Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 76934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
But I loved the little disaster.
“Do you think that bag of lettuce has gone all mushy yet?” I asked him. “Who am I kidding? That lettuce is a science experiment by now.” I was probably looking at a few slices of plastic cheese, pretzels, and a bag of frozen broccoli for dinner. I’ve had worse.
The bell above the door dinged, bringing in a man in a dusty shirt and two large boxes in his arms.
“Hey. What can I do for you?”
“Take all this crap,” he said, dropping the boxes down. The contents kicked up dust into the air.
“Wait,” I called as he made his way toward the door. “Don’t you want me to appraise and pay you for this?”
“Sell it. Toss it in the dumpster. I don’t care. Just for fuck’s sake, don’t make me deal with it.”
With that, he was gone.
“Okay then.”
It was a surprisingly common occurrence: people moving out of the city and not wanting to take too much crap with them. Or, more often, the relatives who had to clean out an apartment when their loved one passed.
Judging by the first couple of tchotchkes I pulled out, this man lost his grandmother.
I hoped for his sake that he wasn’t in need of cash, because he was missing out with this box. There were two sterling silver picture frames inside, each worth around a hundred bucks a piece; a vase that would probably go for forty to sixty, depending on if someone was going to haggle or not; a collection of cute salt and pepper shakers that wouldn’t be worth a lot, but were sure to sell relatively quickly; a couple of vintage lithographs that would sell eventually. And, finally, at the bottom, a wooden jewelry box.
Inside was a collection of tarnished rings and earrings, along with some statement costume necklaces and bracelets.
The rings and earrings would get me the most money, but the costume jewelry would sell in a blink.
“Things are looking up again, Tuna Roll,” I told my dog, who spared me a long look and a slow blink before tucking his head back in the side of his circle bed.
I mean, it was no two thousand and seventy-five bucks. But it brought me closer to being in the black again.
I loved a good freebie.
No guilt.
No investment to pay off before I made money.
Just pure profit.
It was why I was still a shameless trash day curb lurker. You never knew what you might find. Especially in the nicer neighborhoods. I once found a box full of designer handbags that were likely just ‘out of style’ and therefore worthless to the woman who lived in one of the thirty-million-dollar townhouses.
I ate well that month. I even managed to finally buy myself some furniture for my apartment that wasn’t glorified cardboard and glue.
I was still putting price tags on the items and placing them on shelves when the door opened and two guys walked in.
My gaze moved over them.
They didn’t belong in my pawnshop.
I knew my clientele at this point. These guys were not it.
They were the wrong age, first of all—late twenties. Younger and older wouldn’t raise my brow. But something about their specific age bracket had me placing the salt shakers and moving back toward the front of the store. Either to be close to the gun behind my counter or the door for a quick escape.
Then there was how they were dressed—with their thick silver chains, Timbs, jeans, and black tees.
They were clean-cut, one with no visible tattoos, the other with a rose on his forearm. Both had medium-brown hair and blue eyes. Brothers, maybe.
But those eyes were looking too hard.
Like they knew exactly what they were after and just needed to locate it.
It wouldn’t be the first time I had someone sell me something that didn’t belong to them. It wasn’t like I could demand someone give me proof of ownership. So shit happened sometimes. It usually didn’t freak me out.
But everything about these guys was rubbing me the wrong way. Maybe it was because I’d spent a lot of time around criminals now, so I felt like I had a reasonably good eye for spotting them.
Part of that experience was being stuck under a group of criminals’ thumbs for the latter part of my teens. The other part was when my sister married a capo in the mob.
Everything about these guys said they were organized in some way… but not in a polished way like the mafia was.
This was an unstable neighborhood. The organizations were always vying for power. It was almost impossible to keep track of everyone.
I opted for my desk and the gun under the counter. Mostly because I couldn’t even think of fleeing the shop without Tuna.
Keeping an eye on the guys, I leaned down and grabbed the very unhappy dog, tucking him in tightly at my side. He struggled for a few minutes before accepting his fate in air jail. Then I scooted toward the hidden spot where my gun was hiding.