The Parasite | Eminem

38

A.N. My search history is deeply incriminating... Also, major warning for... ugh, forget it, I ain't spoiling shit.

"You got any double-action revolvers?" I ask dully, leaning on the counter, chin in my palm.
I stare down into the case full of shinny and glamorously expensive firearms.
It doesn't matter how much I spent.
They say to die with nothing to your name, the only way to live properly.

"Well of course we do" the old white man scoffs in his southern voice.
Hold onto his brown suspenders, he walks along the back wall, looking careful for the diamond in the rough.
A simple, six barrel revolving cylinder piece of weaponry... it's all I want.
I've got to make sure everything is perfect.
It needs to be a classic, formal departure.

"Here we are... well, if you want my personal opinion, I've got you a fine piece of machinery here!" He announces, pulling a modern looking revolver out from the glass case below him.

I walk over to him curiously, look down at the gun with cynical eyes.
I raise an eyebrow at it's rubber grip, already feeling negative opinions towards it.
"This is the Rock Island Armory AL22M .22 Mag. Revolver... real beauty"
This man could sell me anything with that voice.

"It's got a rubber grip does it not?" I question, holding out my open palm in a silent request to hold the weapon.

"Yes, it's square-butt grip frame is comfortably couched inside a two-piece rubber grip, it's quite nice" he remarks, carefully handing the beautiful thing to me.

I feel it's pleasure-inducing weight in my hand, beckoning me to hold it properly.
It's gorgeous, no doubt about it, but I'm not fully sold on it yet.

"it holds eight rounds rather than six, I always recommend it" he grins at me, leaning over to watch me as I watch it as if it might disappear on me.
Eight rounds?
That won't do.

"I'm sorry, it's beautiful, but that's too much anticipation. I'm really just looking for a standard, six barrel chamber." I tell him, placing it back into his hand carefully.
Those two extra barrels are enough time to change a person's mind.

"Well, alright... if ya insist..." he sighs, placing it back in the case along with the rest.
I stare down at them all, scoping out one that might catch my eye.
I notice a completely matte black beauty, pointing it out systematically, "I'd like to see that one" I mumble, getting an agreeable hum out of him as he grabs it from the case.

"Ah, the Colt Python .357 Magnum Revolver with a six inch Barrel, real gorgeous revolver. The six barrel chamber ya want. They use replicas of it in movies cause it's so darn good lookin" he chuckles, really selling me on it as he reveals it to me in all it's glory.

"Then it's perfect. I'll buy it" I tell him, looking up at his proud face.
The guy is getting a purchase out of me, what does he care what I do with it?

"Just letting you know, Python's are real pricy, they aren't in production no more so this'll cost ya a pretty penny." He tells me, bringing it over to the register.

"That doesn't bother me, I'm here to make a real investment" investment in the world's well-being if you will.
And if I fail, which I will give enough opportunity for, then that's how it must be.
"Toss in a box of ammunition will you."

"Alrighty. That'll be one-thousand, four hundred and ninth-nine dollars. Cash or card?" He asks, giving me a chipper expression to match his patriotic accent.

"Cash." I state, pulling out fifteen-hundred in bills, counting them diligently despite knowing the quantity.
If I fail, then I'd still have to cover my tracks.
I hand him the crisp currency, watching him count it himself, doing his due-diligence before sliding it into the register.