Chapter 1: The Gun Show Loophole pt. 2

His eyes settled on Toddler who was looking at the tasers with interest. For a boy of his persuasions, Toddler wasn't what you would call intimidating. Frequently finding himself in vulnerable situations holding drugs or money was enough to cultivate his desire to stay armed. He always carried a sharp Gerber mostly for show and psychological insurance. I had never seen him use it for anything other than scooping powder into his nose but he must have felt it held some greater utility. I didn't see the sense in him owning a taser since he would never use it. On top of that, we wouldn't have tried to use the flea market entrance if he had any money to spend. The salesman didn't need to know that though. He launched into a pitch, his rural drawl suiting his appearance.

    “You get zapped with one of these puppies in the gut and you're liable to shit your britches.” he bragged, as if this specific trait was what one looked for in a taser. For an accomplished salesman in his own right, Toddler was drawn in easily. One too many encounters with grade school bullies had left an indelible mark on his psyche and he was vulnerable to impulse buys on things like this. He had lost sight of why we were here. I rarely got to witness him taken so far out of the zone during a score so, instead of trying to pull him out of it, I let it run its course. Seeing Toddler manipulated, even if it wasn’t by me always put a smile on my face. It was a taste of his own bitter medicine. The beer bellied man behind the booth picked up one of the black, plastic boxes from the table. It had two evil-looking, steel spikes protruding from one end. Suddenly, a loud crackling erupted from the box and a jagged stream of white light came to life in between the metal prongs. Toddler turned and looked at me



    “Dude...” he said, grinning. The man behind the booth beamed, sure he was making a sale.



    “You want to give her a try?” He said and held the box out towards Toddler who nodded enthusiastically and reached out towards the man. The cracking noise came once again and the man made a short lunge forward. For a man of his size, he moved surprisingly quickly, connecting with the tips of Toddler's fingers. Toddler let loose an embarrassingly high pitched yelp and jerked his arm back.

    “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” he shouted. The man responded with a gravely belly laugh. Toddler reddened and his voice went up an octave.“You piece of shit!” When his blood was up, Toddler lost his trademark social tact and in a room full of weapons, this wasn't the place for him to get out of control. I placed a firm hand on his shoulder to remind him of why we were here.  

    “You were the one who wanted to give it a shot.” the man said, still smiling. Several of the customers moving from table to table had stopped and turned our way. All the eyes on us unsettled me. Attention was exactly what we were trying to avoid. I gave Toddler's shoulder a squeeze. I wasn't going to let him get any closer to the man with the knives in front of him. He wasn't violent but impulsively was definitely in his nature.

    I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. One hand still resting firmly on a tense shoulder, I checked the screen and answered with the other hand.

“Where the fuck are you guys?” said Miles.



    “We're next door at the flea market. You good man?” I asked.



    “I'm standing in a parking lot with a handgun” Miles replied flatly. "Get the fuck out here."

    “We'll be out in a second. Just relax, Everybody in that lot is packing. They don't even notice you.”

    Toddler had picked up on my side of the conversation and seemed to recall where he was. The fat man was already showing off a butterfly knife to a new customer. I motioned for Toddler to follow me towards the door. Walking quickly, we made it back to the Civic. Miles waited for us by the car with a gun in a woven nylon holster in his hand. When we were back in the car, Toddler held a hand through the gap between the front seats.

"Let me see the piece.” He said.

    “Don't call it a piece. It makes it sound like we're about to go do a drive by or something.” Miles said disapprovingly.



    “What am I supposed to call it?” Toddler asked



    “I don't know man. It's a pistol, it's a gun. Just don't call it a piece.”



    “I hate to break it to you, Miles, but that thing became a piece the second you paid for it.” I said, starting the car and pulling out towards the main road. Once we drove onto the highway headed towards the city, Miles relaxed a little and passed the gun to Toddler in the back seat. He immediately took it out of the holster and held it up to the window sideways.

    

    “What the fuck do you think you're doing!?” Miles yelled back at Toddler who giggled and made “Brrrrat” sounds with his lips, aiming at a white Chrysler a couple lanes away.



    “Keep that shit down man.” I ordered. Toddler still laughed but he lowered the gun.



    “Dumb ass.” Miles added.



    “Chill. It's not even loaded.” Toddler said defensively, as if a cop would let us off with a warning because we didn't have rounds in the clip. For the millionth time, I wondered if Toddler actually was a legal adult or an 8 year old masquerading as one of us as his size suggested. I could see the gun in the rear view mirror. It was small and black but I couldn't determine anything else. I thought about asking what kind it was but as long as it sold it really didn't matter. Toddler was fiddling with the clip  release in the back seat. Even if it wasn't loaded, the way he toyed with it sketched me out. I knew he could find a way to cause a problem even without ammunition.

    As much as I would have liked to feel the weight of the pistol in my hand, I wasn't about to touch the thing. Even though the serial number would be filed off in a matter of days, there was no need to take a chance. Let Miles and Toddler get their prints all over it. If somebody had to go down, it wasn't going to be me. The three of us worked as an excellent team up until we scored and not a second after. Every junky I knew ran their mouth about not snitching and never talking to cops but when they went down, one or two of their buddies went down with them and it was easy to imagine how their names came up. Looking out for yourself a little extra when it came to dealing with heroin was always a good idea. We needed each other for the moment but, in the long run, it was pretty much every man for himself.