Chapter 12: Plan of Action Redux

The gang regroups to formulate a better plan, but Jasper is momentarily sidetracked by a sudden discovery.

Within the next week, the gang and I managed to locate an old, rural shack in the middle of nowhere, albeit several miles away from where my stepdad resided. It was constructed of metal, just sturdy enough to contain loud noises and withstand bullets. Why were we occupying a place like this? Simply so we could have a place to train for our upcoming break-in. I know it sounds stupid to train for crimes rather than just committing them, but we didn't want to screw even one thing up.

Second and I were busying ourselves with a discussion at one end of the barn, working together to scratch the serial numbers off of the weapons we'd purchased, just to be safe. Meanwhile, Tequila busied herself at the other end, firing a rifle at some targets that were painted on the wall. She fired off a few more shots with pinpoint accuracy before walking over to us.

"Alright, guys. Have either of you made any progress?" she asked.

"Well aside from ensuring that people can't use our weapons to track us, we also came up with a few team-moves," Second replied, he and I standing up.

Tequila folded her arms as I stood ahead of my best friend. I lowered my right hand and snapped my fingers, prompting him to pull out a soda can. He shook it vigorously, before tossing it at me as hard as he could. I ducked down, allowing the can to roll along my arms and shoulders, before letting it spring back into the air by means of my left hand. Following this gesture, I fired a bullet right at the can. It exploded as a result, sending several shards of aluminum flying out in all directions. A good chunk of them hit the target on the wall, as did the bullet.

"Now had that been a living target, then the explosion from the can would've distracted them from the bullet itself. And by the time they came back to their senses, the bullet and several shards of aluminum would've embedded themselves in their flesh, causing them to bleed out a lot more than they would had it just been a bullet," I explained. "I mean hey, if we're supposed to be honing our combat, then we might as well emphasize teamwork as well."

"Yeah, well I'm pretty sure teamwork doesn't have to be that ridiculous." Tequila rolled her violet eyes as she spoke. "For now, why don't you two just focus more on individual training?"

"We've been doing that all day, though. Surely it wouldn't hurt just to take a small break," Second replied. "And mark my words, this move will come in handy at some point."

The two of us shared another chuckle, before the barn door creaked open. All of us readied our guns, before the person revealed himself to be Xavier, holding a rolled up poster-board and a white plastic bag that was tied at the top.

"Oh, it's just you," I said as we all lowered our weapons.

"Good to see you, X. I take it those are the plans for how we're gonna go about this?" Second asked. "And I also take it you bought lunch with you?"

"Yes, and yes," Xavier replied, setting his things down on the table. "Got everything you all ordered, as well as some appetizers for us to share. All the boxes are marked with your names."

As soon as he set the bag down, the rest of us immediately took our seats at the table and grabbed the Chinese to-go boxes. As Xavier had just noted, our names were written on it, with permanent ink in slightly illegible handwriting. I opened my own box, letting the pleasant aroma of orange beef waft into my nasal passageway. Grabbing a set of chopsticks, I didn't hesitate to start eating.

While the rest of us dug into our food, Xavier callously swept a few weapons and shotgun shells off the table so he could spread out the poster-board. All of us looked down at it, making note of the surprisingly well-drawn, full-color illustrations for the plan he'd come up with.

"Alright, folks. So I figured our first order of business would be to once again crawl in through the air vents. According to the White House's schematics, they lead directly into a boiler room not far from the Oval Office itself," Xavier explained, digging into his hot and sour soup. "But before we go there, I drew our route towards the nearest vending machine. Because trust me, this thing's gonna take a while, and we'll most likely get hungry along the way."

As he spoke, I briefly looked towards the seat next to me, watching Tequila grab one of the large egg rolls from the shared order of four. She inserted it almost completely into her mouth before biting off a portion of it. The sight only lasted a few seconds, but it mesmerized me all the same. Discretely shaking my head, I focused my attention back on Xavier's tirade.

"Apparently, the surveillance room is pretty close to the boiler room, so I'll briefly stop there and hack into their feed. That way, we can keep tabs on where the guards are so we can prepare in advance. And once we arrive in the office, we'll interrogate the president, and he'll surrender every last one of these asinine policies," he finished.

"Wow, really? That's it?" Tequila asked, slurping up some of her pork lo mein.

"Indeed," Xavier replied.

"Seems simple enough. But are you sure you're not leaving anything out?" Second asked, having already finished his general tso's chicken.

"Oh, yes. We all need to ensure that we employ as much stealth as possible during this mission. Barging in and going all Michael Bay on their asses will only give away our position," Xavier said, his tone growing more serious. "I know we're all armed, but we're only carrying these weapons for threats and emergencies. If you can help it, don't kill anyone."

"Gotcha," I replied.

"But regardless, I figured we could still hone our abilities in combat anyway, just in case the situation calls for self-defense. I'd say we train for the next week or so, and then we'll set out and do this," Xavier continued, picking up a magazine that had been emptied of its ammo. "...And in order to do so, we'll need more ammo to train with."

"I'm on it," I said as I stood up. "The rest of you should, uh, train as best you can until I get back."

With that, I left the barn. I looked around to make sure no one was spying on us, before pulling out onto the open dirt road. The gun shop wasn't that hard to find; it was just a few blocks into town. I stepped into the establishment, the hair on my neck standing on end as I eyed the guns of all sizes and types, clashing greatly against the smooth, homely, wooden interior. If they weren't mounted on the walls, then they were standing together in large crates with the ends of the barrels sticking up. A bear-skin rug was in the dead center of the floor, and a massive moose-head was mounted on the wall behind the cashier.

I mustered up a courteous facial expression as I stepped up to the counter. The man behind it was about Dad's height, with a pot-belly, short, greasy brunette hair, and slate gray eyes. He had a five o'clock shadow, and his face was lined in a few spots, possibly due to either his age, or a smoking habit I was unaware of. Or perhaps both. As soon as our eyes met, the strangest wave of déjá vu washed over me. I found it strange, as I'd never seen this guy before, and certainly not during my two prior visits to this store. Yet some small part of me found him familiar somehow.

"Good afternoon, young man. May I help you with something?" the cashier asked, his voice as oily as his hair.

"Er, yes. I'll just need some ammo packs. I've got four .45 caliber pistols, and four .85 sniper rifles. So I'd say about five magazines each?" I ordered.

"Alright, I'll see what we have," he replied, heading into the back.

Just before he left, I snuck a glance at the name-tag on his wrinkled white T-shirt. It read "Simon F. Collins". Wait a minute, wasn't that the name of the man who my mom said was my real father? I then thought back to a time when she showed me a family picture that involved him for the first time. The man in the picture looked much younger, but his eyes were a dead giveaway. Holy s**t, what was I supposed to do?

Before long, Simon came back out with everything I asked for. He set all the items down on the counter before starting to type away at his cash register.

"Honestly, sometimes I wonder why I still work here. I mean, I've hated guns ever since one killed my ex-wife over ten years ago," he randomly mumbled, following a sigh.

"Aw gee, I'm sorry to hear that," I replied.

Simon said nothing, instead finishing up his typing and looking up at me. I could tell by his face that he was noticing something, but I couldn't pinpoint what exactly he noticed.

"Alright, that'll be $69.99," he said.

I offered up my credit card, which he took. Much like the waitress back at that diner, he gave it a good look before looking back at me.

"Jasper Collins, huh? I don't suppose you're the Jasper Collins who's leading the 'Looks Don't Matter' movement," Simon continued. "Cause if so, I just want you to know you've got my support. My ex-wife led a similar movement a decade ago, and it didn't end well for her."

"Well as a matter of fact, I am. And I appreciate the support," I replied earnestly. "Anything to make sure my mom's hard work means something, am I right?"

At that, Simon just froze in place, staring at me with an arced eyebrow.

"Wait a minute... Beatrice Collins was your mom?" he asked hesitantly.

"Well yes, she was, and... wait a minute, you knew her?" I asked in response.

"Hells yeah, I knew her! We met in college and got married! Sure we got divorced soon after, but not before we had a son together!" Simon exclaimed. "...And that must mean... !"

"You're my real father?!" I asked, my eyes almost as wide as his.

"Apparently so! How's it been, Jasper?! It's great to see you all grown up!" Simon replied, before looking around. "Y'know what? I'll put this all on the house. We've got some major catching up to do!"

"You can say that again," I replied, before pulling out my phone.

As I dialed Second's cell-phone number, Simon busied himself putting all of my "purchases" into a white plastic bag.

"Hey, uh, Second? I got the ammo we need, but... I'm gonna have to make a quick detour," I said, trying my best to keep my tone neutral.