The only vehicles on the street were a garbage truck emptying overflowing dumpsters and an army Jeep with four masked soldiers brandishing assault rifles. Drago waited until the Jeep had passed and knocked on the door. Moments later it opened, and a bouncer with a face like a ham nodded to him and stepped aside.Drago entered the club, the walls painted matte black with psychedelic posters mounted in chromed frames, and moved past the few remaining tables of die-hard partiers finishing their drinks and cigarettes. He approached the door that led to the back room, where one of the gun dealer’s henchmen stood, his jacket barely concealing the shoulder-holstered pistol wedged beneath his meaty arm.Drago nodded to him. The bodyguard grunted a greeting and twisted the doorknob. Drago squeezed past him and stepped into the office, where the young dealer was sitting behind his desk, his smirk firmly in place. Bodyguard number two stood behind him with his hand on the pistol in his belt.“Yo, youngblood, take a load off,”
