After the pistol, Mr. Johnson continued handing Shade new items:
"Your firearm license and ammunition. Your monthly ammunition quota is fifty rounds. Once you use them up, come back next month to collect more. But to receive new bullets, you must state how the old ones were used. Those damn people selling firearms on the black market caused quite a mess some time ago. Keep your firearm license safe. If you lose it, go directly to Ridgewich Field for a replacement. You're already on record."
Shade accepted the heavy box of ammunition, which reeked of oil, with one hand. The strength in his wrist made Mr. Johnson raise an eyebrow.
He continued taking things from the cardboard box. This time, it was a sheet of paper:
"Your enlistment consent form. You can sign any name you like; it's mainly for bookkeeping. Military Intelligence Section Six falls under the Royal Army, so you need to sign this."
So Shade signed Sherlock Holmes. It seemed every organization he encountered was troubled by accounting.
For the last time, Mr. Johnson reached for something. It was another document:
"A declaration consenting to tax withholding. This way, Sixth Office can pay your taxes directly before issuing your salary."
Shade looked hesitantly at the burly middle-aged man. For the first time since arriving here, he felt genuinely surprised.
"Excuse me. Military Intelligence Section Six has to pay taxes too?"
Mr. Johnson snorted.
"Of course. Reimbursements aren't taxed, but how could base salary possibly be tax-free? Nothing is inevitable except death and taxes. Sign the same name as above, and don't misspell it. Last time, some fellow made up an extremely complicated name, then forgot what he had written when he came back to sign again."
He shoved the fountain pen into Shade's hand. Shade carefully read