Post by Immanuel Taylor on Jul 2, 2011 12:59:47 GMT -5
The knocking sound was quick and dual-natured and, due to the front door of Immanuel’s room being composed of wood, was loud enough. Exactly 10 seconds passed before Immanuel Taylor, with a gun hidden at the back of his pants but easily accessible, opened the door.
“Is this Jonathan Harker?” The visitor began. He is wearing a very sharp suit, a striped grayish and blackish one that goes along perfectly with his slim figure, and he is holding two large suitcases in both hands.
“Yes” Immanuel had the door slightly opened, enough to show his face, and he had his right hand hovering over the area where his gun was placed in the back of his hands. “Are you the Merchant of Venice?”
“Yes I am” the middle aged man said. He had a degree of handsomeness on him that Immanuel picked up on. Taylor stepped back and opened the door wide enough for the Merchant and his two large suitcases. He is the first person to step into Immanuel’s hotel room at The Hotel Tropicana.
“You are familiar with our mutual contact, yes? The young man downstairs at the reception area?”
“Yes” Immanuel closed the door.
“Good. He told me you bought a handgun from him, one that I sold to him earlier. Do you mind if I inspect it?”
Immanuel went to take the handgun out from the back of his pants.
“Careful. Please take it out slowly” The Merchant cut in as Immanuel eyed his dress jacket and noticed the two bulges, indicating two hidden pistols. Both men eyed each other. Immanuel slowly extracted his .45 ACP Smith and Wesson and took out the clip before handing the semi-automatic to the Merchant.
“You forgot the bullet in the chamber, Jonathan”
“There isn’t one”
The Merchant checked the chamber and, indeed, there wasn’t one. He nodded and inspected the pistol. It took him two seconds to identify it.
“.45 ACP Smith and Wesson Semi-Automatic. Yes, I recall selling this to our mutual friend downstairs. How much did he sell it to you?”
“I’d rather not say”
“I understand” The Merchant returned the pistol to Immanuel and proceeded to pick up the two large suitcases and place them on the bed. His tone increasingly became less formal and more warm.
“You understand the use of an alias, yes?”
“Yes”
“A straight-to-the-point man. I like that” The Merchant went to open the suitcases. His tone is becoming less and less formal. “You know, California is a shitty place if you’re a gun fanatic. Not for me that is, heh, I can make a lot of money through the back door channels. The state here's already got a mammoth budget deficit and our dickwad of a governer, Jerry Brown, can’t get cuts and temporary tax increases passed even with a Democrat-majority state legislature. Now they’re once again running late on the budget proposal. You big on guns?”
“No”
“Oh..so you’re a one-time buyer? Self-defense?”
“Yes” Immanuel’s responses are short and direct. There is no superfloruous aspect to them. The Merchant, by contrast, is getting warmer in his vocal interactions.
“I see…” The Merchant senses the lack of vocal life in Immanuel. He continues nonetheless. “You know, I once sold a vintage 19th century rifle to a man in Santa Clara. It was the…umm.. Krag-Jorgensen. The original Norweigen one not the American or Danish rip-offs. It was a custom order and I went through hell to get it for him. And I did. Cause that’s what I do. Anyways, he bought it for a cool 12 grand. Three weeks later, I’m reading the San Francisco Chronicle and it’s about that same guy and guess what the asshole did? He blew his head off with that rifle. Who the hell uses a bolt-action rifle to put an end to his life? I didn’t even know you could position one in that position, you know?”
Immanuel is silent throughout all of this. He nods when The Merchant finishes both his story and unpacking his two large suitcases. The two large suitcases, now spread wide open, have a simple black interior which serves to highlight the mass number of handguns placed in close yet strategic positions. The Merchant did not wait for Immanuel to begin.
“Ok, so are you looking for anything other than handguns? Rifles, Shotguns, Assualt Rifles? I have a line on a Dragunov sniper rifle in mint condition. Completely unused. Interested?”
“Just the handguns”
“Ok. Anything in specific? Or do you want me to run you through them?”
“Yes. I’m looking for a semi-automatic that is easy to disassemble and get comfortable with. Something with a fine grip and a decent weight to it but not something heavy to carry.”
The Merchant stayed silent for exactly five seconds before reaching his arm forward and grabbing one of the pistols. He presented it to Immanuel.
“I got this from a friend in Iraq. He siphoned a couple out of the latest shipment ordered by the Iraqi Army. It’s a CZ 99. Originally produced in Yugoslavia in 1989, more specifically in the Serbia portion. Has a decent weight, can do single or double action and has a fifty meter range.”
“It’s Serbian?”
“Hm?”
“Do you know if it was used by the Serbian military?”
“Umm….well, I suppose so. They did manufacture it and it’s got an appeal to it till this day. So..”
“No. Let’s move to another gun” Immanuel quickly cut in, not being able for some reason to get past the Serbian history of the gun. The Merchant, slightly confused, keeps his professional face on and places the gun back. He eyes the rest and picks out another one.
“Ok. Let’s move to more modern ones. This is my newest acquisition. Got it from the SHOT show at Las Vegas. It’s a Ruger LC9. It’s small but it’s got a very nice grip to it. Glass-filled nylon with alloy steel for the slide material. Standard 9 millimeter”
Immanuel held the LC9 in his right hand and aimed it at the opposite wall. He retracted his hand and felt the grip of the gun. It was small yet a firm handle can be achieved. He tried fitting it in the back of his pants but immediately sensed it was too small. Immanuel, however, saw a degree of usefulness in its size.
"How much?"
"Five Hundred and Fifty, Jonathan. Just for you. And that includes two 9mm ammunition cases."
Immanuel placed the gun on his writing desk next to the .45 ACP and turned back to the two large suitcases. His eyes analyzed the numerous guns packed one next to another. The Merchant of Venice waited exactly ten seconds and, sensing a lack of initiative by Immanuel, stepped forward.
"Here, let me show you this one I got from the United Arab Emirates. It's the Caracal and…"
"I already noticed. Not really interested. How about this one?"
"That's the…um…oh yes, that's the Jericho 941. Top Israeli handgun. Very nice."
"Bit too close to a Desert Eagle. Looks heavy enough"
"That's because it's a Desert Eagle. Manufactured also by the IMI in Israel. Some consider it sort of a spin-off."
"I don't need a Desert Eagle-like handgun. Especially a modern one." Immanuel paused for a second. "I'm looking for something that is sort of obsolete. Old-fashioned. From the 60s preferably or before but it has to be efficient. And it has to have a silencer. The Ruger's American, right?"
"Yeah, it is. So you want one that's…well, just plain odd. Right? And with a silencer and an efficiency kick to it. Hmmm…."
The Merchant, perfectly calm and stoic-like, had been in this exact situation numerous times before. His suit, along with his facial composure and general attitude, hinted at a professional dealer rather than a showy salesman. He reached his arm forward and grabbed an Austrian Glock but seemed to be moving it aside in order to reach what looked like a truly ugly gun.
"Bingo. This one you'll love. Soviet-manufactured 6P9 that comes with a Two-Part Silencer. Looks ugly like fuck but it's a beast to use. Wait, let me get the silencer"
The Merchant grabbed one of the small black purse-like holder attached to the larger suitcases, the one with "DOMINOES" imprinted on it, and was able to extract a silencer out of a handful of similar ones after a few seconds of rummaging. He attached it to the SP9 and handed the pistol to Immanuel.
"The great thing about this is that the front part of the barrel is enclosed right into the silencer when it's attached. Add to that the short slide and you get virtually no return spring on the slide. Instead, the return spring is located somewhere under the grip which makes this beast great for emergency situations. It can hold eight rounds, the ammunition would be identical to the same used by a Makarov which would be a nine by eighteen and the only downfall is that it's a Double Action. You cool with that?"
Immanuel raised the pistol and aimed at the sole window of his one-room hotel room at The Hotel Tropicana on Valencia Street in the Mission District of San Francisco. He fitted it in the back of his pants and stood up straight before removing it and placing it next to the Ruger LC9.
"How much for both? Including the ammunition."
"I gave you a 550 price tag for the Ruger LC9 including two cases of ammo. So together with the SP9, with two cases of ammunition for it, it'll go for one thousand seven hundred and fifty. Wait, I have a special holster for the LC9. Let me..."
"Don't need it" Immanuel quickly shot back while going to open one of the drawers embedded into his writing desk. He took out an envelope and handed it to the Merchant. "That's Two Thousand dollars. None of it was withdrawn from any ATM machine. I don't need change but I could use two extra things that won't cost you much."
"Shoot" The Merchant replied. "Figuratively, of course"
"One of them is one of the small black bags you got there."
The Merchant took the envelope, quickly counted the money before placing it in the inner pocket of his dress jacket. He emptied the black purse-like holder with silencers in it and handed the emptied thing to Immanuel.
"And the other?"
"Your silence in regards to this transaction"
The Merchant didn't answer but simply smiled, indicating to Immanuel that the question he asked was not only unnecessary but a bit silly. There are some things that simply go without saying.
"You a Military Man, Jonathan?" The Merchant asked while packing his two suitcases. Immanuel kept silent but nodded when The Merchant eyed him. "I can always tell. You hole yourself up in a small room, have a preference for semi-automatics, brief and direct in your speech, and have a preference for keeping things hidden. Where'd you serve?"
"Afghanistan" Immanuel replied, lying through his teeth. His official military records indicate Immanuel was stationed at the border of Saudi Arabia shortly before the 1990 Gulf War broke out.
"Your sacrifice is appreciated, soldier" The Merchant had finished packing his suitcases and extended his right arm. "Along with your business, of course"
Immanuel shook his hand and led him to the door. The Merchant, departing with more money he had asked for, did not seem to be overwhelmed by it. It is a business day as usual with a minor level of deviation.
"One last thing" Immanuel, now oddly initiating a conversation, said. "You don’t want to know what the guns are for?"
"Don't care. The serials are shaved off so you or I don't have to worry about a trace. Plus, I don't ask these kind of questions to my clients"
"Fair enough."
The same door that protruded that dual nature knock let out a definite thud as Immanuel closed it. The camera stayed out as the door stayed close. It would remain close as Immanuel retreated to one of his many spells of solitude, only now armed with a total of three firearms for reasons unclear. Only Immanuel Taylor understood Immanuel Taylor.
“Is this Jonathan Harker?” The visitor began. He is wearing a very sharp suit, a striped grayish and blackish one that goes along perfectly with his slim figure, and he is holding two large suitcases in both hands.
“Yes” Immanuel had the door slightly opened, enough to show his face, and he had his right hand hovering over the area where his gun was placed in the back of his hands. “Are you the Merchant of Venice?”
“Yes I am” the middle aged man said. He had a degree of handsomeness on him that Immanuel picked up on. Taylor stepped back and opened the door wide enough for the Merchant and his two large suitcases. He is the first person to step into Immanuel’s hotel room at The Hotel Tropicana.
“You are familiar with our mutual contact, yes? The young man downstairs at the reception area?”
“Yes” Immanuel closed the door.
“Good. He told me you bought a handgun from him, one that I sold to him earlier. Do you mind if I inspect it?”
Immanuel went to take the handgun out from the back of his pants.
“Careful. Please take it out slowly” The Merchant cut in as Immanuel eyed his dress jacket and noticed the two bulges, indicating two hidden pistols. Both men eyed each other. Immanuel slowly extracted his .45 ACP Smith and Wesson and took out the clip before handing the semi-automatic to the Merchant.
“You forgot the bullet in the chamber, Jonathan”
“There isn’t one”
The Merchant checked the chamber and, indeed, there wasn’t one. He nodded and inspected the pistol. It took him two seconds to identify it.
“.45 ACP Smith and Wesson Semi-Automatic. Yes, I recall selling this to our mutual friend downstairs. How much did he sell it to you?”
“I’d rather not say”
“I understand” The Merchant returned the pistol to Immanuel and proceeded to pick up the two large suitcases and place them on the bed. His tone increasingly became less formal and more warm.
“You understand the use of an alias, yes?”
“Yes”
“A straight-to-the-point man. I like that” The Merchant went to open the suitcases. His tone is becoming less and less formal. “You know, California is a shitty place if you’re a gun fanatic. Not for me that is, heh, I can make a lot of money through the back door channels. The state here's already got a mammoth budget deficit and our dickwad of a governer, Jerry Brown, can’t get cuts and temporary tax increases passed even with a Democrat-majority state legislature. Now they’re once again running late on the budget proposal. You big on guns?”
“No”
“Oh..so you’re a one-time buyer? Self-defense?”
“Yes” Immanuel’s responses are short and direct. There is no superfloruous aspect to them. The Merchant, by contrast, is getting warmer in his vocal interactions.
“I see…” The Merchant senses the lack of vocal life in Immanuel. He continues nonetheless. “You know, I once sold a vintage 19th century rifle to a man in Santa Clara. It was the…umm.. Krag-Jorgensen. The original Norweigen one not the American or Danish rip-offs. It was a custom order and I went through hell to get it for him. And I did. Cause that’s what I do. Anyways, he bought it for a cool 12 grand. Three weeks later, I’m reading the San Francisco Chronicle and it’s about that same guy and guess what the asshole did? He blew his head off with that rifle. Who the hell uses a bolt-action rifle to put an end to his life? I didn’t even know you could position one in that position, you know?”
Immanuel is silent throughout all of this. He nods when The Merchant finishes both his story and unpacking his two large suitcases. The two large suitcases, now spread wide open, have a simple black interior which serves to highlight the mass number of handguns placed in close yet strategic positions. The Merchant did not wait for Immanuel to begin.
“Ok, so are you looking for anything other than handguns? Rifles, Shotguns, Assualt Rifles? I have a line on a Dragunov sniper rifle in mint condition. Completely unused. Interested?”
“Just the handguns”
“Ok. Anything in specific? Or do you want me to run you through them?”
“Yes. I’m looking for a semi-automatic that is easy to disassemble and get comfortable with. Something with a fine grip and a decent weight to it but not something heavy to carry.”
The Merchant stayed silent for exactly five seconds before reaching his arm forward and grabbing one of the pistols. He presented it to Immanuel.
“I got this from a friend in Iraq. He siphoned a couple out of the latest shipment ordered by the Iraqi Army. It’s a CZ 99. Originally produced in Yugoslavia in 1989, more specifically in the Serbia portion. Has a decent weight, can do single or double action and has a fifty meter range.”
“It’s Serbian?”
“Hm?”
“Do you know if it was used by the Serbian military?”
“Umm….well, I suppose so. They did manufacture it and it’s got an appeal to it till this day. So..”
“No. Let’s move to another gun” Immanuel quickly cut in, not being able for some reason to get past the Serbian history of the gun. The Merchant, slightly confused, keeps his professional face on and places the gun back. He eyes the rest and picks out another one.
“Ok. Let’s move to more modern ones. This is my newest acquisition. Got it from the SHOT show at Las Vegas. It’s a Ruger LC9. It’s small but it’s got a very nice grip to it. Glass-filled nylon with alloy steel for the slide material. Standard 9 millimeter”
Immanuel held the LC9 in his right hand and aimed it at the opposite wall. He retracted his hand and felt the grip of the gun. It was small yet a firm handle can be achieved. He tried fitting it in the back of his pants but immediately sensed it was too small. Immanuel, however, saw a degree of usefulness in its size.
"How much?"
"Five Hundred and Fifty, Jonathan. Just for you. And that includes two 9mm ammunition cases."
Immanuel placed the gun on his writing desk next to the .45 ACP and turned back to the two large suitcases. His eyes analyzed the numerous guns packed one next to another. The Merchant of Venice waited exactly ten seconds and, sensing a lack of initiative by Immanuel, stepped forward.
"Here, let me show you this one I got from the United Arab Emirates. It's the Caracal and…"
"I already noticed. Not really interested. How about this one?"
"That's the…um…oh yes, that's the Jericho 941. Top Israeli handgun. Very nice."
"Bit too close to a Desert Eagle. Looks heavy enough"
"That's because it's a Desert Eagle. Manufactured also by the IMI in Israel. Some consider it sort of a spin-off."
"I don't need a Desert Eagle-like handgun. Especially a modern one." Immanuel paused for a second. "I'm looking for something that is sort of obsolete. Old-fashioned. From the 60s preferably or before but it has to be efficient. And it has to have a silencer. The Ruger's American, right?"
"Yeah, it is. So you want one that's…well, just plain odd. Right? And with a silencer and an efficiency kick to it. Hmmm…."
The Merchant, perfectly calm and stoic-like, had been in this exact situation numerous times before. His suit, along with his facial composure and general attitude, hinted at a professional dealer rather than a showy salesman. He reached his arm forward and grabbed an Austrian Glock but seemed to be moving it aside in order to reach what looked like a truly ugly gun.
"Bingo. This one you'll love. Soviet-manufactured 6P9 that comes with a Two-Part Silencer. Looks ugly like fuck but it's a beast to use. Wait, let me get the silencer"
The Merchant grabbed one of the small black purse-like holder attached to the larger suitcases, the one with "DOMINOES" imprinted on it, and was able to extract a silencer out of a handful of similar ones after a few seconds of rummaging. He attached it to the SP9 and handed the pistol to Immanuel.
"The great thing about this is that the front part of the barrel is enclosed right into the silencer when it's attached. Add to that the short slide and you get virtually no return spring on the slide. Instead, the return spring is located somewhere under the grip which makes this beast great for emergency situations. It can hold eight rounds, the ammunition would be identical to the same used by a Makarov which would be a nine by eighteen and the only downfall is that it's a Double Action. You cool with that?"
Immanuel raised the pistol and aimed at the sole window of his one-room hotel room at The Hotel Tropicana on Valencia Street in the Mission District of San Francisco. He fitted it in the back of his pants and stood up straight before removing it and placing it next to the Ruger LC9.
"How much for both? Including the ammunition."
"I gave you a 550 price tag for the Ruger LC9 including two cases of ammo. So together with the SP9, with two cases of ammunition for it, it'll go for one thousand seven hundred and fifty. Wait, I have a special holster for the LC9. Let me..."
"Don't need it" Immanuel quickly shot back while going to open one of the drawers embedded into his writing desk. He took out an envelope and handed it to the Merchant. "That's Two Thousand dollars. None of it was withdrawn from any ATM machine. I don't need change but I could use two extra things that won't cost you much."
"Shoot" The Merchant replied. "Figuratively, of course"
"One of them is one of the small black bags you got there."
The Merchant took the envelope, quickly counted the money before placing it in the inner pocket of his dress jacket. He emptied the black purse-like holder with silencers in it and handed the emptied thing to Immanuel.
"And the other?"
"Your silence in regards to this transaction"
The Merchant didn't answer but simply smiled, indicating to Immanuel that the question he asked was not only unnecessary but a bit silly. There are some things that simply go without saying.
"You a Military Man, Jonathan?" The Merchant asked while packing his two suitcases. Immanuel kept silent but nodded when The Merchant eyed him. "I can always tell. You hole yourself up in a small room, have a preference for semi-automatics, brief and direct in your speech, and have a preference for keeping things hidden. Where'd you serve?"
"Afghanistan" Immanuel replied, lying through his teeth. His official military records indicate Immanuel was stationed at the border of Saudi Arabia shortly before the 1990 Gulf War broke out.
"Your sacrifice is appreciated, soldier" The Merchant had finished packing his suitcases and extended his right arm. "Along with your business, of course"
Immanuel shook his hand and led him to the door. The Merchant, departing with more money he had asked for, did not seem to be overwhelmed by it. It is a business day as usual with a minor level of deviation.
"One last thing" Immanuel, now oddly initiating a conversation, said. "You don’t want to know what the guns are for?"
"Don't care. The serials are shaved off so you or I don't have to worry about a trace. Plus, I don't ask these kind of questions to my clients"
"Fair enough."
The same door that protruded that dual nature knock let out a definite thud as Immanuel closed it. The camera stayed out as the door stayed close. It would remain close as Immanuel retreated to one of his many spells of solitude, only now armed with a total of three firearms for reasons unclear. Only Immanuel Taylor understood Immanuel Taylor.
