Tip-off update
Everything Must Go: Closing-Down Sale at the Army Surplus
Two men cleaned out the surplus store in one night. The helicopter still won't stay up.
WEST OF FALLAS LAKE. Last issue I said I'd put money on our race-car man going back to the army surplus store. I'd have lost it. Two other men got there first, and they went the only way you should go to a place like that: all night, and too stubborn to stop.
The beard went in first and didn't last the evening. He woke up at home, drove back, died again. Woke up, drove back, died again. Three bodies by lunchtime, every one of them pointed at the same front door. That's not stupidity. That's appetite.
His partner is the one who knows engines. He was elbow deep in a little hatchback by the door, pulling parts, when the crowd finally got its turn. He was back after midnight in a gas mask, which is the most honest review that store will ever get. What he didn't bring back was the know-how: a new body starts from scratch.
Then the beard climbed into the Huey. Keys in, engine coughing, up she goes, and there she hangs for a second like a drunk deciding whether to fall over. She always decides yes. He kept climbing back in until the sun came up. Respect.
- 271dead inside when we tipped it
- 4bodies it cost them
- 18times in the pilot's seat
- 14yards, the best flight
As for the beard, he's sitting on a surplus store's worth of guns and he's in a trading mood: weapons and ammo for goods, or for favours. Top of his list is anyone who can fix a Toyota pickup. Give him a day to count it all, then shout in global chat.
Out the back sits a Huey with an engine that needs a better mechanic than anyone who's tried it. Bring tools. Don't hover.