“I won’t leave you,” he promised.
“But you will,” she insisted. “If you go into NightWhere again, you won’t come out.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
The fact that the pawnshop was still open after 10:00 p.m. in a dark alley of the river district was one clue that it was probably not the most law-abiding place on the planet. People selling and buying used stuff long after dark were desperate.
Mark needed a place that would cater to desperate. And he’d visited his ATM to make sure he could pay the price.
He stepped inside with Selena close behind him. A bell on the door jingled loudly as it opened. Mark walked a few steps down the main aisle and took a quick visual inventory of the store. There were stacks of VCRs, DVD players and stereo equipment in one corner, and guitars and amplifiers dominated another quarter of the store. But it was the case right near the cash register that interested Mark. The glass revealed more than a dozen handguns. In a case on the wall behind the register, a row of rifles hung. Mark was a little surprised to see some military-issue weaponry there as well.
The proprietor was a thin, gangly man in a ratty, grey button-down shirt with two days’ growth of beard and black plastic-rimmed glasses.
He sat behind the counter watching a small television set. Mark couldn’t tell what the show was, but he could hear the fake canned laughter. The man didn’t say anything, and Mark walked along the perimeter of the glass counter, looking at the array of guns. He really didn’t know enough about firearms to know what was good or bad. But he liked the look of one with a squarish muzzle and equally blocky handle. It looked like a spy gun. Get in, shoot fast and silently, get out.
That’s what he intended to do tonight.
He walked past the case to a wall of Chinese throwing stars, stilettos, hunting and Bowie knives and switchblades.
Mark picked a couple off the wall and hefted them, trying to decide if he wanted to have a back-pocket backup plan.
He chose one with a dark wooden handle that was carved to conform to the fingers of the hand. The knife blade tucked into the handle for easy hiding in one’s back pocket. Mark nodded. He’d been a Boy Scout. It was a good idea to “be prepared”.
Selena was idly thumbing through DVDs in a rack nearby. Mark walked to the counter and pointed at the squarish gun. “How much for that one?”
The thin man eased off his seat with a small grunt and stepped to the case. “The Ruger?” he said.
Mark noticed the word was emblazoned on the handle. He nodded.
“Depends on how fast you want it,” he said.
“I need it tonight,” Mark said.
“Uh huh.” The man nodded, as if that was a common request. “You know we have gun laws in this state?”
Mark nodded.
“Let me see some ID.” The man held his hand out as Mark pulled a driver’s license from his wallet. The man took it and held it up to the fluorescent light on the ceiling. He raised an eyebrow as he handed it back. “Looks like a real one. You a cop or something?”
“If I was a cop would I hand you a real license?”
“Maybe. Lift your shirt.”
It was Mark’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Looking for wires.”
Mark guessed at the logic for that. He lifted the T-shirt up and turned around, giving the man a good look at his chest and back.
“Flash me.”
“You’re serious.”
The man nodded.
Mark looked at the door. The parking lot remained empty. He undid his belt buckle and lowered his jeans a foot, then pulled them up fast.
“Her too,” the man said.
Mark turned towards Selena, who walked up to the counter. She’d been listening. “You didn’t tell me we’d be strip-searched,” she said.
“I didn’t think we would be.”
“Hmmm. I could say no.” She smiled thinly.
“And I could say get out of my store,” the man behind the counter said. “No difference to me. Except I’m missing my show here. So if you’re gonna finish this business…”
Selena nodded. She was still in the outfit Mark had given her before dinner, without undergarments. She lifted the U of I T-shirt to expose her breasts and held it there a moment before turning and letting the block
“No strings attached,” she said quietly. “Or wires. How much do you think this is worth on the secondhand market?”
The man didn’t even attempt to keep his tongue in his mouth.
“Brick shit…”
“How much for the gun tonight?” Mark interrupted. “Cash and carry.”
The man struggled to bring his eyes back from Selena as she tied her pants back up. He reached into the case and turned the gun over. “Normally it’s $250, and there’s some paperwork and a week or so wait. But I can do this for you. Come back and finish the paperwork tomorrow. You take the gun tonight for $650. You need ammunition? That’s extra.”
Mark nodded. He knew the guy never expected him to come back the next day.
“You know how to load it?”
Mark shook his head.
Ten minutes and $750 later, Mark and Selena emerged from the store with the gun, a knife and a crash course in handling it.
The dashboard read 10:44.
“Okay,” Mark said. “What are we going to do for six hours?” They’d agreed that he wouldn’t try to enter the club until after 4:00 a.m., to make their escape as close to dawn as possible.
Selena put one creamy hand on his arm and drew it towards her stomach. Mark smiled, and she slipped his hand under her T-shirt, leading his fingers up beneath the cotton to cup her left breast. “I can think of something,” she said.
“I thought you were an angel,” he said. “Angels don’t have sex, do they?”
She leaned over the gearshift and kissed him. Her mouth was warm and hungry. When she drew back, a thin line of spit still connecting them for a heartbeat, she whispered.
“I’ve fallen,” she said.
Chapter Forty-Eight
