Big Johnny's Guns 'N Ammo

“Don’t be leaning on the glass, kid.”

         “She’s just taking a look at your wares.”

         “I don’t right care. Girly, get your hands off my display case and quit leaning.”

         “No need to raise your voice at her, sir.”

         “I ain’t raising my voice. Look, she ain’t even listening.”

         “She has some trouble with that.”

         “Not my problem, son. You tell your girlfriend to stop touching my display case. Shit breaks, and you’re paying.”

         “First off, she’s my sister. Second of all, she’s deaf. Third, it happens to be her birthday, so lay off.”

         “Oh. Either way, I got rules.”

         “Shelley, it’s fine. Just stand over here. Next to me.”

         “You planning on buying something?”

         “You in a hurry to get rid of us?”

         “Buy something or get out.”

         “Let me see the one second from the right. Top row.”

         “The semi-auto?”

         “That silver one. Brown handle.”

“The revolver?”

“Right.”

         “That one ain’t for sale. It’s an antique.”

         “It’s on the rack.”

         “And you’re standing in a gun shop.”

         “Don’t leave it on display if you’re not selling it.”

         “Comment cards are over there. Fill one out if you got a problem.”

         “I don’t think your manager gives a shit.”

         “He doesn’t.”

         “I’ll give you two hundred for it.”

         “Don’t be stupid. It ain’t even worth that much.”

         “Two fifty.”

“Lucas?”

“It’s okay, Shelley. I know what I’m doing.”

“Your brother’s a real jackass, kid.”

“Wait in the van, Shelley. Five minutes.”

         “Boy, are you crazy? You can’t let her go out there by herself.”          

         “She’ll be fine. Road was clear when we drove in.”

         “Pack of raiders come along and she ain’t hear it—what then?”

         “She knows to come get me.”

         “I was you, I wouldn’t let her out of my sight.”

         “Can I ask you something?”

         “What?”

         “You get a lot of customers lately?”

         “Son, look outside. Spill’s left everyone dead or bat shit crazy. Business ain’t exactly booming.”

         “That’s the case, you really shouldn’t be turning any customers away.”

         “Oh, business advice. Please, continue.”

“There’s one road that goes through here, and the raiders own it. You got supply, and we got your demand. You got no reason not to sell.”

         “I ain’t need to explain myself to you, and it’s plain as shit you don’t know nothing about guns.”

         “I know enough.”

         “You find the safety on a Beretta, I’d be surprised.”

         “We got past the raiders okay.”

         “Got lucky is what you got.”

“Is that right?”

         “I’ve seen people like you come through here. Hold a gun few times and you think it’s all Cowboys and Indians. Son, firing enough bullets and hoping you hit a target ain’t the same as real shooting. You and that sister of yours ain’t lasting much longer out there, I tell you that.”

         “Shelley’s a crack shot.”

         “That little girl?”

         “Gunslinger.”

         “Reckon you’re full of shit.”

         “Reckon wrong. I’ve seen her put three in a raider’s head before he hit the ground.”

         “She learn that from you?”

         “I do some shooting. Sometimes I even hit stuff.”

         “Outdrawn by a girl ain’t something I’d brag about.”

         “You see her in action, you won’t be saying that.”

         “Guy like you doesn’t appreciate a good gun. Damn disgrace.”

         “I’m a disgrace, fine. Now how about that revolver?”

         “Hold up a minute.”

         “What?”

         “I know for a fact there’s raiders all over. It’s why I stay my ass indoors.”

         “What’s your point?”

         “You said you made it past the raiders.”

“That’s right.”

“You also said the road was clear when you came through. You’re either one of the luckiest sons of bitches around, or there’s something you ain’t telling me.”

“Takes more than luck to stay alive, Johnny.”

         “I ain’t Johnny.”

         “‘Big Johnny’s Guns ‘N Ammo.’”

         “Johnny was my brother.”

         “Raiders?”

         “You’re goddamn right.”

         “Look, I’m sorry. We got off on the wrong foot. I’m Lucas.”

         “Earl.”

         “Good to meet you, Earl. You by yourself here?”

         “Don’t be changing the subject, now.”

         “What, you think me and my deaf sister are raiders?”

         “See this here? Fifty-cal Desert Eagle. The Hand Cannon, folks call it.”

“It certainly is a big, shiny gun.”

“Every Friday I got a guy comes through. Use my proceeds to buy whatever food and supplies he’s peddling. Last week he had this little lady on him and I paid top dollar. I call her Donna.”

“Earl and Donna. Nice ring.”

“I got a mind to test her out you don’t get your story straight.”

         “This how you treat all your customers?”

         “Boy, don’t you make me nervous. Now spit it.”

“We got a hideout around marker thirty-six. An old Laundromat. We go back to it every two or three days, so we know when the road’s safe. We wait until it’s quiet—we travel light—raiders don’t bother us.”

         “Suppose I’ll let Donna stretch her legs some other time.”

“Forget the raiders, forget the spill for a minute. It’s my sister’s birthday today. I just want to buy her something nice.”

         “Anything but the revolver.”

         “Christ. Come on, man.”

         “You got a whole fucking rack to choose from. Shut your eyes and point at one. I guarantee it’s better than that dinky fucking six-shooter.”

         “You don’t get out much, do you?”

         “Ain’t much point in sightseeing these days.”

         “Me and Shelley are stuck out there, and every day it’s the same.”

         “Tell it to someone who cares.”

         “We hide, we scrape for supplies—last week a gang of raiders had us pinned in a supermarket for three hours. Wasn’t for Shelley, we’d be dead.”

         “Great story, kid. Tell it again.”

“I look at her and she’s getting worse. She’ll lag behind, or sleep an hour longer, or eat a little less. Pretty soon she’ll stop caring.”

         “So she gives up, and it’s just you and your piss poor shooting. That what you’re getting at?”

         “It’s not about me, Earl. She’s sixteen, and already she’s tired of this shit pile.”

         “Ain’t we all.”

         “If I can do something for her, I’ll fucking do it. Even it’s something small like a birthday gift.”

         “Didn’t figure people still cared about birthdays. She like dolls?”

         “You got any?”

         “Fresh out.”

         “She loves guns. It’s like she understands them.”

         “That was Johnny. Had a gift, that fat bastard.”

         “I’m asking you, Earl. The last thing I got her was a bottle of fucking mouthwash.”

         “You’re one persistent little shit, I’ll give you that.”

         “I’ll pay you. You said it wasn’t worth much. Just take the money, make a profit. Business is slow for you. This is a win-win.”

         “No need for the sales pitch, son. I’ll box it up and throw in some extra gear for her. Even give her Johnny’s hip holster.”

         “How much?”

         “Give it a rest. Just get her in here.”

         “Thanks, Earl.”

         “Go on, before I change my mind.”

“Shelly? Shelley, come here. I got a surprise for you.”

         “Happy birthday, kid.”

         “Manners, Shell.”

         “Thank you.”

         “Most welcome, young lady. She read lips?”

         “Just talk slow. Use your hands.”

         “I threw in some ammo and speed loaders for you. Right there in the box. Body’s steel instead of aluminum, may be a bit heavier than you’re used to. Loud as shit, but that shouldn’t be a problem.”

         “Thank you.”

         “Here’s a can of cleaner and some brushes, too. Make sure to scrub the barrel once a week. Let her dry an hour before you use it. Grease up the chambers and don’t be shy on that hammer.”

         “You like it, Shelley?”

         “Yes.”

         “Go on, kid. See how it feels in your hands. Snap it open.”

         “It’s nice.”

         “Speed loaders should last a while, but I ain’t got too much .357 hollows. You’ll need to find some more when you run out.”

         “Yes.”

“Me and that six-shooter been through a lot together. It was my brother’s, so take good care of her.”

         “I will.”

         “Whoa, darling. Careful where you point—”

         “Squish.”

         “Whoa, Shell. That four?”

“Four in the forehead. It’s funny.”

         “New record. He was right, though.”

         “Too loud?”

         “Loud as hell. Warn me before you use that thing indoors.”

         “Sorry.”

         “I’ll go get the boys. You good?”

         “I am now.”

         “Shop’s all yours in the meantime. Happy birthday.”