In the noon, Hansen was still inside the bus with the name Stanley Peplinski and nobody in the earth knew Peplinski had been murdered. In the hotel room nobody was going to find out anything wrong until the body started to rot. In Tacoma he made plan, on seat of bus, according to which he was going to kill the cop tonight. He wanted to hit the spider instead of clearing cobwebs. He still had Glock 26 in his hand but without any bullets.
The murderous innocent located a local gun – shop and wondered how the hell he was going to purchase bullets while his whole mind was filled with messy pessimistic thoughts. Gun dealers were sometimes under inspection of law enforcement agencies. If sellers found the purchaser weird (they would sell anyways too) then they never hesitated for a second to give information about purchaser to the cops. Security threats mattered to them.
It was just the second hurdle for him. First was to get inside the gun shop without sweating, without panicking and he needed to wait till he concluded formalities there. He knew he could see some cops there but he had to act normal. He couldn’t risk doing weird actions there. He couldn’t help him from feeling fear of being caught.
Pessimistic thoughts created more problems to him than the problem itself.
For a minute he kept staring at the gun shop with internal transparent blue glass exterior by thinking anybody could see him look at the reflection of himself. He saw a poster of local baseball game attached on a lorry, in reflection.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
"If you want to kill him, kill the fear first." he told himself and walked inside the shop, touching OPEN tag hung on the aluminum door by a thumb pin. What if the sellers find me strange? Should I go back?
Hansen saw a real big room like a hospital reception area and most importantly – the people who were queued for purchase. It was huge psychological relief for him when he found out he wasn’t with very less people there. He queued up as well and saw other men enter there through the same door.
There was no way anybody could doubt him. He no more looked tensed at the time. His mind went high when found no cops but just rotating CCTVs eying at people everywhere who were walking on the ghee colored laminated floor.
Nobody could suspect him just because he had sweat on his face. He could blame summer for all the sweat.
"Bullets for this hmm…Glock –" he said as he put his gun in front of the young lad.
"26." the guy added by interruption, "Almost everyone here owns this same model…anyways…Please fill up the form and I'll get it done." Then he smiled at the old sweaty face.
I can blame summer for this. He told himself as he imagined Deighan's dead body.