You're a US police officer, what are you thinking about going back to the East for?

Chapter 254 Weapon Distribution

MacArthur looked at the men standing there without saying a word.

He removed his hands from his knees, stood up by holding onto the chair armrest with his right hand, and the chair leg scraped against the concrete floor with a short, sharp screech.

Then he turned around and walked to the podium.

The podium used to be a DJ stand in nightclubs, now covered in dust, with several pieces of plasterboard and a roll of unused waterproof tape stacked on top.

MacArthur bent down, reached under the podium, and touched the handle of a canvas sports bag.

The bag was heavy, and the handles were taut from the weight of the metal parts inside.

When he dragged it out, the zipper buckle hit the concrete floor, making a series of crisp sounds.

Everyone was staring at the bag.

MacArthur picked up the bag and placed it on the podium, unzipping it.

The bag contained several handguns, several pump-action shotguns, and several cardboard boxes.

The guns were coated with a thin layer of gun oil, which gleamed dimly under the light bulb.

These guys weren't registered on any legal gun licenses.

Their serial numbers were removed by an angle grinder before they changed hands four or five times, leaving only a rough grinding mark and a string of fake steel stamps on the gun body, the origin of which no one could trace.

In the hidden compartments of gang distribution points like Big T's, these old guns with their serial numbers ground off circulate faster than drugs.

They might have come from several smuggling convoys along the US-Mexico border, from a veteran who stole from an armory, from a private transaction without a receipt, just passing from one person to another, and finally being stuffed into this canvas bag by Leon from Big T, lying under the stage of a raided nightclub.

MacArthur pulled a Glock from his bag.

"The boss delivered this this afternoon."

He placed the gun on the podium.

"He said we'd talk about the tanks later, and for now, these are the supplies. Pistols, shotguns, and ammunition are provided by the box."

He looked up at the group of people still standing in front of him.

"He originally told me that he would decide whether to issue it or not based on how the grievance meeting went tonight, but now there's no need to think about it anymore."

"We need to protect the house we live in now, do you understand?"

He picked up the Glock, muzzle down, slowly, and then looked up at the old welder.

"Old welder."

The old welder took two steps forward.

MacArthur handed him the gun, the handle facing forward.

"Take it."

When I used to weld, my hands were a little stiff, not as natural as when I held a welding torch.

He glanced down at it twice, rubbed his finger against the outside of the trigger guard, but didn't put it in.

"I'm not very good at using this."

"A Glock pistol, safety on the trigger, it won't fire unless it's chambered," MacArthur said.

"If you don't know how to use it, learn. You just said you're a craftsman. If a craftsman can hold a welding torch, he can hold this."

The old welder gripped the welding gun tightly in his hand, his fingers tightened slightly, and then he tucked it into his belt at the back of his waist, covering it with the hem of his work clothes.

MacArthur then pulled a Remington 870 pump-action shotgun from his bag. The stock was made of synthetic material, and there were several dents on the handguard.

He turned the shotgun sideways to examine it, checked the bolt, and then picked it up.

"Shotgun, pump-action, 12-gauge. No need to aim at close range, just fire one shot towards the door, and no one will be able to stand still."

He handed the shotgun to Walter.

"Maintenance Company Commander, you're familiar with this, take a look at the condition of the bolts on this batch."

Walter took the shotgun, gripped the neck with his right hand, and pulled the fore-end with his left, the bolt clicking open and closed once.

He lowered his head, looked at the ammunition ramp in the dim light, and then smelled the lingering odor in the gun barrel.

"The handguard is a bit stiff, the spent cartridges are ejected without any problem, there is a layer of fresh oil in the chamber, it should have been oiled but not fired many times, the bolt pulls back with even resistance."

He rested the shotgun on his lap and wiped the dents on the handguard with his sleeve.

"It works. If it needs to be disassembled for deep cleaning, I can get it done tonight."

MacArthur nodded and pulled another shotgun from his bag, this time a Mossberg 500 with a wooden stock and an old horizontal crack on the handguard.

He placed the shotgun on the podium, paused for a moment with his hand on the gun.

"Who else served in the military? Besides Walter and Ray."

The man in the reflective vest shook his head by the sofa, Louis shook his head as well, and Elton kept his head down and remained silent.

"There are two more." The old man in the work shirt in the corner suddenly spoke up. His voice was very soft, but everyone heard it.

He pointed to the young construction worker next to him.

"He's not, but I have a coworker on the contractor's side who used to be in the army. We met a few days ago, and he should still be out there. We should be able to find him. Also—"

The old man paused for a moment.

"From 1990 to 1994, I was an infantryman. I never went to the front line. I was in charge of the logistics warehouse at the base. But if you think about it, it's been decades since I've touched a gun."

MacArthur lifted the Mosberg 500 off the podium, walked over, and handed it directly to the old man.

"The logistics veterans are veterans too. This one's yours. It's okay if you haven't touched one in decades, your muscle memory is still there. You don't need to aim, just point and shoot."

The old man stared at the gun for a few seconds, then reached out and took it.

His hands had large age spots, but his movement in catching the gun was much more steady than when he stood up from the ground.

He tested the cheek rest position by placing the butt of the rifle against his shoulder, then lowered it.

MacArthur returned to the podium and poured the remaining guns from his bag onto the table.

Two Glocks, one Taurus revolver, and two Ruger compact pistols.

Besides the two shotguns that were sent out earlier, there are three shotguns left in the bag, two of which are Remington 870s and one is a Winchester 1300.

"The remaining pistols will be given to a few people, let me tell you. One for the reflective vest, one for Louis, one for the short, fat black man, and one more person."

The man with the screwdriver raised his hand from beside the sofa.

"Give me one. When I used to drive a bulldozer at a landfill, coyotes would often come and rummage through the garbage at night. I used to shoot them with a shotgun from the cab."

MacArthur tossed him a Glock, which the screwdriver-wielding man caught with far greater agility than the old welder, keeping the muzzle pointing downwards and his finger resting on the trigger guard.

"Shotguns." MacArthur patted the remaining three rifles. "This Remington is for Ray. Walter already has one. Who gets the Winchester and Remington?"

The young construction worker hesitated for a moment, glancing at the old man in overalls beside him, and then at MacArthur.

"I've never been in the military, but I used to work on a farm and hunt geese with a shotgun."

"take."

The young construction worker took the Winchester 1300, held it in his arms, pointed the muzzle upwards, and ran his hand back and forth across the handguard.

"One Remington left—" MacArthur glanced around at the remaining players.

The man in the hoodie, Elton, and others were all standing.

Elton hesitated for a moment, then raised his hand.

"I used to work in a brothel, and someone taught me a few tricks, but I've never actually used a gun."

"Take it," MacArthur said.

Elton walked over and took the last Remington 870. He stood next to Walter, held the gun upright in front of him, and gripped the upper part of the barrel with both hands. His posture wasn't quite standard, but at least he wasn't pointing randomly.

MacArthur pushed the several boxes of bullets on the podium together.

"The bullets are divided by caliber: 9mm for pistols and 12-gauge for shotguns. Everyone is given a full magazine; no one is allowed to take more, nor are they allowed to sell the bullets."

He paused, then added, ".38 ammo is for revolvers, but revolver ammo is limited, so use it sparingly."

Walter took over the conversation.

"Leave the ammunition storage to me, I'll keep records, I'll write down how many rounds each person received, and I can also do the subsequent gun maintenance."

MacArthur nodded, picked up a Ruger compact pistol from the podium, and casually tucked it into his belt.