Hank Voight.
Sergeant of the Intelligence Unit at the Chicago Police Department's 21st District. A man of integrity with a grit-teeth approach to justice, possessing extensive experience in gang crimes and criminal investigations.
Erin Lindsay.
Hank Voight's foster daughter and a detective in the same elite unit.
In a gun shop located not far from the airport parking lot, Hank and Erin were currently selecting firearms. Hunting rifles, specifically. Since the US has a healthy obsession with firearms, finding a gun shop near an airport was hardly rare. In places like Texas, you could practically buy a rifle before your luggage even hit the carousel.
West Virginia... was still a bit conservative by comparison.
"Hank."
George walked in and spotted his old friend. He broke into a wide grin, and the two shared a firm embrace—a meeting of old comrades who hadn't seen each other in far too long.
Locke turned to Gwen with curiosity. "George and this Voight guy..."
"Classmates."
"Old classmates," Gwen corrected. "They were in the police academy together. They talk so often that Mom once caught Dad on the phone in the middle of the night and thought he'd picked up a mistress."
As Gwen spoke, she stepped forward to hug Erin Lindsay, who had just finished greeting Helen. "Long time no see, Erin!"
"Too long," Erin replied with a smile, the beauty mark on her left cheek accentuating her expression. She noticed Locke, paused as if recalling something, and looked down at Gwen.
Gwen was perfectly poised. "Broughton. Locke Broughton, my boyfriend."
Recognition dawned on Erin's face. She looked at Locke and extended a hand. "The protagonist of Chicago's best-selling contraband lately. It's an honor."
Locke shook her hand. Like anyone who spent significant time at the range, Erin's hand was firm and calloused.
But... Contraband?
"Yes." Erin let go and chuckled. "Two weeks ago, we got word that a shipment of illegal goods had arrived at the Port of Chicago. The recipients were high school drug dealers. We prepped a tactical raid, executed it successfully, but when we cracked open the crates... it was nothing but your photobooks."
Locke's mouth twitched at the look of suppressed amusement on Erin's face.
Gwen asked curiously, "How did Locke's photobook become contraband?"
Erin laughed. "We found out during interrogation that the 'contraband' tip actually came from the dealers themselves. But it wasn't drugs; it was defined as contraband by the administrations of several major high schools. Dealers follow the money. Apparently, these photobooks are going for two hundred dollars a copy on the street."
Gwen's jaw dropped. "Two hundred dollars?"
Their official price was only sixty.
Nearby, George and Hank noticed the commotion. Hank rubbed his chin in his signature manner, glanced at Locke, and then looked at his old friend. He spoke in his characteristic low, raspy voice. "So, this is the future son-in-law?"
George was still reeling from the two hundred dollars news. He looked up at Hank and gave a dry chuckle. "Don't underestimate him. I called you here to provide backup; don't let me down."
Hank laughed outright. George, however, felt a bit helpless.
Shooting? In the beginning, George had felt a full sense of accomplishment teaching Locke. But after a few sessions, he realized Locke's marksmanship improved as fast as his grades. After five trips to the range, George found that if he didn't focus 100%, his scores were actually lower than Locke's.
So, he had tried fishing—an activity that usually requires more patience than a young man possesses.
But the fish were like idiots. Even with bait right next to George's hook, they would line up to bite Locke's instead, not even sparing George a glance.
This time? For the dignity of a father-in-law, George had called in an expert hunter like Hank to hold the line. This time, he had to extinguish this wild boar's arrogance and show him that a father-in-law is still a father-in-law.
However... George frowned. "What's the deal with the two hundred dollars? Wasn't it a hundred?"
To see what was so special about a book that earned this wild boar eighty thousand in dividends in two months, George had quietly bought a copy himself. But due to "channel and confidentiality" issues, he'd had to buy it from a reseller for a hundred dollars. Buying a dozen exquisite photos—of his daughter's boyfriend, no less—had made George's heart ache for his wallet for half a day.
Most importantly, George had looked through it repeatedly and still couldn't understand how a dozen pictures could sell for a hundred dollars, let alone two hundred. Was money just not worth anything anymore?
Hank looked at George with a strange expression. "The retail price in New York is sixty dollars. Why did you spend a hundred?"
George froze. "What? Sixty?"
He hadn't asked Gwen about the pricing at home. If he had, it would imply he was paying too much attention to Locke, creating the wrong impression.
Hank chuckled. "High schoolers. The more you ban something, the more they want it. Several Chicago high schools collectively blacklisted the book, so the local drug dealers realized they could pivot to selling these. The profit margins aren't as high as the hard stuff, but the risk is practically zero."
If they got caught with these, the school might be mad, but it wasn't against the law. It wasn't even smuggling. Hank had been so annoyed at the "bad tip" that he'd given his informant a serious thrashing.
George's teeth felt sour.
Gwen sucked in a breath. Hearing the price of Locke's book in Chicago, it all clicked. "No wonder Cindy told me the Chicago orders were coming in like crazy lately. She said the machines at the factory are practically smoking. At this rate, Cindy thinks she can go ring the bell on Wall Street."
Locke's face twitched. He knew he was somewhat handsome and often joked about eating for free on his looks, but he'd never actually tried to monetize it. Now that he had, the results were terrifying.
Was giving Cindy the portrait rights a bit too hasty?
Also... Locke's expression turned slightly odd. "I recall the high schools in Chicago have a... higher percentage of African-American students, right?"
"Why else do you think your book was banned?" Erin laughed and shook her head.
Helen, checking her watch and seeing the two groups chatting away in the middle of a gun shop, clapped her hands to get their attention. "Hey, guys! Time is ticking. Are we buying gear or not? If not, let's get moving."
The group stopped chatting and began browsing the shop like it was a supermarket. Locke's eyes lit up when he saw a specific rifle. Black. Mounted with an 8x scope.
"This one?" Locke pointed to the Remington 700 hanging on the wall. "This is good."
Gwen turned, looking at George, Hank, and Erin huddled around the shotgun counter. "You're not picking a shotgun?"
For hunting, a shotgun was usually the first choice. Ammunition was easy to swap, and the spread offered a natural advantage for a kill. If you used a rifle and missed slightly, a thick-skinned animal might run off howling in pain, which was cruel.
Locke smiled. "My marksmanship is decent."
He only ever aimed for one target: the head. And his precision was always superb.
The most important point was the Remington 700's promotion: buy the rifle, get a Glock handgun for free. A buy-one-get-one-free deal was hard to pass up.
"I'll take this one," Locke decided, smiling at the clerk.
The rifle retailed for two thousand dollars. To Locke, it was pocket change. He produced his firearms permit, paid the fees, and bought a hunting license for the local game.
Two beautifully packaged boxes—one large, one small—were handed over. Even handguns were merchandise, after all, and the shop owner mentioned that if they were leaving the state later, he could buy them back at half-price if the boxes were kept.
A smart businessman.
Meanwhile, George, Hank, and Erin spent forever browsing and whispering to each other before exchanging a look. "Forget it. We'll just borrow a couple from the local precinct."
If Locke hadn't just spent two thousand dollars, he suspected the shop owner would have pulled out a Remington 870 from under the counter and given those three a piece of his mind.
You come in here, chatter away, pick out a mountain of gear, and buy nothing? Are you insane?
If they hadn't at least bought hunting licenses at the end, that might have actually happened.
Leaving the shop, George looked at Hank. "So, you don't buy a gun, yet you drag us into a gun shop?"
Hank looked back at him. "I was waiting for you. I thought you were buying. Besides, if I don't go to a gun shop, am I supposed to go to the florist next door? If I give Helen flowers, what happens when you have no weapon?"
George: "..."
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Bonus for 300
Same as before, next is 500 stones, if we hit it by Sunday then I'll post 3 bonuses
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Read 40 Chapters early on P-atreon.com/Redestro666