16 Gauge
By Valentin Isaac Abducens
It was August. Jack roamed about Ulan Bator with an empty .357 and 16 gauge shotgun. Matt wanted to come with him. God, he probably regrets that choice now, thought Jack. Matt broke up with his girlfriend in the states and was at a loss for what to do with himself. He heard about Jack’s exploits with the women in Bratislava and he wanted to get involved. Jack didn’t want him on this trip. But he insisted. The old RB Greaves song lilted through their 1968 Volga. It’s the kind of song Matt would have loved after his breakup.
So take a letter Maria,
Address it to my wife
Say I won't be coming home,
Gonna start a new life.
Take a letter Maria,
Address it to my wife
Send a copy to my lawyer,
Gotta start a new life.
Jack’s weapon of choice was the rare 16 gauge. He grew up shooting pheasant with it in Iowa and became accustomed to it. It was his only stipulation for the job he came here to do- that he be put in contact with someone who could provide this weapon. After a year of teaching English in Slovakia and living like a rock star, he ran into some trouble after sleeping with the girlfriend of a man in the Russian Mafia. The man threatened to cut off an appendage in a week unless Jack made it up to him. So, Jack intelligently agreed. The only problem was Matt. Jack told him he didn’t need any teaching credentials, and that this was the place to sow your wild oats after a bad breakup. But Matt’s paranoia had grated on Jack’s nerves within a week. He was constantly worried about the most banal things. The women would throw themselves at him, but he wanted a girl who was ‘real.’ When a girl tried to be his friend, he wanted them to throw themselves at him. He was out of his element and insecure about something. Jack was sure he was just afraid of what people would say about him when he wasn’t around. Who cares, thought Jack- he couldn’t understand this logic, because first of all, nobody gives a shit about anyone but themselves. And second of all, if they are talking shit about you, it’s just to see if you can handle it. And by god, if you get flustered, they have won. What was Matt worried about? Christ, no one is going to care about Matt Hobert in 80 years, and nobody is going to care about me, thought Jack.
They were 23 years old and everyone they knew was between 18-25. And Matt couldn’t relax. He couldn’t handle the backstabbing and he had to be in control. And moving to Slovakia on a whim is not in the best interests of a control freak. It’s for people secure enough to know that not being in control doesn’t infringe on your value. It’s for people who’s sole purpose is to explore.
Which brings us to Ulan Bator. Jack and Matt were given train tickets on the trans-Siberian railroad that took them on the train for a week out to Mongolia via Moscow. When they arrived, a man was to meet them by the ticket booth in the train station. Jack was supposed to buy a yellow flower along the street so the man would recognize them. When approached, they man was to ask “How is uncle Dan?” and Jack was to respond “Better by the day.” Then they were to climb into a car and he was to take them to a shop for the 16 gauge. Once everything was arranged, Jack and Matt were to check into the hotel Atlai and wait for a phone call at precisely 7 pm.
The train pulled into the station at 4 pm. Jack and Matt slept uneasily the entire trip and were very tired. They pulled their large North Face backpacks off the top of the shelf of their sleeping car and stepped into the station. The train station resembled some ancient Babylonian bizarre. They fought through crowds of people peddling various trinkets and postcards. It was obvious they were westerners and the Mongolians flocked to them like wolves to a kill. Jack knew how to handle this from trips he took to during his many breaks from teaching. After Greece, he spent some time in Egypt. Just don’t pay attention to anyone. Matt, however, was flustered.
-Goddamnit, man, I don’t want any! No. I said, no! Why won’t they listen. Goddamnit!
-Settle down, dude, said Jack. Just pretend they aren’t there. You’re a big dollar bill to them, not a person being harassed. So close yourself up like a vault, man. Whatever you do, don’t buy anything. That’s like inviting more flies to the shit. We’re the shit.
-This is fucked up, said Matt.
Jack sighed. He knew that Matt wasn’t going to be able to wrap his mind around the fact that it was the way it was and there was nothing he could do about it. Obviously, how Matt grew up was the best way according to Matt, and this change of place was neither interesting nor fascinating to him. It was just incredibly annoying. Jack hoped he would be able to stay under control. They pushed through the crowd until they reached the street. A man was selling newly cultivated Mongolian gold flowers, Jack bought one for the equivalent of 10 cents. The purchase he made increased the natives flocking around them. And Matt was sweating profusely from his frayed nerves as he tried to push through -occasionally cussing under his breath. Finally, they reached the ticket booth and a man with a mustache, about 50 years old and native to Mongolia walked quickly up to them.
-How’s Uncle Dan?
-Better by the day
-We leave quickly before mugged.
-Thank god, said Matt. They walked up to the white 1968 Volga being driven by another man and jumped in as people still shouted in broken English that they were selling all kinds of things Jack and Matt would want to buy. The driver didn’t say anything as they sped around the streets, while their contact, who introduced himself as Sukh, leaned over the passenger seat and talked to them.
-We go to store for gun. You want 16 shotgun. Very rare. Very rare here. I give you this too. Here. It is American .357. You like it. It good.
He handed Jack a Smith and Wesson .357. It was a 6 shooter. When they arrived at the shop for the 16 gauge, the place smelled strongly spices and gunpowder. Plain patterned rugs adorned the entrance. Inside, it was a makeshift hardware store, selling drills, screws and nails. Decoration was not the owners cup of tea. The walls were bare cement. The man led them into an anteroom that was decorated with a little more care. Various kalashnikovs hung on the wall behind a wooden counter. He reached behind the counter and put a gun on the oak table. It was a Remington Model 870 wingmaster 16 gauge. It held 5 shells. The gun looked in poor shape. The walnut stock was nicked to shit and someone had carved алуурчин into the side. It had seen a lot of use. The owner looked proud of himself.
-You like?
Jack picked it up and looked at it.
-Kind of rough around the edges, but does it shoot well?
The owner looked perplexed. Jack looked at Sukh. Sukh asked the man in Mongolian Jack’s question. The owner smiled and revealed a shortage of teeth.
-Go here. He said, moving quickly to the back of the store, while lighting a cigarette. In the back, a wooden stake was set up in the middle of the enclosure about 20 feet away. There was no grass, the ground was all dirt. The wooden stake had been shot to hell.
-Shoot gun. Said the owner emphatically, he gave Jack a shell and pointed to the stake.
Jack put the shell in, cocked and fired. Wood spinters shot off the stake. It fired a little to the left, but not by much. And since it was a shotgun, that was okay. Jack smiled.
-Good, he said, trying to keep his composure. He was worried now. They were about to do it.
They put the guns in a large suitcase and jumped into the Volga, the owner waved goodbye as if he was saying farewell to close relatives that came for a visit. Matt barely talked the entire time in the gun shop.
After roaming the streets and back alleys for a half an hour to elude any surveillance, Sukh and the driver dropped them off at the Hotel. The place was old world and dilapidated. The walls were cracked and the room was cramped. Only one single bed stood in the middle of the room. No TV was there. When they arrived it was 5:30, so they went outside to get something to eat.
-Dude, said Matt, what the hell were you doing at that gun shop. You gotta be careful man.
-I just wanted to see if the damn thing worked. I didn’t want to get screwed over.
-What if they saw that as a sign of disrespect, and then took us out back and shot us, said Matt nervously. Huh, what about that?
Jack just stared at him. If anyone was going to get them killed, it was Matt.
At a vendor along the street, they could smell the stench of mutton and other meats. They ordered some cooked mutton and sat down at a round table with a couple of cokes. The meal came with rice and meat. The meat had a salty tangy taste to it. Matt complained of the texture.
-Dude, it’s so nasty, it’s like eating your own skin or something.
-Matt, seriously, shut up and just eat it, what else can we do? We have other things to worry about.
They forced down the meal and went back up to the room to wait for the call. Matt paced back and forth for the entire half hour they waited for the call. Jack read about Ulan Bator, looked at maps and checked to see when the train left the station the next day. Finally the phone rang.
Matt reached for it, but Jack held him back and answered.
-Hello.
-Meet outside hotel 15 minutes. We in Volga. No forget suitcase. It was Sukh’s voice.
The Volga pulled up and they hopped in. It was a different driver this time. Sukh leaned over the passenger seat again as the sped away.
-Driver and I get out. You street seven blocks. Take right in alley. Go last door on right. Man come out, give you drugs through car window, you give cash.
He handed another suitcase to Jack. Jack opened it. It was filled with money.
-Hide guns. No show guns, unless need. He reached down to floor at their feet and pulled up boards. Put shotgun here.
Jack opened the large suitcase, put five shells in the gun, and put it under the floor board. Sukh loaded the .357 and put it in the glove compartment.
-When finish, come out alley, go forward street four more blocks, we wait for you. Then they stopped the car and got out while Jack and Matt stepped out to get into the front.
-Matt, I better handle the exchange, you drive.
-I can’t drive a stick, man.
-What?
-I can’t. Matt was shaking from nerves.
-Goddamnit, Son of a bitch. Jack gave Matt the suitcase of money and went to the driver’s seat. Matt jumped in the passenger’s seat.
-Dude, remember what he said, said Jack, the guy throws you the drugs, you throw him the suitcase. When everything is finished, we drive out of there. Got it? Got it, Matt!?
-Yeah, yeah, yeah. I got it, I got it. He said sweating and shaking. Man, that mutton is not agreeing with me.
-Matt, goddamnit, don’t think about your goddamn stomach, think about what we got to do.
He turned up the alley and went to the last door and stopped. They waited there a couple minutes.
-What’s going on,? said Matt, they’re not coming, dude, they’re not coming. Let’s get out of here. Dude.
-Calm down, goddamnit. We’re not leaving without the drugs. Remember what Anatol said if I didn’t bring back the drugs, he said he was going to castrate me. Well, I’m not getting castrated, so you fucking calm down and wait and give him the cash when he comes out.
-Just then the metal door opened and a balding man of medium build with a kalashnikov over his shoulder and two large three foot wide satchels stepped out. He was smoking. Another shorter man came out behind him holding a kalashnikov. He wasn’t smoking. The smoking man said something in Mongolian. Jack stared at him and Matt shook like a Parkinson’s patient and sweated. Then the small guy behind spoke in English.
-Give money.
Matt almost jumped up to give it to him, before Jack said.
-Drugs first.
Matt froze. They waited while the guy thought a second, then gave the balding guy the order and he tossed the heavy satchels on Matt’s feet.
-Matt, hand him the goddamn cash.
Matt shook as he reached out with the suitcase. Jack immediately put the car in reverse and reached behind him to the floor just in case.
-Wait. We count, said the small man.
The men looked in the suitcase and checked the money. The bottom of the suitcase was all newspaper.
-What this!? Screamed the short guy as he held out newspaper. They started to cock their Kalashnikovs. Jack immediately pulled out the 16 gauge wingmaster, whipped it in front of Matt’s face and shot twice twice, getting the balding guy in the chest and the other guy partially in the right arm. Then raced the car backwards down the alley and unloaded two more shells out the driver’s side window. He turned the car to the right at the end of the alley, the tires squealed and he stopped, put it in drive and headed up the road as a couple bullets slapped into the side of the car when they passed the alley entrance.
-Goddamnit, cursed Jack.
Matt just sat in stone-cold shock.
-Matt, Matt! Get the .357 out of the glove compartment. Matt!
Matt didn’t move. His face was white.
-Dude, you almost shot me!
-I did not almost shoot you, I shot in front of your face. The barrel was past your face. Now get the fucking 357. They reached the rendezvous spot four blocks up and parked the car. No one was there. Jack looked back to see if one of the men at the drop off were coming out the alleyway, but they didn’t seem to be. They waited about 20 seconds, but it seemed like 20 years.
-Fuck it, said Jack, they know where the hotel is, and as he was about to leave, Sukh and the driver stepped out of a doorway on the street corner and walked towards them with unpleasant looks on their faces.
-You very resourceful American, said Sukh raising up a small gun to them.
-Matt, hissed Jack, why didn’t you get out the .357? Matt finally reached for the glove compartment.
-No, I wouldn’t do that, my friend, said Sukh. Then Matt violently opened it and pulled out the gun.
-Matt, duck! Yelled Jack.
Sukh shot him through the windshield directly in the forehead. Jack had one shell left and took out Sukh with a loud blast that echoed down the empty street. Blood trickled out Matt’s forehead. Jack grabbed the .357 and fired as he slammed down the gas in reverse. But no bullets came out. Sukh never loaded it.
-Goddamnit, yelled Jack.
The driver was firing bullets through the windshield. He whipped the car around and put it in first and took off down the street. He had no idea where his hotel was. And he needed to find it to get his information and wallet. Fuck, I can’t do that, he thought, they’ll sure as hell be waiting for me there. Then he had an idea. He looked in Matt’s pants as he drove wildly down the street. Matt brought his money, credit cards, and passport with him. Jack ripped them out of his pants. Then he opened up the passenger door and kicked him out. In the rearview mirror, Jack saw Matt’s dead body roll along the street and smack into a building.
-Goddamnit, said Jack, goddamnit. Matt, goddamnit, son of a bitch. Goddamnit. Fuck Fuck Fuck.
He remembered by looking at the maps where the train station was in relation to the rest of the city. He looked at the stars, located the north star to get his direction, and drove to where the train station should be. After he found it, he had another idea. He drove the car towards the airport, on the other side of the city and ditched it there in plain sight, hoping they’d find it and think he decided to fly out. But there was no way he would actually fly out, because he had to take the drugs back to Anatol. He got out of the car, went to the passengers side and picked up the heavy satchels. He walked all the way through the city back to the train station - taking back alleys whenever possible.
People watched him warily everywhere he walked. His paranoia was heightened and he thought they were all friends of the drug dealers. Then, near 3 in the morning, too tired to keep moving, he found a quiet isolated place in an alley and lay down using the drug satchels for pillows and slept with the rats in the street. After a few hours of sleep, he woke and waited for the shops to open. With Matt’s cash he bought new shoes, shirts, pants. Everything to look Mongolian. He dressed as a Mongolian and tried to walk like a Mongolian, still sticking out like a sore thumb. He bought a large suitcase and a small bag and transferred the contents from the satchels to the bags. Then he headed for the train station to catch the sole train that leaves on the trans-siberian railroad. In the station, he sat with a book written in Mongolian and pretended to read and kept his head down. He had a scarf wrapped up around his lower face even though it was 70 degrees out. With ten minutes until boarding, he noticed the original driver that picked them up at the train station. He put the book up to his face and watched. Jack knew the main paid little attention to him and Matt when they were in the car and it would be easy to elude him.
The airport bait must have worked, they must have had the other driver and the kalashnikov guy over there. Jack calmly boarded and sat in the 1st class carriage he bought with Matt’s money. After sweating a few hours on the train, he was safely out of Mongolia.
A week later, when he arrived in Slovakia, he went straight to Anatol’s and handed him the heroin. Anatol smiled.
-Excellent job, he exclaimed. Very excellent.
Jack just stared at him. He knew Anatol sent him into the lion’s den with full knowledge they wouldn’t cooperate.
-Are we square?
-Yes, we are, as you say, ‘square.’
-By the way, you need to find yourself some new Mongolian friends.
-Oh, I thought so. So I certainly do, hmm?
-Yeah, you certainly do.
