Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
I ride the subway too. Hell, I rode it this morning to get to Penny’s. And the city is filled with options, from the subway to parking garages to various rideshare services and even those scooters you can rent on street corners. But I’m not taking any chances with Penny. I want her locked in, safely at my side, so I can make sure the goons don’t try to find her.
“You’re saying you’d rather take the subway and get to the pawnshop later? That’s what I’m hearing.” I show her my phone screen, hovering my finger over the Cancel Ride button. “Or we could be there when it opens and get this taken care of, whether that means getting the ring back or hitting the next shop, and the next, and the next, before it’s sold to someone else.” I draw the list out intentionally, emphasizing that this might take all day, and that’s if we’re lucky enough to find the ring.
Penny’s lips press into a thin line, and the fiery glint of a begrudging surrender appears in her eyes. “Fine,” she huffs. “But you’re paying.”
I never asked her to pay, not even half. She assumed. And if she tried to give me money for the rideshare, I would refuse it, but I decide to keep that to myself and let her think she’s won this battle. Sometimes, the more important fight is the war—which is getting the ring back, by any means necessary.
Paul’s Pawnshop, on the edge of the booming downtown square, was Saks Fifth Avenue compared to A-to-Z Pawn, which is farther out in an area best described as “don’t go there at night.” The bent steel bars on the dirty windows out front tell me everything I need to know. The ring isn’t here.
Still, we go inside. There’s a big guy lounging in a folding chair close to the door, and he looks Penny and me up and down critically, his coldly vacant eyes saying everything his mouth doesn’t. I don’t like putting him at my back, but I stay close to Penny, keeping me between her and the big guy. Security guard? Bouncer? Whatever his professional title, he’s the muscle of the place.
The store has an air of dust and despair, like the pain and poverty of its clientele are carried in every item spread about. There is truly everything from antique-looking lamps to zebra-print purses, and more, but Penny approaches the display case first since we’re on a singular mission for jewelry.
The woman standing there sets down her phone in favor of watching our approach, sizing us up with every step, which is fair, considering I’m doing the same. She looks wary, like she’s both seen and done some shit in her life and came out the other side because she’s willing to do whatever it takes. She’s not the rise-and-grind type, she’s the survive-and-thrive sort.
“How bad did he fuck up? One karat, two, five?” the woman asks Penny with a sly grin like they’re two girlfriends spilling the tea. She leans over, glances me up and down, and then whispers to Penny, “Go for the five. The watch alone says he can afford it, and that’s before the leather boots, designer jeans, and expensive shirt.”
I’m not used to being visually added up into walking, talking dollar signs, and don’t particularly enjoy the experience now. It makes me feel dirty, like I’m callously flashing cash around in a spot where people are starving. I don’t dress fancy compared to a lot of the guys on the team. But when you grow up with nothing, being able to buy a luxury item here and a quality thing there is something you enjoy. Responsibly.
Penny’s eyes light up. The girl has zero poker face. “Do you have a five-karat ring? Round cut, smaller baguettes, in a bezel setting?”
“Picky thing, ain’tcha?” the woman scoffs. “I don’t have anything like that, but I’ve got this.” She taps a long nail to the case, pointing at a multistone ring. It’s big to the point of gaudy, but nothing like Penny’s ring.
“Enough with the pleasantries,” I grunt, interrupting the sales pitch that’s wasting everyone’s time. “We’re looking for a specific ring. One we were told might come here due to its . . . um, ‘questionable acquirement’ by a guy on the sidewalk downtown yesterday.” I hear a creak behind me and peek at the convex mirror above us to see that the big guy is now standing by the door. “No judgment there,” I rush to explain. “We just want the ring. I’ll even buy it if you have it.”
Penny pushes her phone under the woman’s nose to show her a picture of the ring on her finger. “It looks like this. Have you seen it?”
The clerk barely ticks her eyes down, the glance so quick I would’ve missed it if I’d blinked, before she shakes her head. “Nope, never seen it. Gus can get the door for you.” She jerks her head toward the big guy, who pushes the door open for us. It’s definitely more of a “get the fuck out” move than anything resembling politeness.