Seeing Russell talk to himself as he started unbuckling his belt, the white robber panicked, his gun hand trembling as he feared Russell might actually pull out a Barrett.
But things got worse!
Russell fished around in his crotch for a while, then suddenly froze before pulling out the disassembled parts of an M249. Right in front of the man, he assembled it.
"So it was hidden here. I looked for it for three months and couldn't find it. I thought I'd lost it."
"Hang on, give me a minute. Let me see where the special magazine is..."
"This rocket launcher isn't it, and neither is this one... Huh, I think I found the Barrett... Damn it, this is the gun I came with..."
"..."
A minute later, Russell shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, I have too many weapons and too much ammunition. I can't find the Barrett. You don't mind, do you?"
"Y-You, who the hell are you!?"
The white man's gun hand shook uncontrollably as he used his other hand to wipe sweat from his forehead with his trench coat sleeve. He knew he had gotten lucky—he had accidentally tried to rob a big shot.
Russell didn't answer. He pulled out a stack of gun permits from his pocket, then found his police ID at the bottom. "As you can see, NYPD. This is my turf."
The man looked at the police ID, then at the arms exhibition before him. Silently, he raised the muzzle of his ordinary Colt and forced a smile. "Sorry to interrupt. I just came in for a drink. I didn't mean to rob anyone. I was just kidding."
"You sure you don't want it?"
Even if I wanted it, I couldn't take it with me!
The man screamed inwardly for mercy and repeatedly waved his