900: Chapter 890: Dishonest Merchant 900: Chapter 890: Dishonest Merchant For Gao Yang, what mattered now was not to discuss Fellini’s sideline but to get the indispensable items first.
Gao Yang pointed to the two houses allocated to them and said, “This is where we live, but I’ve heard it’s easy to lose things here, so we need someone to watch the equipment.
Alright, who wants to stay and watch our stuff?”
Gao Yang had to be cautious, knowing that the equipment on each person was worth at least one hundred thousand US dollars, a Glow Night Vision Device alone was worth at least forty thousand US dollars, not to mention many items that couldn’t be replenished, like the Thermal Imaging Night Vision on his rifle and the rifle itself.
It was inconvenient to go buy guns with a large bag, so Gao Yang still hoped someone would watch the equipment, and then he could go purchasing lightly; unfortunately, no one wanted to stay because everyone wanted to choose guns themselves.
Even though he knew his comrades had good judgment and wouldn’t bring back any faulty weapons, it still mattered to have a personal connection with what you chose; it always feels more comfortable and handy to use something you have selected yourself.
Seeing no one was willing to stay, Gao Yang gave a wry smile and said, “Alright then, let’s all go.”
Next to three arms dealers, Gao Yang pointed to the nearest zinc-roofed house and said, “Let’s start there, I heard they’re all the same.”
Gao Yang and about ten other people, carrying large and small bags, surged towards the blue-roofed zinc house; the door was half-open, Gao Yang knocked and then pushed the door open directly.
The air conditioning was on inside the house, but it was not well sealed, it didn’t feel very cool inside, just tolerable.
A muscular man with bare upper body was leaning on the sofa with his feet on a camp bed in front of him, reading a Playboy magazine.
Upon noticing Gao Yang, the shirtless muscular man peered from behind the magazine and asked gruffly, “What?”
Gao Yang waved his hand and said, “Buying guns, AK47, want new, good ones.”
“Czech 1977 M58 or Romanian 1985 make, both brand-new unopened, each two thousand dollars, the bullets one thousand dollars a box, Romanian made, not sold separately.”
After the muscular man lazily finished speaking, he turned his attention back to the magazine; Gao Yang immediately felt like cursing the profiteer.
M58 was the Czech version of the AK47, with reasonable quality.
The Romanian-made AK was also decent but by no means worth two thousand dollars.
As for the bullets, Gao was unsure how many rounds were in a thousand-dollar box; if it was just a thousand rounds in a small iron box, then, well, that was outright robbery.
“How many rounds in a box?”
“One thousand, all made in ’77.”
Gao Yang was speechless; he knew that the arms dealers in the Green Zone were just residing there, not considering the residents of Green Zone as their main business target.
Setting up a retail-like place in the Green Zone meant trying to scrape every little bit, but conducting business to this extent of dishonesty was unimaginable to him.
Gao Yang remained silent, but Glolov was infuriated and shouted loudly, “F**k, are you treating us like idiots?
Even in a war zone, those crappy things wouldn’t cost five hundred dollars per gun, two thousand dollars a gun!
One dollar a round, you think we are inexperienced rookies?”
The muscular man didn’t even lift his head, or look at Glolov, merely saying, “Take it or leave.”
Glolov clenched his fist; Gao Yang quickly grabbed Glolov and said with a wry smile, “Let’s go, let’s go, it’s not worth it, there are other places to buy.”
Glolov gave a resentful snort and then told the people still behind him who hadn’t entered the room, “Come on, you don’t need to enter this crappy place.”
As Gao Yang walked out of what was supposedly American occupied territory, he shook his head, gave a wry smile, and said to Glolov, “I heard all three arms dealers here are the same, so, I guess we might end up with the same situation, but let’s check another place though.”
Next was the Russian’s house; this time Glolov went in first, pushing the door open, but found that although not very big, the room was filled with various gun boxes and ammunition boxes, with a table made from cannon boxes in the middle, covered with a cloth, and dishes on top, alongside two empty wine bottles with leftover food in the dishes attracting a swarm of flies, with ammunition boxes serving as chairs on both sides, the whole room looking more like a warehouse than a living space.
There was no one inside; Glolov shouted, “Anyone here?
Business for you!”
“Coming, who is it!”
With a lazy voice, a man with a bushy blue beard slowly emerged from behind the piled-high ammunition boxes, stretched and yawned, leaning on an ammunition box after, then with a glance around at the few people in the room, he rolled his eyes listlessly and asked, “Newcomers, huh?
What do you want, AK?”
Glolov nodded and replied in Russian, “Yes, we want to buy some guns.”
The bearded man waved his hand and said, “Don’t speak Russian to me, I don’t understand, I’m not Russian, just say what you want.”
Glolov, looking frustrated, said, “AK, bullets.”
The bearded man knocked on the box beside him and vigorously rubbed his mouth before lazily saying, “Two thousand per piece, AKM, Russian goods, from the Izhevsk Mechanical Plant.
I’ve got some unopened boxes.
If you want a lot, I’ll open a box for you, guaranteed to be new.”
The Izhevsk Plant, supposedly the only one with the intellectual property rights to produce the AK47, was considered the only legitimate source.
However, the factory had just gone bankrupt, as there were too many places illegally producing AK47s.
Glolov shook his head, murmuring, “Guns from Izhevsk are fine, but they’re not worth two thousand.
In a place like Iraq, one thousand dollars should be the limit.”
The bearded man yawned, looking indifferent.
“That’s the going rate.
Take it or leave it.
Don’t try to bargain with me.
What do you think this place is?
Buddy, don’t disturb my sleep.”
Glolov looked furious but still suppressed his anger and asked, “What about the bullets?”
The bearded man wobbled his head and pointed to a box of bullets with his toes.
“There, all there.
M43, take a look yourself.
They’re all about the same.”
Glolov glanced at the stacked boxes of bullets and turned his head, asking, “All from 1955?”
The bearded man shrugged.
“Maybe.
Like I said, this batch is all the same.”
Glolov inhaled sharply and asked sternly, “How much?”
“A thousand a box, oh, the tin boxes.
They hold a thousand rounds, not the big boxes, don’t get it wrong.”
Finally, unable to hold back, Glolov shouted, “You damn rip-off merchant!
I can bear with the guns, but these ’55 vintage surplus bullets, older than I am, and you dare charge one dollar a round?”
The bearded man seemed to have lost his patience, his face showing impatience.
“That’s the price set by the boss.
I’ll say it again, take it or leave it!
Don’t f**king look for trouble.”
It wasn’t a matter of pulling guns or knives, really, but as an old mercenary, Glolov couldn’t stand being swindled.
He turned his head and declared, “Let’s go.
Better to do without than to give money to such a scoundrel.”
About a dozen people left without a word, and by then, only one arms dealer remained.
Gao Yang said helplessly, “Alright, this is the last one.
It’s expensive, but let it be.
Let’s go in.”
After walking a few steps, Gao Yang knocked on the door painted black.
Before he could speak, he heard a very gentle voice from inside saying, “Please come in.”
Gao Yang finally saw a place that looked somewhat normal, like an office.
The room was small, with a row of chairs along the wall and a modest desk in the middle.
Sitting behind it was another bearded Middle Eastern man, but clean-shaven.
Seeing Gao Yang and the others enter, the Middle Eastern man in a white shirt and tie stood up from his chair and stretched out his hand with a smile, “Please sit, gentlemen, please sit.”
Glolov didn’t sit down.
He walked straight to the desk and demanded fiercely, “How much per AK and how do you sell the bullets!”
The man in the white shirt extended his hand towards Glolov and smiled, “You can call me Salim, sir.
Our AKs and bullets are of different quality, and so are the prices.
What type would you like?”
For once, Glolov was treated like a normal customer and, looking at the hand extended by Salim, hesitated before finally shaking it and said gravely, “What do you have?”
Salim smiled and replied, “Guns from Eastern Europe, guaranteed quality.
Two thousand each, but if you buy in bulk, a hundred or more, one thousand six each.”
Glolov waved his hand and said, “Twelve.”
“Alright, for a small quantity purchase, Eastern European made, two thousand each, comes with three magazines.
Huaxia made Type 56, two thousand dollars, comes with three magazines.
Russian-made, two thousand five hundred dollars, comes with four magazines.
All fresh out of the box!”
Salim was even more of a rip-off than the first two, but, well, he had a better attitude.
Glolov nodded and asked, “What about the bullets?”
“Bullets a thousand a box, but we have good stock, Huaxia-made bullets, fresh from the factory in 2005, but a bit pricier, fifteen hundred US dollars a box.”
Gao Yang couldn’t help but curse inwardly, really black.
Bullets, those things, you could use them even if they’d been stored for decades, but of course, duration affected them somewhat.
Fresh bullets could fire a thousand rounds without a single dud, but bullets stored for many decades might encounter a dud every five hundred rounds.
Although the overall probability was small, the difference was noticeable when compared.
But charging one dollar a round for M43 steel-cased bullets was outright extortion, but what could you do?
Arms dealers make their money this way – if you find it too expensive, just don’t buy.
(To be continued.
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