Josie had the shop owner help load the guns into the car, paid, and drove off.
A few blocks later, once he was sure no one was around, he pulled over. He ran his hand across the rifles and ammunition, and everything vanished—absorbed into the system's storage in an instant.
Then he calmly drove home.
Half an hour later, Josie pulled up to his apartment building without incident. Maybe it was because so many unemployed young men had enlisted, but Chicago's streets seemed safer these days. In the week since he'd arrived, he hadn't witnessed any serious crimes. No mobsters in long coats spraying Thompson fire on street corners like something out of a gangster picture.
That didn't mean the Mafia wasn't out there, of course.
The past few decades had been the golden age of organized crime in America, and the next few decades would be no different. If Josie had arrived a few years earlier, those movie scenes would've been a lot more common.
The reason things were quieter now came down to two factors.
First, the neighborhoods Josie frequented were relatively safe—white neighborhoods, in an era when segregation was still the law of the land. Different rules applied in different parts of the city.
Second, war changed everything.
Don't think the gangs weren't affected. The connections ran deep.
All those unemployed young men who used to roam the streets looking for trouble? They'd shipped off to earn a military paycheck. That meant fewer fresh recruits for the families.
More importantly, the smart gangs were busy making real money now.
Why did people join the mob in the first place? For the cash. And what was the easiest money during wartime?
Smuggling.
No—not even smuggling. Shipping.
With the war effort demanding everything America could produce, and Atlantic crossings carrying enormous risk, maritime restrictions had been lifted almost entirely. Any bold entrepreneur with a Liberty ship full of cargo could multiply his investment dozens of times over selling to Britain, France, or the Pacific theater.
Same amount of work, but with way better returns than fighting over territory back home.
So during these war years, most of the American underworld was busy with "international trade."
The streets had calmed down. At least in the white neighborhoods.
Back in his apartment, Josie locked the door and settled into a chair.
"System. Contact Daenerys."
A virtual screen flickered to life before him.
This was his lifeline. His cheat code. The Dimensional Trading System—technology from some unknown higher civilization that had somehow latched onto him.
The system's function was straightforward: it sent out dimensional beacons to random worlds, selected a host, and allowed Josie to trade with them. One new beacon generated per year, searching for new dimensions. Plus, the system had an incredibly powerful storage function—that's where the guns had gone.
The first beacon had landed in a world Josie recognized from a TV series in his previous life.
Game of Thrones.
And the host was none other than Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons.
The ten ounces of gold he'd sold at Old Hawke's shop? That came from his first trade with Daenerys—a .38 revolver and his father's copy of The Prince by Machiavelli.
Now Josie had something better to offer.
The screen brightened. A woman appeared—simply dressed, face clean and striking, silver-white hair cascading over her shoulders.
"Josie. Did you acquire the items?"
The beacon had bound to Daenerys during what would have been Season 6 of the show. She'd just emerged from the Dothraki sea, having burned the khals alive and claimed their riders' allegiance. Now she was preparing to return to Slaver's Bay and crush the rebellion there. After that would come the invasion of Westeros—three dragons, the Unsullied army, and a hundred thousand Dothraki screamers at her back.
"Of course." Josie waved his hand, and an M1917 rifle materialized from his inventory. "This is a rifle. Far more powerful than the pistol—longer range, much more stopping power."
He walked her through the bolt-action mechanism, the loading procedure, the sight alignment. No live demonstration, obviously. Firing a shot in his apartment would bring the cops running.
"Is the price the same as before?" Daenerys asked. She wasn't concerned with the technical details. She'd already tested the revolver and understood what firearms could do. Even the weakest person could kill a trained soldier with a gun. It was far more effective than any crossbow.
"That won't work." Josie shook his head. "Pistols are weak, cheap. Rifles are different. These are military weapons. Believe me, Daenerys—the best armor and shields in your world won't stop these rounds. Not at range."
He wasn't exaggerating.
The M1917 might be obsolete by modern military standards, relegated to training duty, but that didn't make it ineffective. In many parts of the world, it remained a sought-after weapon. The rifle had excellent muzzle velocity, flat trajectory, outstanding accuracy. It could punch through things that would stop lesser rounds cold.
And the ammunition of this era? Full-power cartridges with penetration to spare.
Westeros was a fantasy world, sure, but outside of mythical Valyria—long since destroyed—the metallurgy was primitive. The low purity of Daenerys's gold already proved that. Josie doubted any armor or shield on that continent could withstand sustained rifle fire.
"What price, then?" Daenerys's interest sharpened.
"Three times the revolver rate." Josie held firm. "And don't think that's expensive. The pistol only came with fifty rounds. Each rifle includes a hundred."
In truth, he'd bought a thousand rounds per rifle. He was keeping most of the ammunition to sell separately. This was a monopoly, after all. Daenerys would need bullets eventually, and he'd be the only supplier.
"If the weapon performs as you claim," Daenerys said slowly, "the price is acceptable."
Gold wouldn't be a problem once she retook Slaver's Bay. The masters had hoarded unimaginable wealth over centuries of human bondage. All of it would be hers.
And if these rifles were truly as powerful as Josie described... if she could arm the Unsullied with them, train the Dothraki to use them alongside their cavalry charges, add that firepower to her three growing dragons...
Who in Westeros could possibly stand against her?