“Thing is, my wife’s got this engagement ring. One-point-five-carat diamond set in platinum, worth three grand easy. I know, because I had it appraised two days after it came into my possession. This was in Texas some time ago. She hasn’t been wearing it because she says it’s too loose and bothers her every time she goes to wash her hands.”

“I can’t wait to see where you’re going with this.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the other thing. She’s lost a lot of weight. She looks like a runway model only bigger in the tush. You probably don’t remember, but she used to be… I won’t say fat, but on the far side of plump. The past fifteen months, she’s taken off sixty pounds. I came home, I didn’t recognize her. That’s how good she looks.”

“Wow. I love success stories. How’d she manage it?”

“Diet supplement, an over-the-counter upper that’s not FDA regulated because, technically speaking, it’s not a drug. She’s so buzzed all the time, she forgets to eat. She has to be on the go every minute or she gets whacked out from too much nervous energy. As a side benefit, the house’s never looked so good. Drop of a hat, she’ll do all the windows, inside and out. Anyways, she tossed the ring in her jewelry box six months back and she hasn’t touched it since. Now she wants to have it sized so she can wear it on the cruise. She’s all stressed out because she can’t find it anywhere, so I said I’d look.”

“You hocked it.”

“Pretty much. I want to do right by her, but I’m low on funds and it’s tough to find work. I don’t like taking handouts from the woman I love. Problem is, the skills I have aren’t exactly in demand. What happened was, I put together a stake using the ring as collateral on a four-month loan. This was way last spring after I got out of Soledad. I went down to Santa Anita to play the ponies. I don’t get to the track every couple of months, I tend to brood. I’m a moody guy to begin with and the nags take my mind off.”

“Let me guess. You lost your shirt and now you need to get the ring back before she figures out what you did.”

“There you have it. I couldn’t come up with the principal so I paid the interest and rolled it over for another four months. Now that’s up and the ten-day grace runs out Tuesday of next week. I don’t pay, that’s the last I see of it, which would break my poor heart. Hers, too, if she found out.”

“How much?”

“Two hundred.”

“That’s all you got for a ring worth three grand?”

“Sad, but true. The guy lowballed me on the deal, but it’s not like I had any choice. I can’t borrow from a bank. I mean, picture the loan docs, me wanting two hundred dollars for a hundred and twenty days. Can’t be done. So now I owe the two in cash plus another twenty-five in interest. Be honest about it, I might not get the money back to you right away. I mean, eventually, sure.”

I stared at him while I considered his request. I had cash in my wallet so I wasn’t worried about that. The key picks he’d given me had served me well, as had the tutorial he’d provided before he got sent up. Also counting in his favor was the fact that I liked the man. Profession aside, he was a good-hearted soul. Even a burglar suffers the occasional financial woes. Finally, I said, “How about this? I won’t give you the cash, but I’ll go with you to the pawnshop and pay the guy myself.”

His look was pained. “You don’t trust me?”

“Sure I do, but let’s not tempt fate.”

“You’re tough.”

“I’m a realist. Your car or mine?”

“Mine’s in the shop. You can drop me off there afterward and I’ll pick it up.”

4

Santa Teresa Jewelry and Loan is located two doors down from a gun shop on lower State Street. There’s a gas station across the street and a tattoo parlor around the corner. The area is short on tourists and long on bums, perfect for urban renewal if the city ever gets around to it. The pawnshop itself is narrow, wedged between a thrift shop and a package liquor store. Pinky held the door for me and I went in.

Inside, the air carried the faint scent of alcohol, which stirred when the door closed behind us. A percentage of the cash out on loan probably traveled next door to the liquor store, where the exchange rate was keyed to red wine of the lowest denomination. A green neon sign with the three-ball symbol for a pawnshop sputtered at a speed that would cause seizures in the unsuspecting.

To my right, high up on the wall, fifteen hocked paintings had been mounted, artfully arranged around a security camera, angled on the two of us. This allowed me to view myself in full color as seen from above, me checking out the camera while the camera checked me. In my jeans and turtleneck I looked like a homeless person down on her luck. Below the paintings, shelves held an assortment of power tools, air tools, hand tools, nail guns, and socket wrench sets. The lower shelves were crowded with secondhand electronics: clocks, headphones, stereo speakers, turntables, radios, and big clunky television sets with screens the size of the windows in airplanes.

On the left, a row of guitars hung behind the counter, along with enough violins, flutes, and horns to constitute a small-town orchestra. A series of glass display cases ran the length of the shop, holding tray after tray of rings, watches, bracelets, and coins. Dispirited household items-a child’s bone-china tea set, a ceramic vase, a cut- crystal figurine, and four graduated teak nesting bowls-sat together on a shelf. There were no books, no weapons, and no articles of clothing.

This was where once-cherished items came to roost, sentiment surrendered for cash. I pictured a constant round-robin of relinquishment and redemption, items converted into currency and then claimed again as personal fortunes improved. People moved, people died, people retired into nursing homes where there was so little space that much of what they owned had to be sold, given away, or abandoned at the curb.

The place was doing better business than I’d expected. One man took down a wall-mounted leaf blower that he examined for some time before he carried it to the counter to purchase. A second man browsed the electronics while a third at the rear labored to affix his signature to a document with a shaky hand. Of the four employees I counted, two greeted Pinky by name.

The woman who stepped forward to assist him was middle-aged, with wavy red-gold hair that she parted on the side. A two-inch-wide swath of gray hair showed at the roots. Her eyeglasses were framed in thick black plastic that seemed too emphatic for her fair coloring. She wore slacks and a white cotton blouse with a bow at the collar, apparently meant to disguise the width of her neck, which put her in a league with weight lifters given to heavy steroid use. She winked at him, held up a finger, and then retired to the back room. She returned moments later with a padded tray covered in black velvet.

“This is June,” he said of her and then nodded at me. “Kinsey Millhone. She’s a private detective.”

We shook hands. “Nice meeting you,” I said.

“Same here.”

Pinky watched as she untied a ribbon and opened two cloth flaps. In the center was the ring, which to me looked small and unremarkable. Then again, Pinky never claimed it was a family heirloom, at least not in his family. The diamond was the size of a wee rhinestone stud, not that I owned anything so grand.

He smiled at me shyly. “You want to try it on?”

“Sure.” I slipped it on my finger and held it to the light, turning it this way and that. “Gorgeous.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” I said, practicing my lying skills.

Shortly after that we got down to business. I handed over the $225 in cash while the two of them dealt with the paperwork.

Afterward I drove Pinky to the car-repair shop, which was six blocks away. As I pulled over to the curb, I peered past him through the passenger-side window. There was no sign of activity. The doors to the service bays were down and the office was dark. “Are you sure someone’s there?”

“Doesn’t look like it, does it? I must have misunderstood.”

“You want me to drop you off at your place?”

Вы читаете V is for Vengeance
Добавить отзыв
ВСЕ ОТЗЫВЫ О КНИГЕ В ИЗБРАННОЕ

0

Вы можете отметить интересные вам фрагменты текста, которые будут доступны по уникальной ссылке в адресной строке браузера.

Отметить Добавить цитату