Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 156 The Search for the Gun

8:35 a.m.

The sun is blinding.

"arrive."

Ryan stepped on the brakes, and the car swayed slightly.

Erin, in the passenger seat, took off her sunglasses and squinted at the gun shop by the roadside.

The signboard is somewhat faded, and it reads in spray paint: Family Firearms—since 1993.

An old dog was squatting by the door, its tongue lolling out and its fur matted.

Next to it, there was a handwritten advertisement.

Today's special offer: Brand new Mossberg 500, only 299.

"This is too cheap." Ryan licked his lips, glanced around warily, and was about to get out of the car.

"Don't move," Erin suddenly said. "It's watching us."

The old dog lazily opened its eyes, glanced at them, and then closed them again.

Erin didn't say anything more.

She stared intently at the dog, as if trying to determine if it was faking sleep.

Ryan scratched his head indifferently, took out a gun from his pocket, lit it, and took two deep drags.

"Give me some too," Erin couldn't help but say upon seeing this.

The car quickly filled with smoke.

A cloyingly sweet strawberry scent filled the space, sticky and making one feel drowsy.

Erin leaned back in her chair, staring blankly at the flag at the store entrance.

A brand new Stars and Stripes flag.

On the left, there is a tattered cloth with the words “Don’t Tread On Me” printed on it.[1]

The snake's head was almost split open.

Just then, Ryan burst out laughing.

Soon, he was out of breath.

"Household firearms".

"What a heartwarming name."

He was laughing and coughing at the same time, with drool hanging from the corner of his mouth.

"Should we make some 'homemade rockets'?"

"And then some 'Federal fire extinguishers'?"

This time, Erin didn't laugh along.

She slowly sat up straight, her face displaying an untimely clarity.

"Seriously."

"Don't say anything when we go in."

Erin paused, then pointed to the small "Open for Business" sign on the glass door.

"Damn it, I bet this store has two surveillance systems installed."

"One set is the one that's publicly known, and the other set is for them."

"'Them'? Who are you referring to?"

“Everyone,” Erin said. “The FBI, the Republicans, the Gun Association, and those undercover agents in the DNC.”

"You remember that case in Colorado, right? Two people had just gone in when they were arrested on the spot."

Upon hearing this, Ryan snapped his fingers: "Then tell them that we are law-abiding citizens and just want to protect ourselves."

After saying that, he couldn't help but laugh again.

Erin rolled her eyes and snatched the *** back from his hands.

A few minutes later, the two finally got off the car.

As the wind chimes rang, they pushed open the door and entered.

The gun shop was small, and the floor was made of ceramic tiles with a wood grain finish, which made a slight noise when you stepped on it.

Weapon racks were all around.

The walls were covered with various posters, mostly featuring images of shotguns, off-road trucks, and women in bikinis holding AKs.

A man was sitting behind the counter.

He was in his forties, wearing a tank top and camouflage shorts.

Bald head, tattoos extending from neck to forearm.

Seeing a customer come in, he casually greeted them.

Good afternoon, guys. What would you like to order?

“Let’s see,” Erin said, trying to control her pace.

"What kind of content do you watch? Self-defense? Hunting? Competitions? Or do you just enjoy collecting?"

“A pistol,” Ryan said. “And a rifle. You can take them.”

"Of course, no problem, this way."

The man stood up and walked to a row of glass cabinets: "This one is pretty good."

"Glock, nine millimeters, works well, cheap."

"We can defeat anything."

"Especially suitable for beginners like you."

He knows! He's implying that he knows our plan!

Ryan froze, almost turning to look at Erin.

To appear more natural, he bit his tongue hard.

Little did the man know that two drug-addicted psychopaths had entered the store and were enthusiastically promoting their products.

"Look at this again."

"AR-556, Ruger's."

"This stuff is suitable for all ages and is popular all over the country."

Ryan took two deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down.

"How much is this one?" he asked.

"It's 690 now, excluding tax."

The man chuckled, "Of course, if you buy a lot, I can even give you a few boxes of bullets."

"Will you investigate our background?" Erin asked softly.

“Of course.” The man was somewhat surprised. “It’s stipulated by law.”

He then explained, "As long as you're not a drug dealer, a terrorist, or a minor, you can buy it."

"What do you two have to say?"

Erin and Ryan exchanged a glance.

“Your recommendation is pretty good, let’s get two of each,” Erin said, gesturing for her boyfriend to take out his money.

The shop owner was quite pleased and bent down to take out two ATF-4473 forms from the drawer: "Here, fill them out. It will be approved online in five minutes."

Erin hesitated for a moment, then took the paper.

—"Have you used drugs illegally?"

—Do you suffer from a mental illness?

—Do you have a record of domestic violence?

"This is a trap," she thought.

"We were located after we filled it out."

But Erin still started writing.

The handwriting was a little shaky, but it was written very neatly.

For Blair, for Tamara.

To protect the people from tyranny.

five minutes later.

"Alright." The man looked at the computer. "No problem. Have fun with your guns."

"That's it?" Ryan's eyes widened. "Don't you need to investigate anything else?"

“You should be investigating me.” The man laughed and patted Ryan on the shoulder.

“In this day and age, you have to be more wary of the government than your neighbors.”

As soon as he finished speaking, he pulled out four boxes of bullets from the cabinet. "Like I said before, here's your discount."

"Thanks."

"Oh, by the way, I'll also give you two hats."

As he spoke, the man grabbed two camouflage baseball caps with "FREEDOM ISN'T FREE" printed on them and threw them over.

"If you like the new souvenirs, you can recommend them to your friends."

Erin took the hat, hesitated for a moment, and then put it on her head.

This is to mislead them.

Correct.

To confuse them.

She thought about handing the other one to her boyfriend.

Ryan paused for a moment, then realized what was happening and put on his hat as well.

His expression was both dazed and serious.

“We look like they are now.”

As the two walked out, Ryan turned his head and whispered something to Erin.

That's exactly what I mean.

Erin was not only proud of her wit.

The wind chimes rang.

The old dog, who had been fast asleep, was startled awake.

It stood up, wagging its tail happily to greet the guest.

Ryan stopped in his tracks.

A strange chill rose from the bottom of my heart.

"This dog."

He whispered, "It looks like it's laughing."

Erin, carrying the suitcase, looked colder and didn't turn around.

"Wait until we finish what we've done—"

She said viciously, "Let's see who the hell will have the last laugh."

　[1] "Don't trample on me," a slogan from the War of Independence, is now commonly used by libertarians or right-wing groups to express dissatisfaction with government intervention.
　　
　
(End of this chapter)