Shattered Dreams & Sleeping Pills Chapter 12
Don't Turn Around
It had been almost a week since Rude had first missed his shot, both in aim, and for the job. He had decided against going back to the bar to retrieve his lost gun. The waitress had probably told her boss, who had probably told his other employees, who would probably be on the alert for anyone who so much as had a shaved head. Rude shook his head, what were the slums coming to?
He pushed his way through the crowds of Wall Market, heading deeper into Sector Six. He passed the restaurant, making a note that they were giving away free Pharmacy Coupons. He quickened his pace as he neared the dress shop, up ahead, not too far, just past the gym, was his destination.
When he came to heaps of garbage, he knew he was almost there. The old man who owned the Weapon Shop had a habit of collecting useless junk, and even hired people to sort through it.
Rude passed one man who was probably hired to do just that. He wore black pants and a black shirt. His clothes matched his hair, which was long, and held back from his face by a red bandana. When Rude passed, he stopped what he was doing to watch him walk by. Rude didn't like the way the man was looking at him, there was hostility in his gaze as he shifted his position atop the garbage to get a better view.
Rude entered the Weapon Shop, still having the feeling that someone was going to come up behind him and stab him in the back. He desperately wished he had a gun, but hey, that's what he was here to get, right?
The Weapons Shop in Wall Market was a strange place. As soon as you walked in, you noticed a chain-link fence that separated you from the merchandise. Half of the store was for business, while the other half was where the owner worked on repairing the garbage he kept outside. He was working on a tank when Rude came in.
Seeing that nobody was in the business half of the store, Rude walked over towards the owner.
"Hey, I need a gun."
"Business is on the other side of the store," the man said, not looking up from his work.
"There's nobody over there."
Rude turned around to see the same man who was glaring at him before walk into the store. He pushed past Rude and through the gate that was the only way to get on the other side of the fence.
Being careful not to step on any of the garbage lying around, "Biggs" placed a hand down on the tank for support as he half hopped, half tiptoed around to the business side of the store.
"What can I get you?" he asked, still glaring. He seemed to be sizing Rude up in a rather hostile way.
The tingling in his back returned, and Rude almost left the store. He stopped himself, put his sunglasses on, and answered. Some Turk you'll be, Rude, he thought to himself. He immediately pushed the thought from his mind, and focused instead at returning the young man's glare.
"I need a gun."
"How much money you got?"
"You wanna spend it all?"
"You got a gun worth 600 gil?"
The owner looked up at the two men. If you just looked at them, you would think they were two regular guys, one of which was trying to make a sale. But the owner knew better. He had been listening before he looked up, and had heard the hostility with which the men spoke to one another. He had a sneaking suspicion that the bald customer had something in mind for Biggs with that gun he was gonna buy, and that Biggs knew it.
"I got a 600 gil gun," Biggs said, opening a drawer and pulling one out.
"I'll take it."
"Not many people in the slums can afford a 600 gil gun. You just got a raise or something?"
"I don't see how it's any business of yours."
Biggs smirked and handed Rude the gun. Rude handed over the money and turned to leave, placing the gun safely in his coat pocket.
"Need any clips for that?" Biggs called.
Rude ignored him and walked out of the store. He had clips at home.
I felt guilty for taking so long with Chapter 11 that I wrote this one in a day. Don't you just love lazy sunday afternoons watching football and writing when you should really be doing homework? I do. History can wait, this couldn't.
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