street in East Baltimore is surrounded by urban blight. Heroin syringes and beer bottles alike litter the filthy alley alongside the building, and even the sidewalk in front. The building is owned by Lum Der, a Chinese immigrant who followed the American Dream and found it with hard work. The top half of the structure houses Lum's wholesale restaurant supply business. The bottom half is occupied by Abacus Refinishing, a partnership that has been run for the last six years by Lum's son Kenny and his partner, Darrell Kifer, both 35.

The place has been haunted by repeated burglaries, sometimes daily. There's been one just today. Someone smashed through a bricked-up second floor window and took a pile of restaurant supplies. Darrell and Kenny had to spend the afternoon repairing the giant hole in the wall. Now, delayed by that and working late, they're finally finishing their project of the day; repairing a huge wooden bar top from a local tavern. Lights are on downstairs. Industrial fans are blowing to clear glue and varnish fumes and also to dissipate the brutal summer heat. It's obvious to anyone outside that the building is occupied.

They both hear a crash from upstairs.

With a sigh, work is set aside. Perhaps something just fell over, but they have to check. Because of the recent burglaries, and because this is a neighborhood where there have been murders, each brings a gun to work. Kenny is one of the relatively few citizens in Baltimore licensed to carry concealed, and he is wearing a Heckler and Koch US? Compact .45 auto, in a nylon holster on his right hip, with a spare magazine in front of the scabbard. Darrell retrieves the Mossberg 500 shotgun he brings to work daily in a case and keeps loaded there, with eight shells in the full-length magazine under its 20" barrel and a ninth in the firing chamber. All nine are Winchester Low Recoil CO buckshot. Kenny's pistol is also fully loaded with nine rounds, all Cor-Bon 185 grain +P JHP. They don't really think they're going to find an intruder; they never have before. They're just checking for peace of mind. As they go up the narrow staircase that leads to the second floor, Kenny's pistol is still holstered and Darrell's sho tgun is casually down at his side.

They reach the top of the stairs where the second floor warehouse spreads out in front of them in disarray It is dimly lit with only the left bank of lights turned on; the staircase brings them up facing the darkened right side. In front of them, a slender, dark-clad figure rises from a hunkered-down position, its back toward them. They are about 35 feet apart.

Kenny shouts, "Hey!"

The figure faces them, and the intruder says, "I'm gonna kill you motherf***ers!"

They see he is holding something, a dark object, down by his left side in his left hand. Now, he brings it up toward them. There is only one thing to do, and both men do it simultaneously.

Kenny Der draws his pistol, going to the two-handed stance he has always practiced at the shooting range, though he has never fired this particular handgun since he purchased it. This USP is a Variant One, traditional double action, carried hammer down and off safe. Kenny cracks off the first shot double action then fires another as he realizes that he is exposed to the gunman, and begins to drop to kneeling to reduce his target profile. Beside him, Darrell hastily triggers a single un-aimed shotgun blast and runs sideways to his left to get out of the intruder's line of fire.

This puts Darrell, with the 12-gauge, to the antagonist's right and about 25 feet from him. A southpaw, Darrell raises the gun to his left shoulder and pulls the trigger. Nothing. He has forgotten to pump. He racks the action and bam-bam-bam, fires three shots as fast as he can work the slide and trigger. He sees the figure spin and fall, and stops pumping and shooting. Meanwhile, Kenny has kept up a drumbeat of fire with his pistol and gone to slide-lock. He, too, sees the man go down.

Darrell feels a desperate urge to be out of there and sprints back toward the stairs, bumping Kenny as he goes. Kenny reloads, tucking the empty magazine reflexively back in its pouch, and cautiously moves forward keeping his HK trained on the downed figure. He gets a couple of yards away and sees that the man is motionless, looking like a pile of bloody rags, face down. The fallen assailant's left hand is behind him, palm up in what reminds him of a swimmer's stroke. And, near that hand is his weapon.

Oh, God. It's not a gun after all. It's a black steel hammer, just like the ones they use in the shop.