Twenty minutes later I found myself peering through the glass cases at the pawn shop down the street. They knew me well for my taste in various weapons and were always thankful for my business.
“Dani! What can I help you with today?” came the voice of Eli, the manager of the shop.
“Hey, Eli. I’m looking for something specific,” I said, glancing around.
“Let me guess, some sort of weapon?” he asked. I grinned and nodded my head.
“How did you know?”
“You’re one of my best customers. I never forget you or your tastes.” Eli said, “Oh, I know!”
He shuffled away into the back of the store. Eli was a stout man, who walked around with a subtle waddle. He was so obese he could barely squeeze between the counters of the Pawn Shop and had short, thick, coarse hair that always seemed unwashed. I suspected he was older than he looked but he was always clean shaven, had a baby face, and double chin, but no wrinkles. I wasn’t sure about the content of his character, but he was useful enough for my needs at the pawn shop.
“Here we go!” he exclaimed, setting a glass case down on the counter with a gorgeous knife displayed inside.
“Holy shit! What is that?” I said, gazing down at the knife.
“That, my friend, is a Jackal, and it could cut the guts out of anything. An enemy a friend,” he said, waving his hand about in the air with casualness.
The knife almost looked ancient. It had strong curves and sharp points throughout the blade. The handle was black and curved inward at the back end.
“How much?” I asked.
“Three hundred and fifty dollars for anyone else, for you though, three-hundred- for today.” He said.
I glanced down at a small, white price tag, half peeled off of the casing that appeared to read: $250.00. “You know what, Eli, I love it, but this is not quite what I’m in the market for today.”
“No? Okay, okay, what are you looking for? A gun? Grenade? Sword? Mace?”
“Not quite. I was kind of thinking did you just say you have grenades?” I asked.
“No,” Eli replied, bewildered, and then gave a long dramatic wink.
“Ohhh, okay. Well I was looking for something to just beat someone senseless. You know, inflict maximum damage, minimal blood, easy to carry, packs a punch, yet concealable. You got anything like that?”
“I think I know exactly what you need,” Eli said, pointing his finger up in the air. He rummaged through some things around the shop and returned to the counter, “How ‘bout this?”
He placed a foot-long metal rod down on the counter.
“This?” I asked, picking it up. It sure had some weight to it, about five pounds. This would be perfect, but it was too short. I needed a little more reach.
“Girl, you need to extend it. Here,” he said, reaching for it. I placed it in his hands. He held it in his right and whipped it down to his side. As he did, a metal rod extended from it, making it just under three feet long.
“Fuck yes!” I said, wide eyed, “Let me try.”
He handed it back to me and I flung it around a few times.
“This is perfect. What do I owe ya?” I asked.
“Uhhhh, seventy-five,” he said, looking to the ceiling, as if he was calculating it in his mind.
“Eli, sometimes I feel like you just make the prices up as you go.”
“Ha ha, I do!” he said, “Good for business.”
I paid him the money and exited the store with my new toy.
As day turned to night, I prepared to leave. Fully dressed, I looked like a typical criminal, ready to rob someone. I review my plan over and over, making sure there was no detail I had missed. At seven, I headed toward the bar. The bar was on 9th and Main, just a few blocks down from Roots. I walked into Zaptap, noticing it was the most hole in the wall bar you could possibly find downtown. As the door closed behind me, the four people seated at the bar all turned in my direction to see who had come in, then quickly returned to the drinks. The whole bar was about twenty feet wide, A bar on one side and dark booths with dividers to the ceiling on the other side. I made my way to a booth quickly and sat down. Not even five seconds later, someone arrived to take my order.
“Club soda, please,” I said.
I sank deep in the booth, as to have a decent view but remain unnoticed. I glanced at the bar and looked for Mr. Hooker. I heard the door behind me slam and realized someone must have just walked in the door. I waited for them to pass me to survey them, rather than turning around. Sure enough, it was Mr. Hooker.
He looked tired as he trudged to the counter. He was a tall man in his forties, forty-one to be exact. His hair was graying and he had a salt and pepper look about him. He wore a long tan jacket with a gray suit underneath. Other than his graying hair, he seemed to be aging well, though he had bags under his eyes that added years to his appearance. The bartender approached him and he ordered a Manhattan. 7:27.
I sipped my soda, as I watched him discreetly. He kept to himself. I reached in my pocket and pulled out a small metal case. It housed two small razor blades. I lifted one and ran my thumb across it gently and waited. One drop of blood emerged, then it quickly closed up. I sighed in relief. My
