Free Blind Justice by Ethan Cross

for a moment, trying to keep the tears from falling. Never let them see you cry. Then he walked around the side of the small house and through the tiny backyard to an old tool shed that looked like it could fall in on itself at any moment. Inside, he found a myriad of discarded junk—old children ’ s toys, broken lawn chairs, ripped open bags of grass seed—and stuffed into one corner was his old green duffle. He pulled it free from the rest of the junk and checked the contents. Stacey had apparently never even opened it up; a roll of old clothes still hid his MEU(SOC) pistol, just as he had left it. The big black gun was a .45 caliber based on the M1911, the standard-issue side arm for Recon. But it was also in disrepair and only held seven rounds in the magazine and one in the chamber, something he had never liked about it.
    He found a photo beneath the pistol. Its corners had yellowed with age and moisture. It showed him and his brother, Michael, as kids in the old neighborhood. He stuffed the photo into his pocket and packed the gun back into the duffle.
    When he climbed into the Yukon, Annabelle didn ’ t comment on the woman who had slapped him but said, “Is everything okay?”
    He swallowed hard and replied, “That actually went better than I was expecting.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
    Annabelle pulled the vehicle up in front of a small building made from gray weather-beaten block. A large display window filled with an eclectic assortment of junk covered the building ’ s face, and a green awning hung over the entrance with the words Savoy & Sons Pawnbrokers stenciled in three-foot block letters. A condemned building with a burned-out face and a greasy spoon diner bordered the pawn shop on each side. When Black stepped from the vehicle, the smell of grease mixed with uncollected garbage assaulted him.
    “What are we doing here?” he asked his new companions.
    Munroe said, “It may take a few days for everything to go through with your paperwork, but you need a weapon and equipment now if you ’ re going to act as my bodyguard. We ’ ll get you set up with clothes and a phone after we leave here—you ’ ll need some suits—but this is the best place to pick up a sidearm without a waiting period and with no questions asked.”
    “A pawn shop?”
    As she held open the door, Annabelle smiled and said, “Never judge a book by its cover.”
    The building ’ s interior matched a thousand other pawn shops in a thousand other cities. Guitars and amps lined one wall. CDs, DVDs, and games on another. A jewelry case. Tools. Miscellaneous junk that some crackhead had stolen to finance his next fix. A wall behind the counter displayed a limited assortment of long guns. A small display case contained a few old handguns.
    A woman with long black hair wearing a blue and white baseball shirt and a Washington Nationals cap stood behind the counter. She frowned at the newcomers. “You ’ re late,” she said.
    Munroe added, “It ’ s wonderful to see you too, Tobi.”
    The woman stepped out from behind the counter and hugged Annabelle. Annabelle gestured at Jonas. “This is the new associate that I told you about. We need you to get him set up. Jonas Black, this is Tobi Savoy.”
    Black shook her hand and said, “You don ’ t look like one of the ‘& Sons ’ ?”
    Tobi rolled her eyes. “My dad doesn ’ t have any sons. He just wishes he did.” She moved toward a door in the corner with a key-code lock marked Employees Only . “Step into my office.”
    The group moved down a set of poorly lit concrete stairs and through another set of doors at the bottom. Tobi unlocked this door with a key from her pocket and stepped inside. Black followed and felt the jarring sensation that he had been instantly transported to another world. Tobi Savoy ’s quaint little shop —named after her nonexistent brothers—had enough firepower in the basement to kickstart World War III.
    The most surprising aspect, however, wasn ’ t