Page 123 of Roberto

I reloaded the magazine, pushed it back into place, and jacked a round into the chamber.

Everything seemed good.

“I’ll take it,” I said.

“Good gun, yes?” the man asked with a smirk.

“Very nice.”

The man looked at Mei-ling likeTold you so, then held out his hand to me. “Sixty thousand.”

I pulled out a small number of bills from my pocket so he couldn’t see everything I had. Once I counted out 60 individual thousand-dollar bills, I handed them over and pocketed the remainder.

He grinned as he shoved the money in his desk. “Nice doing business with you.”

“I need something else,” I said as I stowed the Glock inside my jacket.

“What?”

When I told him, his eyes got big as saucers.

“You serious?” he asked, stunned.

“Yes.”

He looked at Mei-ling and asked her something in Cantonese.

“Yes,” she replied in English. “He knows what he’s asking for.”

“Don’t have it,” the man said gruffly.

“Can you get it, though?” I asked.

“…yes.” A crafty smile spread over his face. “But very expensive.”

“How much?”

He paused like he was trying to figure out how much he should gouge me.

“800,000 Hong Kong,” he finally said.

$100,000 US.

Jesus.

However, considering that a pistol cost $7500, it was probably a reasonable amount of money. Once you factored in his fee as the middleman, anyway.

I figured if I accepted the first bid, he would take me for a sucker and try to wrangle more money out of me later. Unexpected costs, unforeseen obstacles, etcetera, etcetera.

“600,000,” I offered.

“800,000!” he barked.

“700.”

He looked at me sideways. “750. Final offer.”

“Fine,” I snapped, pretending to be irritated.

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