Dockingboys

Chapter Eighteen

Pitts walked down the street. At this time of hour, there was no one outside. He frowned at his watch. It was five thirty.

This part of the Vulture's Nest was just as bad as the rest of it, but this one was more populated, and shops here had more business. There were some inns and restaurants, as well as multiple stores. There were some pickpockets already up and about, but Pitts ignored them. You'd think that the police would stop by once in a while to arrest thieves, but they didn't. The Vulture's Nest was full of them, and the police didn't have time to deal with it.

Pitts was heading for a small shop opened by an old grizzled soldier who had fought in the famous Northern War. About fifty years ago, the Lycians to the north had tried to invade Swixom, and this soldier and his troops were sent away from Oakton and the northernmost city of Swixom, which was called Snowfelt. There, a bloody war happened between Swixom soldiers with machine guns and revolvers against Lycians with axes and maces and swords. But the Lycians were renowned for their battling nature, and even when they were outnumbered by the Swixom soldiers one to two, they still fought bravely until their commanding officer called to retreat. Ten years later, after another president had been elected, a treaty was signed between the two countries and not a single war with the Lycians ever happened again.

Pitts knocked on the door and then opened it to find himself standing inside a relatively cozy room with a few other people, where there were a few couches and a small radio and magazines on top of a small coffee table. A counter lay in the back of the room, and an old man with graying black hair stood behind it, talking to a tall Lycian man. Guns of all shapes and sizes were hanging on the walls, and descriptions were written in small-print underneath each one. Pitts noticed the magazines had Irene Graham, a rising celebrity, posing differently on each cover page. He sat down and picked one up, flipping through the pages. There, more photos of Irene were on each page. One page showed a picture of her and a young man, in which the caption said:

Celebrity Irene Graham and her new boyfriend, famous editor and publisher Charles Walter.

Something about Charles made Pitts think for a moment about where he might've seen him, but Pitts just shrugged it off. They were celebrities after all, and he'd probably seen him on some other magazine. Pitts chuckled. Celebrities were always living the high life, while average people like him had to work, or steal, to survive. He didn't hold a grudge against celebrities, but he often felt like they should be more equal, and the gap between rich and poor should be smaller.

After a few minutes, the Lycian man walked outside, holding a small briefcase. Pitts stood up and stretched, then walked towards the counter. There, the soldier behind it grinned. He and Pitts were long-time friends who met during the Northern War, even though Pitts looked a good deal younger than he was.

"Pitts! Long time no see, eh?" the soldier said, smiling. "Where ya been? I heard some news. Said you were stealing a container of sorts?"

Pitts smiled back. "Yeah, I was. But the damn thing got stolen by the guy who killed Jaxon."

The soldier's eyebrows arched. "The man who killed Jaxon tried to kill ya?"

"That's what Mack said, at least. I think I saw a fedora, as well, those damn hats."

"Then what the hell are ya doing here?"

"I need guns. Big guns. Powerful guns. Whatever automatic will work, Derrick."

Derrick grinned. "Well, then, you're in luck, my friend! Come follow me."

Derrick stepped away from the counter and pushed open a door in the back wall, then walked inside. The room behind the storeroom was huge, and there were guns hanging on the walls and multiple boxes stacked on a shelf to the left side and right side of the room. In front of them, guns hung on hooks attached to the wall, and there were all types. There was also a large table with a glass top. Derrick walked over to the far wall and picked off a large machine gun with a scope on top. "These guns are slightly better, faster, and stronger than the ones outside. Those are commercial shit. These beauties right here, in here, are the real deal," he said to Pitts. "The one I'm holding right now is a powerful K-16. One of the old ones, but that doesn't change its fire rate. It fires about six bullets per second, and the scope is actually pretty great. The clip has three hundred bullets in it, and it has a second clip on the side. We used this baby to drive them Lycians back to the north, by the way."