The bell rang when the duo walked into the small pawn shop in East Dallas, Texas. Passing all the everyday items to the back corner counter, Jackson and Gordon leaned over the glass cases displaying the handguns. A wall of long guns ran for roughly 20 feet behind a older man perched on a black bar stool.
“Gents” was all the man said without looking up from his magazine. His long grey mustache curled slightly at the ends. His slight potbelly blocked the view of the Glock at his right hip from this angle.
“May I see the Mossberg 12 gauge, sir?” Jackson asked politely.
The man handed the tactical shotgun over the counter.
“Thanks Dan.” Jackson said without looking away from the firearm.
The man eyed him quizzically and grunted, deciding the customer had just guessed well. Dan looked over at Gordon and asked if he’d like to see the Colt Python .357 magnum in the box.
“It’s a good old pistol from back in the day before all the cops switched to semi-autos.” Dan smiled as he pulled the revolver from the case and handed it to Gordon. “I pegged you when you got out of the Charger. Spent 22 years on the force myself. But I’m not sure about this one,” hooking a thumb at Jackson, “military?”
“I’ll take this one.” Jackson said to the owner. “She’s perfect. Not too new and not too old. Don’t want to damage a new one and don’t want problems either. Needs to work in a tight spot. Rocksalt when ya need it.” Dan raised an eyebrow at the comment, but said nothing.
“Uncle Dan, I see the silver blades at the end of the cabinet. Might you have any silver bullets? What other sorts of ‘specific’ gear have you got just out of sight?” Jackson asked with a disarming smile.
“I think we came to the right place, Gordon. You should get that one, its perfect for you.”