In a hotel somewhere on Broadway, Jimmy let out a sigh. He had actually considered silencing all the witnesses. But in the end, he gave up on the idea—after all, sometimes certain things had to be done through certain people.
As for the Subject No. 4, Jimmy had originally planned to destroy it. But eventually, he decided it might be useful to keep around—at the very least, to frame someone with it. Jimmy thought darkly.
He took out his Nokia phone, which was even tougher than some thunder god's hammer. On its screen was the big number 44, indicating Jimmy had killed 44 gang members.
The side quest was already halfway done, and Jimmy was quite pleased.
As for the rest of the mission, the first thing Jimmy needed to do was find Peter Parker.
The next morning, having mostly recovered, Jimmy returned to 33rd Street in Queens. Corey, the black man gathering his men outside, was shocked to see Jimmy. He quickly tried to invite Jimmy inside the warehouse, but Jimmy waved him off.
"I'm here for two things," Jimmy said in a low voice.
"What is it? Just say it!" Corey patted his chest, eager to help.
"First," Jimmy raised one finger, "I want you to find a white guy named Peter Parker. He's a high school student."
"Oh! Got it!" Corey quickly nodded.
"Second," Jimmy raised another finger, "I want to stock up on weapons. Tell me where I should go."
"You can go to Frank," Corey said. "He's not the biggest arms dealer in New York, but he can get you some strange and rare stuff."
Jimmy nodded. "Alright, take me to him."
He followed Corey on foot for about ten minutes. Eventually, Corey pointed at a building across the street that looked like a café.
"That's the place. Just say I sent you. I've got something to do, so I'll take off now."
Jimmy nodded and waited for Corey to leave before crossing the road and opening the café door.
"Hello, customer, what can I get for you?" A scruffy-looking black man greeted him while busy with something behind the counter. Jimmy looked up—it really did seem to be a coffee shop.
"You're Frank? Corey sent me," Jimmy said after a pause.
"Oh!" the black man looked up at Jimmy. "I'm not Frank, I just work here. If you're here to buy that kind of stuff, go through the back door."
Jimmy froze for a moment. As the man ignored him and went back to work, Jimmy sighed and exited, then walked into the narrow alley next to the café. Behind the building, he found the same man waiting for him at the back door.
Jimmy twitched at the corner of his mouth. Was all this secrecy really necessary?
"Come in," the bearded man said, giving Jimmy a glance.
Through the narrow entrance, Jimmy walked into a room and was taken aback by what he saw—walls lined with all kinds of guns, even grenades and other gear.
"Welcome! What can I get you?" A chubby white man behind a counter asked. Jimmy walked over, sat down, and said, "I want to buy some ammo."
"Oh? For what kind of gun?" Frank asked, curious.
Jimmy didn't answer. He pulled out a shotgun he'd taken from Jurassic Park and tossed it to Frank. "I want ammo for this gun."
"Oh! A SPAS-12. That's pretty rare in the U.S.," Frank said, examining the gun.
"How many rounds can you get me in one month?" Jimmy asked, frowning.
"How many do you need?" Frank asked.
"Ten thousand rounds," Jimmy said coldly. He was already addicted to using this gun. The feeling of blasting enemies full of holes with one shot was simply exhilarating. And clearly, Jimmy was planning ahead for the next world.
"Ten thousand? Are you going to war?" Frank asked, startled.
"Don't ask. Can you get it?" Jimmy asked.
"Yes, but it won't be cheap—ten dollars per shell," Frank replied.
"No problem," Jimmy said. After all, it wasn't his money—it was stolen, so he didn't feel bad about spending it.
"Also, recommend me some powerful or fast-reloading handguns," Jimmy said, rubbing his chin.
"Oh!" Frank paused, then pulled out two pistols from the cabinet. "This is a Beretta M92F. Fifteen rounds per mag. It can…"
Jimmy recognized the gun immediately—he'd picked up a few of these from the black-clad enemies the night before. He still had two of them in his inventory, though they were currently out of bullets.
"Okay. Now show me something more powerful," Jimmy nodded.
"If it's power you want, this is it—the M500 revolver." Frank pulled out a massive revolver.
"It's twice as powerful as the Desert Eagle, firing bullets with rifle-level kinetic energy. Its damage output is downright terrifying—it's practically a hand-held cannon! Though it only holds five rounds at a time," Frank explained.
"Alright, I'll take two of each—two M92Fs and two M500s. I want 1,000 rounds for the pistols and 50 mags. For the revolvers, give me 500 rounds," Jimmy calculated. That should be enough to play around for a while.
"Alright," Frank said, nodding as he pulled out a calculator.
"Okay, four handguns—$14,000. I'll give them to you for $10,000. M92F ammo is $4 a round—1,000 rounds is $4,000. Each magazine is $100—50 of them comes to $5,000. The revolver ammo is $5 a round—500 rounds is $2,500. So the total is $21,500. Add in 10,000 SPAS-12 rounds, that's another $100,000, making a grand total of $121,500."
Jimmy nodded. He took out $50,000 and said, "This is my deposit—for the previous ammo. And this stack is for what's available now."
"Alright! I'll have someone start counting right away," Frank said cheerfully and called over the black employee from before.
While waiting, Jimmy asked, "Can you make me two bodysuits?"
"Oh? What kind of bodysuits? Bulletproof?" Frank asked, curious.
"Yeah. Use the best materials—make them strong, breathable, and stretchable if possible," Jimmy said, stroking his chin.
"No problem," Frank nodded.
"Good. Make me two. I need them fast—ideally by tomorrow afternoon," Jimmy said.
"Sure. What design do you want?" Frank asked, intrigued.
"This one," Jimmy said, showing him a picture on his phone.
It was a red and blue bodysuit…