Mike continued his work for Jaime. Mostly there were no problems and everyone was pleased. After a particular exchange of product for cash, the dealers asked if Mike could acquire some weapons for them.
Unsure if he could, he called Gary. Gary asked what they wanted and told him the price. The dealers agreed.
32 M-16’s with ammo. The next week, Gary delivered them. The dealer and his weapon “expert” checked them out as Gary looked on. He could see that there was some disappointment over something, but the dealer smiled when he said, “Hey, c’mere.”
Gary did so. The dealer grabbed Gary’s hand and snipped the end of his thumb off with snips he had in the other.
“Do I have your attention?”
“Oh, you’ve got my full f—ing attention,” Gary answered.
“These weapons don’t fire.”
A little known fact regarding how Department of Defense runs things is that the firing pins are shipped and stored separately. This is to prevent an armed uprising, should any particular group, including one supposes the grunts under the brass’ charge, from gaining access to them and taking over the base.
Another side note, small thefts like 32 assault rifles rarely even make it to CID for investigation. You see, military commanders walk on water and so it is inconceivable that such thefts could occur under their command. They really want their files to reflect their supernatural abilities to keep America great and so the contents of their record trumps what occurs in the actual, real world. *
So they were off to Gary’s to sort things out. Mike pulled the lighter out of the dealer’s car and cauterized his thumb. The dealer, clearly elevated in his organization beyond his cognitive abilities, said, “Hey, no smoking in my car.”
“Smoking? You want me bleeding all over your leather seats?” Mike replied.
When they arrived, Mike and the dealer went to the door. The dealer’s partner waited in his car down the street a bit.
Gary exited the front wearing a nice, white dress shirt which he was buttoning the sleeves on.
“This him? The thumb guy?” was all Gary inquired.
“Yeah,” Mike replied meekly.
“So what’s the deal?”
“These weapons have no firing pins,” the dealer replied testily.
“Correct. Those are sold separately,” Gary explained while buttoning the other cuff and rattling off the price for 32 firing pins.
“No. You give me the pins. I already paid for them.”
“Ok. First, Mike, you wait inside.”
As Mike passed Gary, Gary whispered, “Out the back and down the alley.”
Mike went inside and went out the back. However, he waited rather than flee. He wasn’t sure what was next for him. Had he screwed up this time? Gary had reminded him that neither of them were arms dealers and they both worked for Jaime, whose business was controlled substances.
Several minutes later, Gary exited the back carrying a suitcase.
“What are you still doing here? I told you to run.”
“Yeah…but your house…”
There was an explosion from the front of the house on the street. Two charcoal drug dealers awaited the authorities.
“This was my house. It’s not anymore.”
Mike looked puzzled.
“‘What’s that officer? A drug deal gone bad? Blew up in front of my house? I was in Europe on business at the time. Bad neighborhood. I should move.'”
“But that’s the way it is. Always have a backup plan, a way out and be ready to go on a moment’s notice.”
They continued their work after some time at a new location.
* Pun intended.
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