Chapter 6: Obsessive Perfectionism and High Standards

The young man emptied a magazine in three seconds and, as the SCAR rifle's bolt locked back, he held onto the gun with admiration, exclaiming, "What a great weapon! Thrilling, absolutely thrilling!"

Of course, Joja knew it was a great gun. The precision of the firearms produced by his versatile toolbox was so fine that manufacturing tolerances were practically nonexistent. He even intentionally adjusted the dimensions of some components to make the weapons appear as though they were human-made, all to avoid attracting too much attention.

When manufacturing those AKMs and AK-74s, Joja used real models for reference to ensure they met African standards. Despite these precautions, the SCAR in the young man's hands was still comparable to top-notch factory-made products.

It was clear that the young man had some experience with firearms and was quite good at it. Otherwise, firing in full-auto mode right away could easily lead to shoulder injuries or even falling, both of which were common among the inexperienced. His immediate action showed that he had been itching for this for a long time.

Seeing the joy on the young man's face, Joja smiled and said, "As long as you like it."

The young man now fully trusted Joja's expertise. Holding the SCAR in his left hand, he firmly shook Joja's hand with his right and said, "Your reputation as the 'Wolf' is well-deserved. I'll take this weapon, the handgun, and give me ten more AK-74s. I also want 5,000 rounds each of the SCAR's two types of NATO ammo, 1,000 rounds of handgun ammunition, and 5,000 rounds of 5.45mm ammo for the AK-74s."

As he spoke, the young man pushed the bag of cash on the table toward Joja and said, "Wolf, consider this $100,000 as a deposit. Please arrange for the delivery to the mine. You name the shipping cost, and I won't haggle."

Joja quickly calculated in his mind. The entire deal amounted to less than $90,000, but this guy offered a $100,000 deposit right away. If there ever was a true high roller, this was it—a generosity that could make one's heart sing.

However, business was business, and the route from South Sudan into Sudan was long, fraught with unknown risks. After some quick calculations, Joja said, "Make it $150,000, including shipping. I'll head to South Sudan in five days and deliver the goods to you then."

The young man didn't seem to care about the money at all. Still caressing the SCAR, he looked at Joja and asked, "Wolf, do you have any Remington 700 sniper rifles? I'd like a good one for hunting."

Joja nodded and said, "No problem. Altogether, that'll be $200,000—$100,000 deposit and $100,000 on delivery. I'll make sure it's sent to you, and you can pay the rest after you inspect the goods."

Hearing Joja's straightforward response, the young man happily shook Joja's hand again, saying, "Wolf, you've saved my life. This damn place in Africa—if it weren't for having something like this to keep me interested, I wouldn't come here for anything. My name is Lu Jun. You can call me Xiao Lu or Junzi from now on. I might be in the South Kordofan area for a year or so. If I need anything else, you have to help me out."

Who says rich kids are all arrogant and dismissive? This Lu Jun left Joja with an excellent impression. Joja didn't care why he'd been sent to Africa; all he knew was that this was an exceptionally valuable customer.

Noticing that one of Lu Jun's bodyguards seemed hesitant to speak, Joja waved him off, saying, "No need to know my real name, and I won't explain why. Those who know me call me 'Jackal.' I do business for peace of mind. If you need anything in the future, just call me. If not, let's pretend we don't know each other when we meet."

Joja made his position clear. It wasn't necessary to be overly friendly just because they'd recently met.

Lu Jun didn't seem to mind Joja's attitude; if anything, it made him appreciate Joja's professionalism even more.

Carefully setting down the SCAR that now belonged to him, Lu Jun pulled out an M1911 handgun from the gun bag and smiled, "I'm familiar with this. How about we have a little competition later?"

Seeing that Joja didn't seem particularly interested, Lu Jun added, "How about a thousand bucks? Each of us puts in a thousand, and the winner takes all."

Joja, noticing Lu Jun's high spirits, shook his head with a smile and said, "Let's have some fun, but I don't bet with people, and I don't gamble."

Not giving Lu Jun a chance to respond, Joja pointed to the still-swaying targets ahead and said, "Sixty rounds each, thirty targets. Whoever hits the most wins."

Lu Jun glanced at the swaying targets, his expression faltering slightly as he asked, "But from here, some of the targets seem out of range, don't they?"

Noticing his boss's hesitation, the middle-aged bodyguard with a flat-top haircut said, "I'll go first. It's been a while since I've handled a handgun; I'm not sure if I'm still any good."

Joja understood the middle-aged bodyguard's intent. He smiled, scuffed the ground with his foot, and then pulled a green ribbon from the sand. With a tug, a green marker indicating the shooting route emerged from the ground, snaking in an S-shape around all the targets.

Returning to his vehicle, Joja grabbed several boxes of handgun ammunition and handed them to the group. He then inserted four Beretta 92F magazines into his belt and smiled, "You're the guests; let me go first."

With that, Joja stood at the starting point, took a deep breath with his eyes closed, and then, in a flash, drew his handgun and fired eight shots at four targets ten meters ahead.

He then dashed forward five meters along the green line, firing rapidly at several smaller targets to his side before swapping magazines on the run and continuing to shoot.

Running, firing, running, pausing, firing…

Joja's movements had an indescribable fluidity, a natural ease born from extensive practice that seemed to neutralize the tension typically associated with shooting.

Lu Jun felt that Joja was exceptionally skilled, though he couldn't pinpoint why. He nudged the middle-aged bodyguard beside him and asked, "Brother Xiang, how does he compare to you?"

The bodyguard, Brother Xiang, was momentarily taken aback by Lu Jun's question, then shook his head in resignation, saying, "I'm not as good as him, at least not with a handgun. Look closely—those targets keep swaying, but this 'Jackal' always manages to hit them with double-taps, and the bullet impacts are clustered within an orange-sized area."

Looking at the pockmarked iron targets, with most hits concentrated in the same spots, Brother Xiang remarked, "This guy is an ace shooter—fast and accurate. Within thirty meters, I'm no match for him."

Surprised, Lu Jun asked, "That good? Could this guy be from some special forces unit?"

Brother Xiang glanced at Joja, who had just finished shooting and was now picking up spent shells from the ground. Shaking his head, Brother Xiang said, "He's definitely never been in the military; his grip and movement don't have a military vibe."

Then, Brother Xiang looked at Lu Jun and said seriously, "But that's what makes him even scarier. For a self-taught shooter to reach this level means he's not only talented but also incredibly dedicated. Otherwise, few people can endure such tedious practice. Boss, hitting a target isn't difficult; with practice, hitting moving targets isn't hard either. But few people aim to hit the same spot repeatedly. Either he's obsessive, or he has insanely high standards for himself."