“Politicians can’t do shit right now,” he said.
Perhaps his silence had been his way to get me more involved. I chose to let it pass, especially since he was now more freely speaking.
“The pressure isn’t coming from them, it’s coming from the people. There’s widespread support for gun control, especially considering all the mass shootings recently. Even the politicians aren’t particularly apologetic about their actions.”
“Shiiiit,” I said, drawing the word out.
“I’m afraid, son, that this is not a battle that we are going to win,” Father Marcellus said. “Trust me when I said that we tried everything from my way to Butch’s way.”
The polite and the intimidation. Good cop, bad cop.
“It’s not going to work. The public, at least in this state, is too alarmed about the potential of guns. We’re not going to sway the politicians. As it is, even if we got more guns, any visibility of that would suggest something even more restrictive would be forced on us. And if we remove officials, there is no guarantee we won’t get someone more suffocating.”
I took a puff of my cigarette to make sure my next words were chosen without too much emotion.
“Well, that’s a bitch.”
It seemed simple enough. Not stupidly funny, but not dismissive.
“And the local gun store owners?”
“Same thing,” Butch said. “They don’t have more guns.”
“Fuck.”
It was a lost cause, I realized, to try and change the gun laws in Springsville. We’d have to either go outside Springsville, rob someone, or do something else I couldn’t think of. Father Marcellus’ point was perhaps the most salient of all—to attempt removal of the officials would only result in harsher law.
Like Angela.
“How long are we going to be like this, would you guess?” I asked.
“For the foreseeable future.”
As usual, all eyes turned to Red Raven when he spoke.
“This is not a reactionary thing, but a generational thing. The youth fear guns. They do not understand their power. As they gain political power, they will seek to stamp them out more and more.”
“Fucking Millennials,” I said with a hint of a smile. “Okay, so that’s for politicians and gun stores. What other options do we have?”
I noticed Axle sharing a look with Butch and Father Marcellus before turning back to me.
“We have a group that is willing to sell us guns in Compton,” he explained. “We need to make a run out there with a nice-sized unit for protection. What do you say?”
Before I even said a word, Patriot leaned in and stared bullets into me. It was obvious what his message was.This is your chance to show you’re a part of the club.
When Axle said, “What do you say,” he wasn’t asking for my approval. That was obvious. It wasn’t a question—it was a demand disguised as a question. A demand that I join them and help them carry out the run, no matter how risky it was. In fact, the riskier it was, the better. A riskier mission would have a better chance of ensuring I got into a situation in which I’d have to prove my worth.
Prove I was something I wasn’t quite yet—afraid of dying.
“I say we do it,” I said, emphasizing “we.” “Butch, Axle, Patriot, and I will complete this. We do what we need to do.”
I couldn’t lie. I spoke the words quickly enough that I wouldn’t have the chance to take them back. There was absolutely a nervousness to my words that even a child could have picked up on. The confidence wasn’t there.
But I could see the surprise on Axle’s face. Butch was impossible to read, and Father Marcellus didn’t have much of a reaction. Axle’s reaction, though, said it all.
“Axle, when would we need to go on this run?”
“Tomorrow, ideally,” he said. “The Hovas will supply the guns. I’ll communicate with them and set up exact details, but they want this done ASAP.”
