They look at each other and burst out laughing as if something was funny.
“What family?” the second guy mocks Kazimir’s voice.
The funny thing about all this—and trust me, there is so much funny shit going on at the moment—is that the most dangerous person out here is the one they are mocking.
I’m pretty sure none of us would have a problem putting a bullet in any of these guys’ heads, but Kaz has no problem going further. He wouldn’t just kill you; he’d fillet you, but only after he’s murdered your entire family while you watched.
“Lansky, baby,” the first idiot says before throwing up random hand gestures.
“Are you doing…. gang signs?” Axel asks.
Meech drops his head, but from the way his shoulders are moving I can tell he’s silently laughing.
“Enough,” the fake ass Don shouts. “Are we doing this or not?”
Meech looks over at me, and I give him a very subtle nod.
“Yeah, we’re doing this.” I appreciate how he immediately jumped right back into character. “Let me see the product.”
The Don looks at one of the other guys. “Go get the guns.”
The guy quickly goes to the back of the truck. When he comes back, he’s dragging a green footlocker. He brings it to the middle of us and sets it down. He then pops open the locks and, lo-and-behold, there are guns inside. For a moment, I thought I was being pranked.
I give Ghost the go ahead to check the guns. He quickly steps out of the line and goes to the locker.
“This all you got?” I ask.
The fake Don looks at me and then at Meech. “I thought you were running this?”
“Answer the question.”
The knockoff Don sighs. “This is all I've got right now, but I can get more. I have to reach out to my supplier—”
“Supplier?” I query, cocking my head to the side. “So you’re not the man in charge? I thought you were a Don.”
He looks around nervously. Already his flimsy façade is falling apart.
“I am.” He pokes his chest out. “But I have people who work for me. My supplier works for me.”
“That’s not how that works.” Salv shrugs. “The supplier has the goods. If you don’t have access to the goods, then you’re just…”
“An errand boy.” Rome chuckles.
Imitation Don snatches his shades off. “I’m the Don.”
“Of the Lansky family,” I say.
My guys all chuckle.
“S,” Ghost calls out as he stands up straight. “You’re good.” It’s code to let me know these are my guns.
My guns have no traceable serial numbers or any other marks that would group them together or make them identifiable. However, that’s what makes them easy for me to identify.
“Alright, that’s half a million,” imposter Don says.
Meech whistles. “Half a million? For seventy-five guns? I thought you said it was eighty grand over the phone?”
This is another sign these dumbasses and whoever they are working for know nothing about the arms business. Seventy-five guns would normally run you close to two hundred thousand dollars.
