Page 39 of Goose

Ally

Isurveyed the glass case. It was filled with overpriced knives, throwing stars, and miscellaneous other bullshit that would appeal to angry teens. On the walls, various branches of military uniforms hung, many from generations that had long since passed. I was obviously in the wrong place.

I turned toward the door. A man’s voice from behind me caused me to hesitate.

“If there’s something you’re looking for and it’s not on display,” he said, his tone hoarse and gravely. “I’ve probably got in in the back. If not, it’ll be in our warehouse.”

I turned around, expecting an elderly man. A bearded man in his mid-twenties stood on the opposite side of the glass case. Bits and pieces of his hair went in every possible direction. The buttons on the blouse of his improperly sized uniform were straining the thread that held them in place.

“I was looking for night vision,” I said dismissively.

“Monocular, scope, or goggles?”

“Goggles. I wanted a—”

“We’ve got the PNW-57E Russian-issue night vision for four hundred.”

“That’s a piece of Soviet crap,” I said. “I was looking for the US-issue—”

“We’ve got the PVS-7, which is the current-issue for US and Allied forces. They’re forty-five hundred. What are you going to be using it for?”

I rolled my eyes. “Looking at shit in the dark.”

He put his hands on his hips. “What kind of shit?”

My intentions were none of his business. Aggravated, I turned toward the door. After taking a few steps, he cleared his throat.

“I don’t give a shit what you’re doing with it,” he said. “I was just tryin’ to figure out which one would suit you best.”

I paused. I really didn’t want to drive all over San Diego looking for a night vision setup. I faced him.

“Is it new, remanufactured, or used?”

“New. Unissued.”

I took a few steps in his direction, making certain to stand at his side, in case one of his buttons became a projectile. “Do you have the latest generation? The 7D?”

“Not here,” he replied. “The one we have in stock right now is the 7A, if I remember correctly.”

I knew from experience that the first generation would suit me fine. The PVS-7 was my first choice for night vision—and what I was replacing.

“You only have one?” I asked.

“That’s all we keep on hand.”

“But you have others? Somewhere else?”

“We do,” he said. “In El Cajon, in our warehouse.”

“So, when you sell this one, you’ll bring in another?”

He grinned. “That’s how it works.”

“Will it be the newest gen? The 7D? When you bring in the one that replaces this one?”

He shrugged. “Probably.”

“Are you negotiable on price?”