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It was absurd to be in Los Angeles without a gun. The Ahmen had neglected his arsenal of weapons since his arrival. His focus on using the death angel toxin had deflected him from the other necessities of his assassin’s toolkit. However, the lack of firearms was easy to correct in the city of shops and cops.
It was just before midnight when the Ahmen drove along Sunset. The nightlife was just ramping up as he cruised past billboards five or ten stories high, crammed with images of sex and violence. Some layered over the sides of buildings, others were on proper signs but lit with enough lights to read from miles away. The traffic oozed slowly, the usual crawling gawkers and thrill-seekers cruising for something to do. The cars acted more like pedestrians, happy to stroll with no particular destination in mind, open to opportunities. He cruised past a large gun shop across from the Rainbow Bar and Grill, where a line-up of young pretty things wrapped around the corner. He parked at a lot a few blocks away, on the same side of the street.
In the roomy back seat of the Lincoln, he stripped off his clothes and put on the Snakeskin armor he stole from Archer. He had experimented with the armor on the long drive from Belize, through Mexico and finally to LA. He read all the specifications in ICARUS. It was a marvelous piece of engineering, which he was eager to try out in combat conditions.
“You two stay here in the car,” he said to Dr. Kipling and Chac. “I won’t be long.”
The Ahmen opened the door of the Lincoln and stepped out onto the half-empty parking lot. He carried the Snakeskin helmet in his hand as he walked across the lot and onto Sunset Boulevard. Walking up the street in his armor, he did not look odd or out of place. It was the street of costumes and trendsetters. Unlike the once-yearly Halloween carnival on Santa Monica Boulevard where the drag queens and extroverted perverts dressed up to parade in elaborate costumes, Sunset in West Hollywood was a nightly carnival of carnal desires in chic street armor. A block from the gun shop, the Ahmen slipped on the Snakeskin helmet and kept walking.
“Hey, look! It’s Master Chief!” yelled a guy coming towards him, part of a crowd of young toughs pouring out of a Hummer. “Guy, that is way cool!”
They spread out on the sidewalk, coming towards him with grins on their faces, all talking at once.
“Where did you get that costume, dude?”
“It rocks, man! Halo forever!”
“I gotta get one of those Master Chief outfits. Come on, where did you get it?”
The Ahmen flipped on the helmet speaker.
“It’s not a fucking costume, assholes!” he said to the group, not knowing the Snakeskin armor in reptile green with the enclosed helmet and reflective visor made him look remarkably like the action hero of a popular video game much loved by young, aggressive punks like the ones in front of him.
“Yo, right on, motherfucker!” yelled one punk.
“Sure ain’t no fuckin’ costume! It’s the real thing.”
“Let him pass, dudes, or he’ll kick our butts,” said another.
They edged to the side to let the Ahmen pass, bowing their heads and waving their hands in mock-tribute to him, chanting, “We’re not worthy, we’re not worthy...”
The Ahmen walked on towards the gun shop. Bars protected the windows and a metal accordion gate covered the front door. He slipped down the side of the building and around to the back. The same bars covered all the windows and the rear door. A large parking lot wrapped around the building. He scanned the lot until he spotted a full-sized Dodge Ram pickup. He glanced inside to see a toolbox on the passenger seat. That would do nicely. The parking valet sat in his booth in the middle of the lot. He walked over, leaned into the booth window and clubbed him in the head with his armored elbow. The poor man slumped off his stool onto the floor. The Ahmen smashed the light bulb and made his way to the truck.
He smashed the driver’s window of the Dodge Ram and opened the door. The vehicle’s alarm system sounded, but the Ahmen ignored the noise, as it was a nightly occurrence on Sunset and people would ignore the sound for a few minutes until the annoying sound became tiresome. He slipped under the dash to hot-wire the engine into life. Opening the toolbox, he found a crowbar. He buckled himself in, slammed the pickup into gear and roared through the lot and into the rear door of the gun shop. The back door, metal grill, and doorframe all imploded inward with the force of the collision. The wail of the intrusion alarm added more noise. Not that he cared.
The Ahmen slipped out of the van, carrying the crowbar. He walked into the shop where he scanned the locked racks of assault weapons. He smashed the lock on one rack and selected one AK-47 rifle, a Heckler MP5 sub-machine gun, and a pump-action shotgun. He slung them over his shoulders. He scooped up several boxes of ammunition and a shopping bag from under the counter. He smashed a case full of smoke and concussion grenades and filled his shopping bag with grenades. He then moved to the large display case behind the counter full of high-quality killing knifes and pried it open. He selected several serrated, dual-bladed knives. Finally, he picked up two Sig Sauer 9mm automatic pistols. One he put into his shopping bag. The other he held in his hand as he took one last look around and then walked calmly out the rear of the store.
His shopping spree had taken just over a minute, much too fast for the police to react and arrive on the scene. He walked down the back alley between the rear of the gun shop and the Japanese restaurant next door. He hopped a fence, crossed North Doheny Drive, past two more buildings, through a back alley and into his parking lot and the waiting Lincoln.
He opened the trunk and dropped his shopping bag and AK-47’s inside. He kept the handguns with him as he closed the trunk. He climbed into the driver’s seat, removed the helmet and set it beside the head of Dr. Kipling, resting quietly in the passenger seat.
“Here, hold this while I drive,” he said to his companion.
He laid the handguns in his lap and drove out of the lot, turning right and right again, down Doheny and back to the calm solace of the Hyatt on Sunset.