Gun-Man

The Afghani

Junction City, Midtown

Silas Roman passed the family as fast as he could, keeping an eye on them as he passed, being careful to not get caught staring as he shot past the outdoor breakfast café they were seated at. At one point, when he was closest to them, when there was only a small railing separating the sidewalk from the shaded table the family sat at, the redheaded little girl glanced up from munching on the croissant her parents had ordered her to catch Silas' gaze, crumbs spilling out of her mouth as she blinked innocently at him.

The event almost threw Silas off-guard, at a time it was crucially important that not happen, so Silas just shrugged it off and soldiered on, ignoring the little girl as he brushed past, swallowing hard. He had places to be, things to do; he couldn't be held up on his personal past. There was no longer a place for it in his new life. It was a time of action.

Stuffing his hands in his brown leather jacket pockets- the one allowance from his old life he had left himself- Silas trudged past the one of the bars he frequented. He took a quick look at the TV and saw the news. Break-in at Grand, gang shooting in front of St. Anne's, four reported muggings, car chase resulting in a fatal shootout and crash on the ramp coming off SC8 into Junction... The mayor and the cops were kidding themselves. Even the news anchor lady seemed to almost run out of breath listing all of the violent incidents just that morning.

Junction City, South Carolina was a shithole, and no one at the federal, state or municipal level did anything. In terms of violent crime, it was topping even Camden, New Jersey and Mobile, Alabama in both raw numbers and per capita. Cases weren't being close, federal aid was not being provided, conviction were being pleaded-down... It was a nightmare to live in Junction City the past few years.

Scoffing, disgusted, Silas shook his head while passing. He was at the corner and about to turn off Main Street when a pickup tried jumping the curb to cut around some other jackass who was honking loudly and nearly hit Silas. As it was the pickup wrapped itself around the crash post- one of many that had been installed recently to combat this exact behavior- with an earsplitting crunch and sent shattered glass skittering across the pavement. Silas too hit the pavement, his jacket protecting him from most of the glass but still getting caught in the cheek.

Leaping to his feet in a fit of rage, blood dripping off his fresh cut, Silas marched over to the front of the pickup and tore the door off its hinges (it was very loosely still on). Reaching in from the passenger side, he grabbed the flannel-wearing fucker who'd just ruined his walk and dragged his bloodied, barely-breathing body out and threw him onto the sidewalk remorselessly, where he lay whimpering and coughing up blood.

"Jesus fucking Christ you shitass! Dumb as a brick is what you are! Fucking asshole, unbelievable!" Silas ranted, furious. Glancing down at the pathetic form of the pickup driver, Silas decided he wasn't worth the time or effort. Leaving him, broken and decrepit on the ground for someone else to deal with, he took one last look backwards, down the block towards the café, and locked eyes with the little girl once more, now finished with her croissant and bawling her eyes out. Tearing his gaze away, Silas hurried down the side street.

He had an appointment to keep.

Pushing open the flimsy door to the pawn shop, Silas Roman became much less sure of his informant's intelligence. The place was a rundown, grimy, hole-in-the-wall that made the caves of the Tora Bora mountains look downright hospitable by comparison- and Silas meant with the al-Qaeda suicide-bombers leaping out of the darkness. Seemingly random toys and tchotchkes stuffed the thin little shop from wall to wall, with the exception of the small space cleared for walking on the far-right side.