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Chapter 8

Buy A Magazine, Get A Gun

The wooden gate creaked as Apricot’s pale hand tugged it open. Cars lined the streets, their forms shadowed by well-kept shrubbery under the streetlights. The looming fixtures cast eerie shadows, feeding her constant suspicion of danger. “They are coming to my house now,” Apricot whispered under her breath, her eyes darting to every strange shape. She ran her fingers through her hair, gripping at the roots as if the pain could pull her from this terrible nightmare. The cool night breeze brushed against her skin, making her shiver. Oddly enough, this provided some comfort; the air was chilly but not freezing.

Through her research, Apricot had discovered that these phantoms caused phenomena in their surroundings. They brought with them arctic temperatures and electrical disturbances – two distinct signs that helped her identify when these beings were near. As she moved through the quiet streets, she couldn’t help but notice how empty her neighborhood seemed, as if the civilized world had vanished with the night. The recent talk of terrorist attacks had likely scared people into staying indoors, she reasoned.

She stopped in the middle of an intersection, her gaze drawn to a convenience store glowing like a beacon in the darkness. Through the large window, she spotted the magazine rack with a stack of Erie Truth’s Monthly on a lower shelf. With a mixture of determination and embarrassment, she entered the store, a synthesized bell announcing her arrival.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she mumbled, her heart pounding. The elderly man behind the counter offered her a quiet nod of acknowledgement, which she returned with a polite wave. She browsed past the racks of junk food, a display of new gum, and a cooler filled with various soft drinks before reaching the magazine section. Briefly considering grabbing a few others to hide her true intent, she decided against it and flipped through the pages of Erie Truth’s Monthly instead.

As she read the cover, a bead of sweat dripped from her nose onto the magazine’s face. “Well, I can’t go back now,” she muttered as the liquid seeped into the paper.

Apricot placed the magazine on the counter, attempting a casual smile at the gruff-looking old man. “Will this be all for you, dear?” he asked, his voice tinged with a professionalism reminiscent of days gone by.

“Yes, weird thing to get at night, huh?” Apricot admitted, trying to brush off the embarrassment.

The old man chuckled. “I’ve seen stranger things, hun. These can be quite the entertainers. I read the Daily Notes myself.” Apricot inwardly scoffed at the mention of the Daily Notes, a publication for the most desperate of journalists. Then again, the same could be said for Eerie Truths, and yet she was looking for answers where she knew better than to search.

“You don’t say.” She suddenly became aware of the heat around her intensifying. “You like this place kept warm, huh?” she commented, hoping to distract herself. “Perhaps, maybe… no, that’s not the pattern,” she thought.

“The place gets a little chilly every time that door opens, so I like to keep it at a solid 75 degrees,” he explained as he rang up the magazine. “Your total comes to five Marks, my dear.”

Apricot swiped her plastic card against the reader. The little screen displayed the number of marks being deducted from her account with a short animation. “75 degrees, you say?” she hesitated, feeling as though the heat was well over a blistering 120.

“You know, now that you mention it, it is feeling a little warm in here,” the old man conceded, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead. He walked over to a beam behind the counter, examining a small white thermostat. “Nope, the heater is set to 70. It seems cooler over here. Must be my dang computer system overheating again.”

“Yeah, the computer system,” Apricot echoed, reassuring herself. “Maybe temperature changes are a signal,” she pondered. “But if that’s the case…”

The older man shuffled back to the counter. “Young lady, I’m sorry if it caused you any discomfort,” he apologized, handing her the magazine in a white plastic bag.

“Oh, not at all. It’s fine. I feel bad for you having to work in this kind of heat,” Apricot responded graciously. “Thank you, sir.”

“No, no, thank you. Now you go enjoy that magazine of yours,” the man said, smiling kindly before disappearing behind the counter, grumbling about unclogging the dust from the computer’s fan system.

As Apricot stepped back into the night, the cool breeze that had provided her with earlier comfort now seemed to carry a hidden message. Clutching the magazine tightly, she felt a renewed sense of determination mingled with trepidation. She would uncover the truth, even if it meant delving into places she never thought she’d go.

Apricot couldn’t get home fast enough. As she left the store, her pace quickened to an almost full sprint. The heat seemed to follow her. Through her front door, she snapped the locks shut and raced up the stairs. Once in her room, she flung herself onto her bed, landing on her stomach, and eagerly flipped open the magazine. As she rested on her bed, she glanced over at the window. “It’s locked. It’s not open,” she reassured herself.

She began by flipping through the first few pages, her eyes scanning over spreads of various advertisements for survival equipment, something with a man with a taped-up face, and other uninteresting text-laden pages. Once she found the table of contents, she scanned the magazine for anything that might explain things. “I can’t believe I am doing this,” she thought to herself while browsing the page.

After looking down the list, she chuckled to herself. “What am I doing?” Apricot flipped to page 42 to see an image of “Claw Fingers” caught on surveillance footage. She read the article, her brow furrowing as she tried to make sense of the grainy images.

As she finished reading, Apricot let out a laugh. “Listen to me. I’m theorizing about a freaking urban legend,” her giggle frenzy came to a halt with a sober acknowledgment, “One I saw.” With a hard toss, she sent the magazine flapping across the room. It struck the wall and landed on the floor. With one glance at the open page of Claw Fingers, she turned away and leaned back in her bed. “They’re as clueless about everything as I am. I was crazy to think one of these magazines could hold the answers I was looking for. This Claw Fingers isn’t my threat right now, though. It’s these phantoms. I can’t keep running away from the truth. The reaper said something about having to stop them. What is he, crazy? I can’t fight those things on my own. I can’t even see them. And I can’t tell the police, that’s for sure.” Apricot mused. She let out a sigh, placing both her palms atop her eyes as she lay against her pillow.

She glanced back over at the magazine on the floor. On the other page next to “Claw Fingers” was an advertisement for a pistol. “A gun,” she said aloud, removing her hands from her face. “I need a gun.” The thought startled her, but the desperation in her voice was unmistakable. She knew that in order to face the phantoms, she would need something to protect herself, something that could give her even the slightest chance of surviving whatever was coming her way.

She had walked by Bullseye’s several times. The shop’s window displayed posters advertising ammunition, new tactical gear, and Ready To Eat Meal specials. As a young woman about her own age confidently emerged from the store with two bags, Apricot reassured herself, “Well, maybe it won’t seem so strange to them.” She summoned what little courage she had left and crossed the threshold.

As she stepped inside, her fingers tingled, and the unoiled door creaked open. She was met with walls lined with an array of black tactical weapons, some familiar and others foreign to her. Her eyes widened, and a feeling of intimidation washed over her. Glass cases showcased an assortment of knives and decorative swords, while the opposite walls displayed survival gear and backpacks adorned with various accessories. Feeling overwhelmed, she hardly noticed the young man at the counter who spoke up, “You look a little lost, hun. Whatchya in here for?”

Shyly, Apricot approached the counter, her steps slow and deliberate as she surveyed the room. “I want a gun. A pistol,” she said.

“A lady who knows what she wants. I like that in a girl,” he replied, his tone playful. “A pistol, huh? First-time buyer?”

She nodded, her gaze drifting to a menacing long-barreled rifle. “Is that a sniper rifle?”

“Why yes, sweetheart, that is a rifle. This beauty here is the Maji-O’ B15A112. She’s quite the sight, isn’t she? With the right attachments, you can land a shot dead center from half a mile away. She’s a gas piston model, which means she’ll need a bit more care than a spring variant, but her accuracy is unparalleled,” the man explained enthusiastically. He then crouched down behind the display case and retrieved a small pistol. “Since this will be your first gun, I recommend the Markov C14, affectionately known as ‘Justice,’” he said with a chuckle, admiring the gleaming, short-barreled, silver weapon in his hand.

“This compact little piece is standard issue for civil servants. It has a carrying capacity of seven 9mm rounds, plus one in the chamber. Lightweight and easy to carry, it won’t break the bank either. While you won’t need to clean it as frequently, it still requires occasional attention and care. It’s an excellent choice for first-time buyers because it’s user-friendly and the recoil won’t strain your wrist.”

Apricot’s eyes gleamed with determination. “Yeah, that. That will work. How much?”

“Well, tell you what, normally I would sell this to you for 400, but since it’s your first gun, how about 250 Marks?”

Apricot quickly pulled several Jade cards from her wallet and placed them on the counter. “Done,” she said.

The man smirked at her. “I like your enthusiasm. I do. But you need a background check first,” he said, producing several papers from a folder. “I need you to fill out these forms, and then we can send them in.”

“How many hours do I have to wait?”

“Eager, huh? Well, it takes about a week. Sometimes longer, depending on how many are sent in.”

Apricot shook her head. “No, no, I need that gun today.”

The man frowned. “Sorry, miss, that won’t be happening. Gun laws, you know. If you’re in trouble, I’d suggest going to the police before taking matters into your own hands.”

Apricot nodded. “I’m a student reporter, sir. I need a weapon for protection.”

“Heh, you think that’ll convince me to break the law? Honey, do you understand the amount of trouble I could get into if I let you have this gun without a proper check?”

“I do, but this is different. I really need it. I can’t explain why, but I need it.”

“No. I’m sorry,” he said, taking back the papers. “I don’t feel comfortable selling this to you. Like I said, if you’re having trouble, go to the police. I can’t help you. Sorry.”

“Fine, I’ll do the background check. Look, I need this, okay?” Apricot argued.

The man turned his back on her. “This isn’t something I’m comfortable with. I’ll have to ask you to leave my store. Since you’re researching for an article, I won’t report this to the police. But I’d suggest you don’t try this with anyone else. You got it?”

“I just want to buy a pistol,” Apricot fumed, turning away from the counter and storming out the front door.

Apricot, hunched over the small window sill ridge, found a temporary solace as she gazed at the passing buildings and cars below. The bus carried her further down the long stretch of roadways, yet her mind couldn’t escape the web of worries and fears that had formed. She knew obtaining a gun legally was out of the question, but even the idea of acquiring one illegally filled her with trepidation. People didn’t exactly advertise such things, and wandering the shadier parts of town could easily place her in even greater danger.

Her chest tightened as she considered asking Cortez, but she quickly dismissed the idea. She was sure he wanted nothing to do with her after the camera incident. Desperate to find someone who might know about illegal firearms, her thoughts eventually settled on Solenne. Though primarily a traffic cop, Solenne was still an officer of the law. Apricot pondered the potential consequences of asking Solenne for help in such a matter, imagining herself in handcuffs as a result.

However, being a journalist gave Apricot an angle. She could present her request as research for an article. A smile flickered across her face, a small glimmer of hope amid the darkness. She took out her cellphone, her fingers trembling slightly as she dialed Solenne’s number.

The phone rang several times, each one heightening Apricot’s anxiety. When Solenne’s familiar voice finally answered, Apricot felt a mix of relief and trepidation.

“Hey, Solenne, it’s Apricot. I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

As Apricot dialed Solenne’s number, her heart raced with a blend of anxiety and hope. The phone rang several times before Solenne’s familiar voice answered, causing Apricot to breathe a sigh of relief.

“So, why did you want to have tea with me at this hour?” Solenne asked, settling into a private, secluded corner. The gray fabric of the lounge chairs in the teahouse matched the carpets in the cafe’s center, and warm hardwood floors adorned the raised platform where Apricot and Solenne sat. Above them hung large red ball lanterns, their golden tassels swaying gently. The cafe’s conic shape created an intimate atmosphere, and a live pianist serenaded them with soothing background music.

Apricot sipped her tea, her cheeks flushed as she smiled. “You don’t waste time,” she chuckled.

Solenne grinned. “Rarely do we go out for tea, just the two of us. So, I’ve got enough intuition to know,” she said, lowering her gaze to Apricot. “What exactly do you want to know?”

“To know?” Apricot feigned innocence.

“Well, your text made it obvious. Solenne, I’m so stressed about my next article. I can’t think of anything to write about,” she mocked Apricot, rolling her eyes. “Want a scoop?”

Apricot nodded. “I kind of want something specific. I was looking through the official reports about that bank robbery.” Solenne smiled. “Well, they had illegal firearms. How does a criminal get an illegal firearm here?”

“Oh, there are black markets all over the place, girl,” Solenne gestured with her hand. “You wouldn’t believe how many there are. We have an entire department dedicated to busting up illegal markets, and almost all of them have firearms.”

“Yeah, so how do you guys find those guys?” Apricot asked, her eyes narrowing with curiosity.

“Well, they don’t make it easy. It’s not impossible to find them, but as I said, it’s difficult. Especially for police. They know who’s a cop and who’s not. A lot of our officers get messed up looking for them. We use undercover cops. Infiltration is the best method,” Solenne explained, taking a sip of her tea.

“So, how do the undercover cops find these groups?” Apricot set her tea down, reaching for her notepad.

Solenne chuckled, eyeing the notepad. “Oh, I’m being interviewed now.”

“Something like that,” Apricot replied. “Completely anonymous, of course. Just for my research.”

“Well, the first thing to look for is their calling card. It’s normally a bar with a crown and a pitchfork going through the crown. That’s how you know it’s an illegal arms seller. However, you can’t just ask to buy a firearm. They won’t like that. So, we have to find these spots. The symbols can be hard to find, but normally the pitchfork’s base is the arrow pointing in the shop’s direction. You can search all over town until you find the specific shop.” Apricot nodded, jotting down Solenne’s words.

“So how dangerous are these places normally?”

“Hey, you’re joking, right?” Solenne smirked. “Dangerous. I know I wouldn’t want to be on assignment anywhere near those types of people.”

Apricot frowned. “I know, right? I can’t imagine having to do something so dangerous daily.”

Solenne paused, straightening her posture. “Apricot,” she said in a firm tone, locking eyes with her friend. “Don’t do anything crazy with that knowledge. I think that’s enough to give you an article.”

“Plenty,” Apricot agreed, her voice slightly subdued. “Thanks, Solenne.” She set the notepad down, tucking it back into her coat pocket. “So, tell me, how are things with you and Arjun?”

Solenne’s eyes lit up, and her smile returned. “Oh, things are going great! He’s been so supportive and caring. It’s nice to have someone who understands the challenges of being a cop, you know?”

Apricot nodded, genuinely happy for her friend. They continued to chat about Solenne’s relationship, the conversation drifting away from the dangerous topic of illegal firearms. However, the information Solenne had shared lingered in the back of Apricot’s mind, weighing heavily on her thoughts.

As the teahouse began to empty, and the pianist played his final tune, Apricot knew she would have to decide whether or not to pursue the risky path she had uncovered. The fear and uncertainty gnawed at her, but deep down, she also felt a spark of determination. Whatever she chose, it would undoubtedly shape her future and the stories she told.

The melodic sound of clinking glass plates and delicate teacups, along with the murmurs of distant conversations, filled the opulent teahouse. In a secluded corner, a group of men sat huddled together. A house servant gracefully poured their drinks from a large kettle. As the men raised their cups in appreciation, she bowed and offered them a smile. With a soft giggle, she took her leave, granting the men their much-desired privacy.

“Now that we’re alone, let’s discuss the real matter at hand. Kyo has no respect for the order,” the man with short, fading black hair began, his voice dripping with contempt. “We all witnessed her murder my brother, and yet everyone celebrated because of old stories written by a senile woman. I cannot let this stand.”

Another man, his hair a sea of gray, nodded in agreement. “Yes,” he coughed, taking a sip of his tea. “But what can we do? She has the support of the lesser order. If we were to remove her, people would blame us for the failure of the rituals.”

A third man interjected, his tone determined. “The four of us know what needs to be done. Ujima, don’t act innocent. We need to kill her. The question is who will carry it out?”

“I will,” Hegia declared, capturing the attention of the others. “I already planned to speak with her. We are going to the theater to discuss plans for the future. I will push her off the balcony. The fall will surely kill her. I will do this in Mitsura’s honor. He did not deserve that death. May his soul find peace.”

“Then it is settled,” Naju pronounced, his eyes scanning the faces of his conspirators. “We must keep this meeting secret. If anyone were to discover our discussion, the consequences would be dire. Do we have an agreement?” The other men nodded in unison. “Good. Let this matter be considered no more.”

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