章 9: Chapter 9: Guns Are Men’s Favorites
They found a small restaurant where they ordered burgers and coffee. Sean, while eating, said, "You can take a break now. Typically, bars and nightclubs open around three or four in the afternoon. We'll patrol the area and ensure their security."
"In other words, it's about monitoring the venues. If trouble arises, we handle the drunk troublemakers. Usually, it's easy to manage. Our primary concern is any other gang members who might cause issues, but that's rare. Each gang sticks to its territory, and they generally don't intrude on each other's turf."
"We'll visit each place in the evening and check the sales of the liquor. After getting the list for the next day, we usually finish up around one or two in the morning," Sean added casually.
From Hardy's perspective, their work involved hard-earned money, but everyone in this world works hard.
"What about collections?" Hardy asked.
"We only have one fixed account, which is the share from the Spaniards. Cook used to handle that, but since he's been taken care of, I'm not sure who's in charge now," Sean said, looking at ease.
"Another task is collecting debts for casinos and loan companies. Those are jobs you'll pick up yourself. It's something you can start doing once you're more familiar with the business," Sean explained.
Hardy understood that collecting debts for casinos and loan companies was an additional way to make money. It was optional but potentially profitable.
Thinking of something, Hardy bit into his burger and asked Sean, "Is there a way to buy a gun? I need a few."
In a world of gangsters, it's crucial to be prepared for any danger, and having a gun was essential.
Bill's gun had been discarded into the Los Angeles River after a job, so Hardy needed to get some firearms for himself.
"Buying a gun is no problem. I'll take you to see Old Mike after dinner," Sean said.
After eating, the three of them drove to a gun shop in the suburbs. The shop was fairly large. As they got out of the car, Sean said, "Old Mike is a member of our gang. He sells both legal and illegal guns. Most of the gang members get their firearms from him."
They entered the shop, and Sean called out, "Old Mike, business is here."
Old Mike, an older man with gray hair and a big beard, got up from his couch, looked at Sean, then turned to Hardy and asked, "Who's this?"
"Jon Hardy, Bill's brother. With Bill injured, Hardy is handling his affairs for now," Sean introduced.
Old Mike studied Hardy and asked, "Have you been a soldier?"
"Yes, in the Marine Corps," Hardy replied.
The old man nodded. "I can see that in your demeanor. You must have seen a lot of action. I served in World War I with the Austro-Hungarian Empire. After the war and the fall of the empire, I came to America..."
"Old Mike, Jon is here to buy some firearms," Sean interrupted.
Old Mike nodded and said, "Follow me."
As they walked, Sean whispered to Hardy, "Whenever there's a newcomer, he'll always ramble about his past."
Hardy smiled.
They reached a large iron door. Old Mike unlocked it with a bunch of keys, and when the door opened, Hardy's eyes widened. The warehouse was filled with shelves of various weapons.
Guns and cars are a man's favorite, almost like how girls can't resist Barbie dolls and soft toys.
Old Mike began to show off the stock. "Many of these guns are used or have been decommissioned from battle. We have M1 Garand rifles, M1 carbines, Mauser 98 rifles, British Enfield rifles..."
He picked up a gun from the shelf, patted it, and said to Hardy, "This is the M1941 Johnson semi-automatic rifle, used by the Marine Corps. You should be familiar with it."
Hardy, fully immersed in his role as Hardy, recognized the rifle and felt a strong sense of familiarity as he handled it.
"Crack!"
Hardy pulled the bolt and gently squeezed the trigger.
"This gun is well maintained," Hardy said, admiring the rifle.
Old Mike smiled. "I'm not just a good seller; I'm also skilled at selecting and maintaining these guns. I personally check and maintain every weapon to ensure it's in top condition."
"I'll take this one," Hardy said immediately.
Old Mike agreed with a nod. "That'll be $105 for the rifle and 100 bullets."
The price was high, nearly half a month's salary for an average worker.
Sean grumbled, "Old Mike, these are used guns. The production cost is only a few dozen dollars. You're charging too much."
Old Mike smirked. "The hen lays eggs, but it costs something to feed her. Should I just give the eggs away for free?"
Hardy was amused by Old Mike's comment. "$100 for the rifle and 200 bullets."
"Deal," Old Mike agreed cheerfully.
They continued to the submachine gun section.
"How about a submachine gun? We have the Thompson submachine gun, known as the Chicago Typewriter, the German MP40, and the STG44..."
Without hesitation, Hardy chose the Chicago Typewriter. It was perfect for the gang. He also picked out two M1911 pistols to replace the ones Bill had lost. Lastly, he selected a beautifully crafted Colt revolver.
Finally, Hardy saw the Winchester M1887 shotgun. He had been thinking about getting one ever since it was used against Cook. Without hesitation, he decided to buy it.
The warehouse also had machine guns, grenades, and explosives. Old Mike offered them, but Hardy declined, saying, "We'll discuss those if needed."
Old Mike agreed. "Take what you need, and I'll give you a discount."
After discussing the discount, the total came to $460 for the firearms and ammunition. Hardy spent a quarter of the $1,800 he had received, but he was satisfied with the purchase.
There was a shooting range behind the gun shop. Hardy took his new weapons to practice. At a 50-meter target, his shots were almost perfect.
Sean and Ryder also shot, but their results were not even close to Hardy's accuracy.
"Jon, your marksmanship is incredible. We could barely hit the target with ten shots," Sean said, enviously.
"Marksmanship comes from practice. After thousands of rounds, anyone can become a sharpshooter," Hardy replied.
Old Mike nodded in agreement. "Joe is right. Practice is key."
Old Mike demonstrated by firing rapidly at an iron plate without aiming. Each shot made a loud noise, and after he finished, he left with a slow, steady gait.
Watching Old Mike's somewhat frail figure, Hardy thought, If Old Mike were in the martial arts world, he'd probably be considered a master.
After four in the afternoon, they left the gun shop, visited several bars, and finally arrived at the Bunny Girl Nightclub.
As dusk fell, patrons began arriving. Hardy, Sean, and Ryder got out of the car. The doorman greeted them and let them in.
"Let's find a seat. There's not much happening right now," Sean suggested.
As they walked in, a stunning woman in a red coat with blonde hair and a tall figure walked by. She greeted Sean and then looked at Hardy with interest.
"Sean, who's this handsome guy?" she asked.
Sean quickly introduced, "Jon Hardy, my new boss. He's currently in charge of this area."
"Jon, this is Marisa."
Marisa approached Hardy, her high heels clicking on the wooden floor. She stood close to him, not much shorter despite her heels.
She gazed at Hardy with brown eyes, smiled, and extended her hand. "Hello, Mr. Hardy. Nice to meet you."
"My pleasure," Hardy replied, shaking her hand.
"How about a drink together sometime?"
"That sounds great."
Marisa smiled warmly and then turned to leave, her waist swaying gracefully.
Ryder watched her leave with envy and said to Hardy, "She's never been this friendly with us, including Bill. It seems being handsome has its advantages."
Sean smiled and said, "Marisa is the most beautiful woman here at the Bunny Girl. She's got a way of attracting many customers and gets the highest commission from the boss."
Hardy thought of a term from later generations—"Princess of the Night." There would be many like her, creating an inviting atmosphere and drawing in patrons. Marisa, however, seemed to be among the most exceptional.
Sean continued, "Many men pursue her, but few succeed. She seemed interested in you, so you might have a chance."
Hardy took note of Sean's words as they settled in for the evening.
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