Of course.
“And?”
And shut up. There he is.
The man had parked his pickup truck just at the base of the hardware store sign, as if the thin column it rested upon was enough to conceal his vehicle. As soon as Karl stepped onto the asphalt that marked the bounds of the parking lot, the man emerged from the cabin of his truck and walked around to the other side to face the psychologist.
“You Maynard?” the man bellowed once Karl was within proper earshot.
“Maynard?” the I.I. repeated.
Couldn’t use my name, could I?
Karl nodded. “That’s right. You’re Marv?”
“That’s what they called me,” the gun dealer said.
He was an older man, definitely in his fifties, with his graying blonde hair gathered up in a loose ponytail behind his skull. A mesh baseball cap topped his head, his hair flowing out from the space just above the fastening strap. He had a few tattoos visible just under the collar of his button-down shirt, but Karl didn’t want to stare. A jean jacket vest hung over his whole ensemble, equipped with at least six pockets with varying degrees of wear on them.
“What’re you looking for?” Marv asked.
“Something small,” Karl said. “But powerful.”
“You talkin’ about a one-on-one defense scenario, or protection against a group?”
“Let’s say a group.”
“Well then, you’re gonna want either something with a lot of stopping power, or a weapon with a higher capacity. How good of a shot are you?”
“I’ve never fired a gun before,” was the reply.
An exasperated expression stole Marv’s face. He blew his cheeks up and let the air out in a long sigh.“Let’s go with high capacity, then,” the dealer replied. “Now before we continue, I must inform you that I am a certified arms dealer, and although the standards around privatized sales of firearms have changed since I was a boy, I still adhere to all other state and federal regulations regarding the sale of said weapons. Thus, I am sorry to say I do not offer weapons that exceed legal capacity standards, nor can I offer armor-piercing ammunition or assault rifles.”
“That’s fine.”
“Good. ‘Cause you still have plenty of options.”
Marv walked around to the bed of his truck and motioned for Karl to follow him. The psychologist did so as the dealer lifted the lid to a side compartment. Inside were a number of other small cases, all made of fine plastic and leather, each with their own set of latches and locks.
“The standard go-to is a Glock,” said the gun dealer. “It’s about as small as a practical handgun gets, and can hold a magazine of seventeen bullets. That’s eighteen if you chamber one before. It’s nice and lightweight, making it easier to take with you. Used to be a favored gun by police, though they’ve upgraded in recent years.”
He opened the respective case as he spoke, revealing the handgun to Karl. With a gesture, he offered the weapon to the fugitive and get a feel of its weight.
It was heavier than he’d expected. The wobble in his grip must have given him away, because the gun dealer smirked.
“You really haven’t held one of these before, have you?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Well don’t worry, it won’t bite you. It can’t even fire until we get your biometric data assigned to it.”
Karl lifted the gun and stared down its sights to see how it aimed. He had no idea what he was looking for, but something about the gun felt flimsy in his hand. He returned it to its case.
“Not your style, eh? That’s okay,” the dealer said. “I think I have just the one for you. Something a bit slower, but steadier. Here.”
He reached behind himself, putting the Glock case back on the truck bed and pulling out a slightly longer container. With a quick snap, he opened the latch and pulled up the lid.
The gun was at least two inches longer than the Glock and quite a bit shinier. It was clearly the nearer model of the two.
The dealer made a gesture for Kal to take it, which he did with some hesitation. It was even heavier, but felt less flimsy.
“That one is one of the new Sigs. Fires 9mm ammunition. Manageable for a novice, but still with some stopping power to boot. The sights are easy to adjust as well.”
Karl lifted the gun, closed one eye, and used the other to stare down the sights.
“This is the one,” he said. “I’ll take it.”
Marv gave a hearty chuckle in reply.
“I had a feelin’ you’d like it,” he said.
He turned around, putting the other gun cases back in their concealed compartment and retrieving a small device. It looked a bit like a keychain, wide and squat with a small touchscreen interface. Karl looked at the thing apprehensively as Marv spun back to face him.
“So as you’ve probably gathered, we’re going to need to assign your biometric data to the gun. Otherwise, it’ll never work for you. It also acts as a background check: it’ll quickly match your bio-data with the national criminal database. That alright with you?”
Karl felt his skin grow cold as the blood fled from it.
A background check? Karl thought. We’re busted. I can’t let him do it.
“Don’t worry,” Maynard said. “You’ll pass the check. It’ll be fine.”
But how?
“Just trust me.”
Karl nodded after little hesitation. Marv seemed relieved, smiling slightly. It was clear he could sense Karl’s apprehension as well, and found that suspect.
“Just stand still,” the gun dealer said. “It’ll only take a minute.”
Marv pressed the device against one of Karl’s thumbs, then lifted it and pointed it into the fugitive’s eyes. He stood back and waved the thing over Karl’s entire height.
“Alright, it’s uploading,” Marv said.
Karl could feel small beads of sweat accumulating along his hairline. How would Marv react if he found out Karl was the most wanted man in the country? That he was responsible for two mass shootings, at least according to the law? Would he turn around, pull out one of his many guns, and perform a citizen arrest?
Marv was
