than I would like.”
“And you know why I was sniffing, checking.”
“Checking for the scent.”
Harry slurped his beer. “Yeah. If you were one of Them I would have had to done some shootin’.”
Matt didn’t doubt that.
“That’s my reason for needing the guns,” he said aloud, and took a sip of beer. “And I want to make sure that what happened to me doesn’t happen to anyone else.”
“What exactly happened to you?” Harry said.
“It’s a long story.”
“My wife whips up a mean pot roast. Why don’t you stop by for dinner sometime. Of course I’ll need to clear it with her. May take some convincing.”
“We can compare notes. Would you mind if I brought a guest?” Matt asked.
“Is he okay? You know.”
“Yes, she is. She knows about them too, but I don’t think she’s convinced herself yet.”
“Now about those weapons. Let’s see what we can do. Follow me.”
Harry got up, took another sip of beer and walked over to the door with the padlock on it. He fished a key out of his pocket and undid the lock, then opened the door and flicked a switch on the wall.
“C’mon!”
A stack of mannequins stood in the corner, one of them naked save for a camouflage baseball cap. A large box marked COLUMBIA SPORTSWEAR sat against the wall, the sleeve of a blue winter jacket poking out of the box. Across the room, a red-and-yellow banner with the Marine Corps anchor, eagle and globe hung on the wall.
“Over here.”
Matt followed Harry across the room, where a row of shiny black gun safes lined the wall beneath the banner. Harry turned the combination on one of them, then pulled it open, revealing half a dozen M-16 rifles standing on end. They had cylindrical grenade launchers mounted under the barrels.
“Pretty impressive, huh?”
“Where in the hell do you get this stuff?”
“Friends in low places,” Harry said, and gave him a conspiratorial wink. “That’s all you need to know.”
“I won’t ask.”
“Good. Now let’s get you set up with some weaponry. It’ll be better if you buy from my private stash here. That way you don’t have to fuck around with pistol permits and waiting periods. And the serial numbers have been filed off of these babies. Difficult to trace.”
After browsing the rest of the safes, Matt selected a Browning M951R handgun, capable of firing in auto or semi automatic modes, and a pistol-grip Mossberg twelve-gauge for some extra punch. These would be good for a start.
“Rafferty know about this place?”
“I think so. He’s just too busy going around busting people’s ribs and throwing them in his jail to care. I paid his predecessor a pretty nice sum—bought him a summer home, in fact—to keep quiet about this place. Although I got an extra-special present for Rafferty and his boys if they ever come for me.”
Matt wondered about Harry’s clientele—how much white powder they sold, how many of their enemies were now encased in concrete.
As if reading his mind, Harry said, “Case you’re wondering, I sell to guys who target shoot, maybe want to go off to a mountain cabin and drink Budweiser and blast targets with a little bit more than your garden variety thirty ought six. No drug dealers, any of that shit.”
Matt didn’t know if he entirely believed that statement. “No other reason you got this stash?”
Harry gave a laugh, his belly jiggling. “You see where I live, don’t you?”
Good point. If you were foolish or crazy enough to stay in Lincoln, then having some firepower at your disposal wasn’t a bad idea.
After paying for his weapons, Matt shook hands with Harry and left.
Vomit stood between Jill and punching out at three o’clock.
At two-thirty, Dorothy Gaines approached her, smiling a thin-lipped smile, announcing that the Lopez boy had thrown up all over himself and Jill was to clean it up.
Jill accepted the assignment with feigned enthusiasm, not wanting her supervisor to get the satisfaction of
“And you know why I was sniffing, checking.”
“Checking for the scent.”
Harry slurped his beer. “Yeah. If you were one of Them I would have had to done some shootin’.”
Matt didn’t doubt that.
“That’s my reason for needing the guns,” he said aloud, and took a sip of beer. “And I want to make sure that what happened to me doesn’t happen to anyone else.”
“What exactly happened to you?” Harry said.
“It’s a long story.”
“My wife whips up a mean pot roast. Why don’t you stop by for dinner sometime. Of course I’ll need to clear it with her. May take some convincing.”
“We can compare notes. Would you mind if I brought a guest?” Matt asked.
“Is he okay? You know.”
“Yes, she is. She knows about them too, but I don’t think she’s convinced herself yet.”
“Now about those weapons. Let’s see what we can do. Follow me.”
Harry got up, took another sip of beer and walked over to the door with the padlock on it. He fished a key out of his pocket and undid the lock, then opened the door and flicked a switch on the wall.
“C’mon!”
A stack of mannequins stood in the corner, one of them naked save for a camouflage baseball cap. A large box marked COLUMBIA SPORTSWEAR sat against the wall, the sleeve of a blue winter jacket poking out of the box. Across the room, a red-and-yellow banner with the Marine Corps anchor, eagle and globe hung on the wall.
“Over here.”
Matt followed Harry across the room, where a row of shiny black gun safes lined the wall beneath the banner. Harry turned the combination on one of them, then pulled it open, revealing half a dozen M-16 rifles standing on end. They had cylindrical grenade launchers mounted under the barrels.
“Pretty impressive, huh?”
“Where in the hell do you get this stuff?”
“Friends in low places,” Harry said, and gave him a conspiratorial wink. “That’s all you need to know.”
“I won’t ask.”
“Good. Now let’s get you set up with some weaponry. It’ll be better if you buy from my private stash here. That way you don’t have to fuck around with pistol permits and waiting periods. And the serial numbers have been filed off of these babies. Difficult to trace.”
After browsing the rest of the safes, Matt selected a Browning M951R handgun, capable of firing in auto or semi automatic modes, and a pistol-grip Mossberg twelve-gauge for some extra punch. These would be good for a start.
“Rafferty know about this place?”
“I think so. He’s just too busy going around busting people’s ribs and throwing them in his jail to care. I paid his predecessor a pretty nice sum—bought him a summer home, in fact—to keep quiet about this place. Although I got an extra-special present for Rafferty and his boys if they ever come for me.”
Matt wondered about Harry’s clientele—how much white powder they sold, how many of their enemies were now encased in concrete.
As if reading his mind, Harry said, “Case you’re wondering, I sell to guys who target shoot, maybe want to go off to a mountain cabin and drink Budweiser and blast targets with a little bit more than your garden variety thirty ought six. No drug dealers, any of that shit.”
Matt didn’t know if he entirely believed that statement. “No other reason you got this stash?”
Harry gave a laugh, his belly jiggling. “You see where I live, don’t you?”
Good point. If you were foolish or crazy enough to stay in Lincoln, then having some firepower at your disposal wasn’t a bad idea.
After paying for his weapons, Matt shook hands with Harry and left.
Vomit stood between Jill and punching out at three o’clock.
At two-thirty, Dorothy Gaines approached her, smiling a thin-lipped smile, announcing that the Lopez boy had thrown up all over himself and Jill was to clean it up.
Jill accepted the assignment with feigned enthusiasm, not wanting her supervisor to get the satisfaction of
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