“Robbie,” George said, “you stay here with your new friends, okay?”
“Okay, Dad.”
When George and Mike reappeared, they were each carrying a small plastic bag. I started to say something, but George put a finger to his lips and pointed toward the door. When we were in the car and a few blocks away, he explained. “When my buddy Dan said that he would ‘make a couple of calls’, that was more or less a wink, wink, nod, nod. He handed us these bags as we were leaving.”
He passed the two bags to Randy and me, saying, “These two guns officially don’t exist and aren’t traceable. Enough said. We’ll stop somewhere along the way and pick up some ammunition for them.”
“Thanks, George,” Randy said. “I’m sure we all feel better.”
“Yeah, we really appreciate this,” I said.
“If you get pulled over somewhere on the way home,” George said, “you’d better have them out of sight.”