Unfinished Business

Fast forwarding thirty hours...

The trio was back in NYC, searching around Manhattan for an 'Ammo Nation' outlet. But point to be noted: you'd have to be dumb to set up an unauthorized weapon shop at street level, that too, undisguised. Cooper had befriended a certain gun dealer, though, who dealt with "extreme" items. Eventually, they found a deteriorated apartment, covered with urban tags.

They parked their car. They stood stiff. Wooden beams blocked the entrance to the building.

"The hell? Why's the door boarded up?" Cooper concealed no hidden facts about the dealer's whereabouts. He hadn't checked in at the store for nearly a fortnight. "No problemo. I think I know what's the flaw here."

He bent down and removed the doormat. Beneath it, he dug out a loose slab. Beneath that, he found a tomahawk.

"To kill a thug, you got to think like one," Cooper chopped down the beams with a single blow. He pushed open the main door, and gestured at his mates to follow.

Inside, they found a corridor without any doors leading out of it, save for a staircase at its end. No lights were on. Blankets of darkness and layers of isolation hovered along the whole length of the corridor. At the bottom, there was an iron door barring the way. Cooper knocked on it thrice. A sliding peephole slid apart. Behind that door, two blue eyes studied the three figures awaiting entrance. Recognizing Cooper, the door instantly clicked open.

"Olé lefollo, Cooprion!" a bearded biker greeted Black, Luke, and Vandermann. He wore a plain red jacket, with the cloth torn at the shoulders. A pair of blue-gray denim shorts adorned his soccer legs. Blonde hairs grew on his chin and also covered his head like a heavy wig. Biker gloves shielded the coarse hairs on his knuckles. "Welcome back, Cooprion," he turned his attention to the newcomers. "And welcome to the world of guns, guns, guns! Dear sirs, how may I help in fragging your opponents?"

He reclines on a wooden bench, his back facing the wall. All around the hall-like 24 sq. meter room, crates full of metal scraps were crammed into every available space. Wait! These metal scraps were actually freshly-imported weapons from various nations and makings round the world. Among the brands and trademarks, "Heckler&Coch" and "Colt" were dominant.

"Will it be the usual M-burners, Blackburn?" the keeper of the store got up and walked over to a collection of M4 carbines.

"Erm... no, Jake. I'm assigned to a task. Agency duty. Wanna join?"

"Sure thing, man... but I've got my business to take care of. Plenty o' substitutes and competitors in the market, dude. Even a day off from ma' store means day off for life! And those *itchin' Hitter members are back in town. Ahem... anyways, what sorta guns d'you need?"

"The kind that bashes freakin' spies, soldiers and scientists within seconds."

Jake paced about the shelves of heavy metal gear.

"Oh, lookin' for speed and gory passion, eh? 'Kay. Perhaps these Gatling monsters shall be of much use to you."

"Suppose so," Cooper thrust a hand into his pocket like a harpoon and drew out his wallet like a captured blue whale. "How much?"

"Well... about three kilo dollars."

"$3000! Nah, that's a bit too much, Jake. Make it $2000."

"Alright, deal."

He extracted a meter-long 'Barracuda FLM' 1.5 cal Gatling gun and handed it to the enthusiastic buyer.

"Ooh, kinda heavy, too," Cooper checked its balance. "Will work like real steel, I guess. Thanks. Take $1000 for now. I'll pay ya the other half soon."

"Anyone else interested?" Jake inquired after receiving his half due amount.

"Gimme two MP5s and six F1 anti-personnel grenades," Exos Luke demanded, with a handful of dollars. He dumped all of it onto the cash-in desk, lacking the patience to count. "Keep the change."

Vandermann used his $25,000 in purchasing an AK-47 rifle, a flak jacket, a dogtag in the shape of a AH-64 helicopter (Vandy missed his favorite bird), and a Desert Eagle handgun.

"Bless you all for your purchases, sirs," Jake thanked while he bade off the customers. "Do spread the word 'bout my shop, okay? Bye-bye!"

***

Okay then, we're off dudes," Cooper's eyes shone in correspondence with New York's sunlit skyline. "Time for some opportunity, first. General Skywalker ain't gonna fire me from the MBC for being late. Besides, his mission is stale work. We got plenty o' time in our hands, so we use it."

"What's ringing in your bell, Coop?" Exos squinted amidst the burning sunshine.

"I say, we explore NY a bit. Learn about news. Then, we strike the Hitters. Rumors say they are plannin' something big. Somethin' radioactive."

Meanwhile...

A few miles to the east, a cellphone blared. An anonymous speaker answered.

"Yes, sir. We're ready. Prepare the transaction. We should be receiving the nukes in ten hours' time."