Days of Reckoning by Chris Stout

cash and wash his hands of the whole mess. The only consolation was that all his efforts were probably going towards a good cause. That, and if anything happened, he had the Chief of Police to protect him.
    He looked at the clock on the wall. Close enough to count. “Damon, I’m gonna lock up. You make sure the back is secure?”
    Damon Shearer leaned out of the storeroom in the back. “Sure thing. Closing early tonight?”
    “Just a bit. I got a meeting I can’t be late for, and I want to grab a bite to eat first. Don’t worry, though. I’ll still count it as a full day for you.”
    “No sweat. I’ll be back in a minute to count down the register.” The young man ducked back into the storeroom.
    Beaumont went to the front of the shop. He locked the customer entrance, threw the deadbolt and drew a metal screen across the windows. It was ugly but effective security. The motion sensor alarm added a bit of high-tech defense to the place. That was Beaumont’s sole nod to “high tech,” and he had the alarm only because his insurance company required it. He wasn’t much given to complex devices, or complicated jobs like buying and selling illegal military items. It could be an exciting world, but he preferred to read about it rather than participate.
    Beaumont went back to the counter. He gasped when he saw Damon blocking his way with a revolver.
    “Damon? What is this?”
    “Where are the guns, Henry?”
    “What do you mean? We’re in a store full of ‘em. If you need one, you know I’ll give you credit.”
    “Not these. The ones you bought for the militia.”
    Beaumont swallowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    Damon sighed. “You’re supposed to deliver them to me. Wainwright’s the one whole told you to hire me. He wanted me here so I could take possession, and also watch you, make sure you don’t double cross us. And Henry, I don’t like what I’ve seen. Now tell me where the guns are so we can get them without being met by the Feds.”
    “What? What do you mean the Feds? Those guns are clean!”
    “They might be, but you ain’t. I know you went to the Feds about this deal. You could bring down the whole militia here. Now why would you want to do that?”
    “I swear to you, I have no idea what you’re talking about! If someone went to the Fed’s, it wasn’t me!”
    Damon shook his head. “You’ve been ducking around like a scared rabbit all week. I know you’re hiding something, but I don’t aim to get wrapped up in it. Now tell me where the guns are. I’ll go get them, and the Feds can think you were the victim of a robbery. You’ll get your money later, and we can forget this whole thing ever happened.”
    “But I never called the Feds! I’ve been ducking around trying to get this damn deal set-up real quiet-like --”
    Damon fired a round into Beaumont’s right knee, and the man collapsed with a scream.
    “It’s only going to get worse, Henry. Now tell me where those guns are before you lose the other knee.”
    “They’re in the shed, behind my trailer.” Beaumont gasped in pain. “I have the keys right here. Just let me get them.” He reached into his right pocket.
    Damon was almost fooled. He fired two rounds into Beaumont’s chest, and another into his forehead. The man fell back to the floor with a thump.
    “Good try,” Damon murmured as he bent over the body. He reached into the right pocket and found a small revolver. “But you always keep the keys in your left pocket.” He found them and stood up. “Thanks Henry. I’ll make sure your payment gets put to good use.”
    Damon worked quickly to cover his tracks. He donned a pair of work gloves, grabbed a baseball bat from the team sports section, and smashed the glass display cases in the store. He took an assortment of handguns and ammunition, and also swiped a pair of sound suppressors and all the high-capacity magazines he could find. All the goods went into a large laundry bag. He emptied the