"Alright, guys! I want this shipment ready to move by tomorrow. Those bible thumpers really want some freedom sticks!" Hendrix called out to the other people in the warehouse. Around him were dozens of men and women running around. Some were moving a bunch of pelican cases filled with various American military grade weaponry. Others were moving trucks, vans and other civilian vehicles around, loading them up with the cases. A few others were patrolling the area, all armed with military hardware and fully armoured. It was safe to say that, even in America, movement like this wasn't exactly legal. But that wasn't ever part of the deal. People only contacted Hendrix if they needed some less-than-legal ordinance moved from one place to another...and moved without anyone knowing. He was expensive, but well worth it.
"Hey, Russel! Easy with those RPG's man! I don't want Father Johnson breathing down my neck over some dings and scratches!" he shouted at one of the men moving crate of more less-than-legal weapons. "It's meant to blow up his 'heathens', not us." he muttered under his breath. He sighed and pulled out his packet of cigarettes. Popping one into his mouth, he lit it and took a deep drag before making his way towards one of the pickup trucks. Everything checked out. Licence, registration, everything. There was no way a cop would pull them over. And even if they did...the pistols under the wheels (complete with fake licence as well) would keep them silent if it came down to that.
With everything set, he turned and made his way towards his temporary office in a separate room. He collapsed into his chair, ashed his cigarette on the floor next to some more crates of weapons, then opened the desk drawer to fish out his holster as well as his heavily customised 1911. He looked the weapon over, admiring it for a second before sliding it into the holster along with some extra magazines and strapping the holster to his belt. He really wasn't in the mood for those crazy cultists to shoot him in his "heathen" back.
He sat back and smoked his cigarette, glancing around the room at the other crates they still needed to load. It was going to be a long day...at least the logistics were sorted out.