The Gate by Bob Mayer

line was easy. He assumed that was why it was a party line. Check your brains at the door, no thinking required. But somebody was doing some thinking, that was for sure, as events of the previous week on the Golden Gate Bridge had shown him.
    “I got a list of exactly what they want,” Jonas said, echoing the message that he’d given Lake over the phone. They were seated in their usual booth. Lake had met Jonas thirteen months ago after he’d begun working the west coast. The Ranch had access to all FBI and ATF records and from those Lake had managed to get a very good idea of where to go and who to see. The other agencies couldn’t arrest a lot of the people in their files because the evidence wouldn’t stand up in court. The Ranch could use the people in those files to run their operations and did so without a second thought.
    Lake had used Jonas as a broker in three weapons deals so far and since Jonas hadn’t been arrested and the weapons were still out on the street, he had the man’s conditional trust. That was something a normal federal agent couldn’t do.
    “That was quick,” Lake said.
    “They’re rookies at the game and they’re in a rush,” Jonas said. He frowned. “But I wouldn’t want to double-cross them. These slopes are hard-looking people. Almost ...” Jonas paused.
    “Almost?” Lake prompted.
    “Almost like they’re military types. Soldiers.”
    “Probably are ex-military,” Lake said.
    Jonas frowned. “No, I get the feeling like they’re still military, like they’re a unit that’s trained together. Like you’d feel being around a Special Forces A-Team. Plus, the weapons they want are unique.”
    “Why do they want the weaponry?”
    Jonas gave Lake a look. “Come on, you know I ain’t about to ask them that. Like I said, though, they’re in a hurry and because of that I did tell them they’d have to pay more.”
    “How’d you get a hold of them?” Lake asked. He knew Jonas didn’t like the question, but he needed as much information as he could get.
    “They told me they would call back and they did,” Jonas said.
    “How’d they get a hold of you in the first place?”
    Jonas frowned. “I don’t know and I didn’t fucking ask them. You want this deal or not? You aren’t the only dealer in town.”
    “Let me see the list.” Lake took the Post-it note from the other man and scanned it. He saw what Jonas had meant by “unique.”
    “Can you do that?” Jonas asked.
    “Ingrams with suppressors are hot items,” Lake said. He looked up. “When do they want it?”
    “Monday. They said they’d get back to me with a time and place.”
    “I’ll have it Monday. Tell them eight hundred for each Ingram. That’s six thousand four hundred; five hundred a suppressor, four thousand; and a thousand per each six magazines, since I’m going to have to do subsonic rounds. Total, sixteen thousand, four hundred.”
    “My commission is ten percent,” Jonas noted. He slapped a bundle of money down on the table. “Earnest money. Five grand.”
    Lake tucked the list into his breast pocket. He peeled a thousand off the roll, handing it to Jonas. “Okay, charge them twelve thousand beyond the down payment and you keep another grand when we finalize the deal.”
    Jonas nodded and leaned back in the bench.
    Lake stared at him, waiting.
    Jonas slapped his forehead. “Oh, yes. Your gun.” He reached down under the table and pulled up a paper bag. He started to slide it across, but froze as the door to the bar opened and three men walked in, dressed in black pants and windbreakers. “Shit,” Jonas muttered, leaving the bag sitting in the center of the table, between him and Lake. “Federal Task Force. They’re not supposed to come here. I’m fucking protected.”
    The three men sauntered around the table of Patriots and came straight to the booth. “Hey, Jonas,” the leader said, leaning over the table. “What do you have in the bag?” He was a large man, hard-eyed in