no time to get anything bigger. It would have to do.
But silver bullets? Where the hell did you go to get silver bullets?
He had to start somewhere, so he grabbed the fat Los Angeles Yellow Pages and riffled through to
A young man's voice answered. 'Glendenning Silver, good afternoon.'
'Hello,' Chris said, feeling foolish, but trying to sound businesslike. 'I wonder if you do anything in the way of making bullets?'
'You said bullets?'
'That's what I said. Bullets.'
'I think what you want is jewelry. We deal primarily in silverware and plating.'
'I don't mean jewelry bullets, I mean real bullets. Real silver bullets.'
'Perhaps you'd like to speak to our manager, Mr. Roth.'
'I don't have time to play games with your manager. All I want to know is, can you or can you not make me silver bullets?'
The young man's voice went cold. 'We do
Chris slammed down the phone and swore at it. All right, silversmiths do not make bullets. Who does make bullets? Try a gunsmith. Back to the Yellow Pages. Chris picked out the K&K Gun Shop. Their ad featured a businesslike revolver and stated that their services included ammunition and reloading. He dialed the number.
'Yeah?' a gritty voice answered.
'K&K Gun Shop?'
'Yeah.'
Might as well get right to it, Chris decided. 'Can you make me some silver bullets?'
'You mean bullets made out of silver?'
Stay calm. 'That's what I mean.'
'Sure.'
Chris stared at the phone. As easy as that.
'Bring your own silver. I don't stock that. Naturally.'
'I'll bring the silver,' Chris said. 'Let's see, you're located at…' He read off the Vermont Avenue address from the advertisement.
'Yeah. I close at six, so if you're comin' in today you better hurry it up.'
'Yes, it has to be today.' Chris checked his watch. Jesus, could it be after four already? 'I'll try to make it by six, but wait for me if I'm a little late, will you? I'll pay you for any overtime.'
'This ain't a joke, is it?'
'It's no joke.'
'Okay, but be here as soon as you can.'
'I will.'
Chris hung up and turned quickly back to the Yellow Pages.
He flipped the pages quickly and found the Excelsior Coin Co., Gold — Silver — Platinum Coins & Bars Bought & Sold. The address was on Venice Boulevard in Culver City. There was no need to bother with another telephone call. He could save the time by heading straight over there.
Chris started out the door on the run, then snapped his fingers and turned back. He went into the bedroom and reached up to the high closet shelf for the Stoeger.22. He checked the magazine and chamber to be sure it was empty, then pulled the trigger to test the action. The pistol gave a sharp, satisfying click. He dropped it into a jacket pocket and hurried out to his car.
It was twenty minutes to five when he pulled into the lot beside the Excelsior Coin Company. The sun was low in the west and turning an angry red. Chris jumped from the car and ran into the building. A clerk looked at him in surprise from behind the counter.
'I want to buy some silver,' Chris said.
'Yes, sir. Coins or bars?'
'Bars, I think.'
'In what quantity?'
'What sizes do they come in?'
'Most of our bullion transactions are in five-ounce and ten-ounce bars. For anything larger we'd have to — '
'Those should be large enough. Can I see what they look like?'
'Certainly.' The clerk stepped to the rear of the store and returned in a minute with two ingots of pure silver in the shape of tiny Hershey bars.
Chris hefted them, one in each hand. How much silver did it take to make a bullet? He said, 'How much for the ten-ounce bar?'
'A single bar is sixty dollars, but if you intend to purchase in volume — '
'One will be enough.'
Chris walked over to the cash register to discourage further conversation. He paid for the ingot with his Master Charge card and took it back out to the car.
The Santa Monica Freeway was clotted with rush-hour traffic. Chris pounded the steering wheel in frustration as all lanes jerked along in an angry dance of flashing tail lights.
The sky was dark when Chris finally turned off the freeway at the Vermont Avenue exit. The surface street traffic was lighter, and he reached the K&K Gun Shop in a few minutes.
The inside of the shop smelled of cosmoline, wood polish, and leather. The walls were lined with rifles and shotguns. In a heavy glass case were handguns ranging from tiny Derringers to a cannon-sized.44 magnum. In the back of the shop a chunky man in a T-shirt worked a piece of metal on a lathe.
'Hello,' Chris said. 'I called you earlier.'
The man turned off the lathe and looked up. 'Oh, yeah, the silver bullets.'
'That's it.'
The gunsmith came around the counter and locked the front door. 'Might as well close up,' he said. 'Won't be no more customers tonight.' He pulled an expanding steel lattice across the show window and locked it into place. 'Hell of a neighbourhood for a gun shop. Did you bring the silver?'
Chris fished the ingot out of his pocket.
'Uh-huh. What caliber bullets you want?'
Chris showed him the Stoeger. 'To fit this.'
'Twenty-two Long Rifle,' said the gunsmith. 'How many?'
Chris had not thought about it. The magazine of the Stoeger held eleven. And one in the chamber. Surely that would be enough.
'Twelve,' he said.
'Jeez, you brought enough metal.'
'Well, use whatever you need.'
'Come on in the back.'
Chris followed the gunsmith into the workroom and watched as he shaved off what looked like very little of the silver bar and put the shavings in a crucible.
'Is that enough?' Chris asked.
'Hell, yes. A.22 Long Rifle slug only weighs forty grains.'
'Oh.'
The gunsmith placed the crucible over a gas flame and turned to a shelf behind him to select a mold.
'How hot does it have to get to melt the silver?' Chris asked.
'Nine hundred and sixty point five degrees Centigrade,' the man said without turning around.
'You know that by heart?'
The man turned to face him. 'Look, buddy, I didn't go to no fancy college and I don't read a whole lot of books, but guns and ammunition are my business. I'd be a piss-poor gunsmith if I didn't know the melting point of
