by Lisa Ladew
“OK then, you’re good. I’ll keep an eye on things and make sure they don’t get out of hand. And I’ll call you if there are any changes.”
The phone clicked in his ear. Fiore looked at it, irritation ruining his too-short alone time in number 2 house. He knew his operations weren’t infallible, and a high-speed investigator could probably make a connection between his three lackeys and him, in ways he couldn’t even imagine. Especially these days, with the computers. He should ask his son … but he knew how that always went.
Better for now to just trust his contact in the police department. His insurance that he’d planted years ago, nurtured, supported. For now he would wait, watch, and let the money roll in. And maybe he should start looking for some replacements for Huey, Dewey, and Louie, just in case.
Chapter 9
Jen glanced at the alarm clock for what seemed like the 50th time that night. 5:25 a.m. Her alarm wasn’t scheduled to go off for another hour, but she was thinking about getting up anyway. She’d only slept a few hours throughout night. A few fitful hours filled with wild dreams. She was too excited to sleep. Too nervous to sleep. To wound up to sleep. Her eyes swung to the chair by her bed. Her outfit for today was sitting there. She could just barely make it out in the little bit of streetlight that peeked around the window blinds. And underneath the pink Hollister t-shirt, inside a slimline holster, was her gun that she’d been issued last night at the pawn shop.
Her mind wandered to the night before, and played over it again. Besides being issued their guns, there were three shotguns secured under the counter, and they’d spent 30 minutes quick-drawing them. Jen shook her head slightly and hoped she’d never have to draw one of those guns again. That would mean something very bad was going down. And if something did go down that caused them to have to use those guns, Sgt. Foley had impressed upon them that the cops responding would not know that they were undercover cops. If things went well, no one would know until the operation was over and those three criminals were behind bars.
Jen’s mind slipped into a tiny, harmless fantasy where she secured a piece of information for Sgt. Foley that ensured he could arrest and charge all three of the men he was after. She imagined the smile that would slip onto his face, lighting it from the inside out. She imagined he would take her hand, look her deep in the eyes, and — she sat straight up in the bed, cutting off the thoughts before they could go any farther. He’s your boss, Jen. Keep it together, girl, she admonished herself. He won’t always be your boss, a tiny voice from deep inside her said. “Yeah, well, he’s my boss right now. And that makes thoughts like these stupid,” she said quietly to the empty room. She pushed herself up from the bed and made her way into the shower. So she’d be early. That was good, right?
***
At 6:45 she pushed her key into the lock at Westwood Harbor Pawn and Loan. Ryker was already inside, his binder open in front of him on the counter. She smiled at him.
“You couldn’t sleep either?” he drawled.
“No. Too excited.”
“Me too. Here’s to a good first day.” He walked to the coffee maker and grabbed her a cup of strong coffee in a Styrofoam cup, thrusting it into her hands.
“Thanks.”
They sipped coffee in silence and looked over their binders, trying to memorize the pictures of the criminals they might see. 20 minutes later, the door opened one more time and Ivy walked in. But a different Ivy than they were used to seeing. Every day that they’d seen Ivy so far, she’d worn dark t-shirts, almost-baggy jeans, scuffed sneakers, and her short, black hair had hung limply on her head. And Jen had never seen her in makeup.
This morning though, a different creature altogether walked in. Jen looked up and saw a tight, black, leather boot push the door open. Ivy was wearing skin-tight black jeans tucked in to these boots, plus a black top with a plunging neckline that showed the inner swells of two teacup-sized breasts. Jen couldn’t believe what she was seeing. But then Jen’s eyes made it to Ivy’s face and her jaw dropped. Her eyes were heavily-lined in black eyeliner which extended out past the outer edges of her eyes. She had in a small diamond nose ring. And her hair! It was spiked up into a Mohawk and shaved on the sides. Jen thought Ivy looked like a gorgeous, pint-sized punk rocker. Or an exotically-dangerous jungle cat.
She chanced a glance at Ryker and saw his jaw was open so far that his tongue was almost hanging out. It was not a good look for him. Jen giggled and ran to greet Ivy.
“Ohmygodyoulooksogood,” she breathed.
“Thanks.” Ivy smiled at her and Jen noticed it was a bigger, more confident smile than she’d ever seen Ivy give before. Before, Jen had thought of Ivy as maybe a timid mouse, scared of most everything. But this outfit seemed to give her … confidence or something.
“They said we should dress like we normally would. This is my favorite outfit, and how I always used to do my hair before I decided I wanted to be a cop,” Ivy said.
“Why in the world do you want to be a cop?” Jen asked, unable to figure out why this obvious punk-rocker chick would ever put aside her self-assured persona and try to pick up one that seemed to make her so relatively uncomfortable.
Ivy eyed her. “Lots of reasons. Why do you want to be a cop?” she asked Jen, a bit of a hostile challenge in her voice. Jen heard it immediately and knew she’d caused it.
“Sorry, Ivy, I didn't mean to offend you. I just really like this look. It suits you.”
Ivy softened. “That’s OK. Thanks.” And Jen felt something bloom between them. The start of a friendship. She felt like hugging Ivy but she held back. Ivy looked too tough for a hug. A phone rang behind them. She turned and looked. It was the bat phone - the phone that, if it rang, meant Sgt. Foley or Sgt. Sadler wanted to talk to them. She ran to it and picked it up. “Hello?”
It was Sgt. Foley. “Tell Ivy she looks great.” Jen felt a small twinge of something in her chest. Jealousy? Uh-uh, no way. “Since you guys are all there you can turn on the sign and unlock the door. Stow your binders in the locked cabinet in the back first. Oh, and tell Ryker to close his mouth.” A soft click sounded in Jen’s ear. She put the phone down and turned to look at Ryker. He was still openly staring at Ivy, and his mouth was open even wider. Jen could almost see the cartoon hearts pulsing in his eyes. She had to laugh, since he was easily more than a foot taller than Ivy, and he probably weighed 150 pounds more than her. That would be one relationship where the woman would always have to be on top. Jen poked Ryker in the side and whispered, “Close your mouth, Romeo, you’re catching flies.” Ryker came around slowly, a little dazed, and then hastily looked down at the counter. Jen giggled again. This was going to be fun.
“Sgt. Foley says we should lock up our binders and unlock the door.” She took a deep breath, her heart beating frantically in her chest. “Everybody ready? Cuz I’m not.”
***
Six boring hours later Jen wanted to tear her hair out. They’d had only one customer. An older man who came in looking for something called a flintlock pistol. She could see people passing by on the sidewalk out front, but nobody came in the door. She dropped her head on her hands and sighed.
The bell over the door sounded and she jerked her head up, happy to have something to do. But this was no older gentleman seeking collectibles. Adrenaline dumped into her bloodstream. They had their first criminal. She glanced to her left and saw Ryker stand up. Good. The man who came in wore jeans, torn-up, white sneakers, and a dirty white t-shirt with a jean jacket over it. Kind of hot for a jacket, Jen thought. His scraggly hair hung in his eyes. His face was covered with red sores that made Jen wince. His head moved in small, quick jerks that reminded Jen of a chicken. His eyes jumped around the room faster than they had any right to move. Meth-head, she thought. “Tweaker”, Ivy whispered next to her.
He jerked forward three steps, then sideways a step, then all the way to the counter, straight in front of Jen. “What can I do for you?” she asked.
He reached inside his jacke
t and Jen tensed, hoping a knife or a gun wasn’t about to come out. Instead his hand emerged with a handful of gold jewelry. Jen blew out her breath. Sgt. Foley’s voice spoke up in her head. Buy it all, he said. But only at market prices. We authorize you to go 10% over market prices on anything, but unless one of us calls you, you can’t go anymore than 10% over.
“I want to pawn this,” the tweaker said, his voice squeaky, like a door hinge in need of oil.
“All of it?” Jen asked.
The tweaker nodded so violently that his head almost hit the counter.
Jen backed up, her eyes wide. She pushed herself forward again, gathering up his jewelry. It felt dirty to her, which she knew was in her head, but she couldn’t help it. The man was a walking, talking, disgusting mess. She took the items to the back counter and weighed them, examined the stones, and looked them up in the computer. She heard him behind her clucking his tongue and shuffling his feet.
She added up all their values and returned to him with a number. “We can give you $182.00 for it.”
At first she didn’t think he had heard her. He stared straight at her, his head lowered and his eyeballs jerking slightly in their sockets. Then he clenched both hands into fists and slammed them on the counter. “Bullshit! That’s worth way more!” he screamed into her face, flecks of spittle flying from his lips.
Jen pulled back, not wanting any of his nasty spit to land on her. Not even wanting his breath to blow in her face. A thick thought ran through her head. Why am I doing this again? She pushed it away and tried to gather her composure. Ivy wedged right in next to her. “Calm down, sir,” Ivy said in an authoritarian voice. “Since you’re such a good customer we will offer you $200 even. Take it or leave it.” She pushed the necklaces and earrings back towards him quickly and motioned towards them with her hands.
At this speech, the man swung his jerky eyeballs towards Ivy. “Fuck that, bitch, you know them necklaces worth 10 times that.”
Jen saw Ryker appear as if out of nowhere at the word bitch. And by the time the guy spit out the last word of his lightning-fast sentence, Ryker had had a large hand on his shoulder. Heavily on his shoulder, Jen noted, seeing the way the guy’s shoulder sagged and his face pinched in pain.
“It’s time for you to go,” Ryker said, his words drawn out, but menacing.
The tweaker turned toward Ryker and howled in indignation. He windmilled his right arm wildly to try to push Ryker off. His left hand snuck out and grabbed his pile of jewelry. He backpedaled and almost fell on his behind but Ryker grabbed him by his dirty jacket and propelled him to the door, pushing him out of it, then watching him slink away.
Jen looked at Ivy, hoping for a sign that Ivy had been as freaked out by the encounter as she had. Ivy’s eyes were wide and she was staring after Ryker with a look of disbelief on her face. Ryker came back in the door, looked at Ivy, and said, “He’s a good customer, huh? I’m a little scared to see our bad customers.” Ivy’s eyebrows drew down in confusion, and then she realized what she had told the tweaker and laughed. “Well, maybe I meant only customer.” They all laughed at that and Jen felt some of the tension blow out of the moment. But they hadn’t gotten the jewelry. Damn. Jen wondered if a phone call would come soon chastising them for that.
As if she had summoned the call with her mind, the bat phone rang. She ran to it quickly, thinking the negative anticipation would be worse than the actual chewing out. “Hello?”
It was Sgt. Foley again. Jen was glad. She knew a chewing out by him wouldn’t be as bad as one by Sadler. “You did a great job, Jen. Tell Ryker to throw the guy out quicker next time. We pay top dollar but we don’t put up with any bullshit.” Jen looked over her shoulder at Ryker and Ivy’s anxious faces. She gave them a thumbs up and said, “OK, got it.”
Great job? She did a great job? Was he lying? Or just a sweetheart?
Chapter 10
Jen watched the clock hands click closer and closer to 5. Quitting time. They’d had a few more customers since Mr. Tweaker, and no more excitement, but she was still ready for this day to be over. She wanted to regroup and think deeply about her first encounter with the criminal element. And you didn’t even have to arrest him or fight with him. You sure you’re ready for this? she thought, still upset at herself for recoiling.
The bell over the door chimed and she looked up. She felt her breath suck into her throat as the most gorgeous man she had ever seen walked through the door. He was tall, 6 foot 1 inch, the height indicator tape by the door indicated, with impeccably tousled brown hair, and flashing, dark eyes. He locked eyes with Jen and smiled, and his smile elevated his good looks to mere perfection. Jen felt her heartbeat speed up and heat pool in her belly. God, he’s handsome, was all she could think, over and over again.
He sauntered up to the counter and stood exactly where Mr. Tweaker had stood, but the difference between this man and Mr. Tweaker was like a show dog compared to an abandoned mongrel. Jen leaned in, instead of pulling away, and tried not to appear too eager. “Can I help you?”
“Yes,” he replied, and smiled that amazing smile again. Jen blinked, resisting all her urges. She wanted to giggle. She wanted to ask him for his phone number. She wanted to bite his lower lip. Hold it together, girl. You’ve seen handsome men before, she cautioned herself, feeling a bit like a hormone-ridden teenager and not understanding why. What she really wanted right now was an off-button on her body and her urges so she could just forget about men for a while. A sweet but bitter desire to just be Jen for a while, with no boyfriends, no outside influences, surfaced in her mind.
The man looked at the items in the glass cabinet between them that functioned as a counter. His eyes slid over them quickly, and then he looked back at Jen. “You’re new?”
“Uh, yeah.”
The man nodded absently and looked around the store, his eyes lingering on Ivy and then Ryker. “What happened to Dave and Simmonds?”
“Sorry, I’m not sure who they are.”
“They used to work here. Simmonds was the manager.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Today’s my first day.”
The man looked at her appraisingly. Jen felt like his eyes were burning holes in her, but she didn’t want to look away. The intimate moment stretched and wobbled. He held out his hand to her. “I’m Coleton. It’s nice to meet you.”
Jen stretched her fingers out, her eyes glued to his. His touch was warm, solid. “I’m Jen,” she said, and was glad to hear her voice come out sounding mostly normal.
“Jen.” He said her name, as if testing it, tasting it. He nodded slightly and gave her a secret smile. A smile that seemed to say so much more than their few words. In it she saw bedrooms, backrooms, clothes flying, limbs entwining. She bit the inside of her lip, hard, and the images flew apart.
“I notice you don’t have any new Breguet or Omega,” he said, his finger tapping on the counter. “Any chance you’ve got something in the back that hasn’t been put out yet? I’m a collector.”
Jen looked down to see what he was tapping over. Watches. Expensive looking watches. “Uh no, there’s no watches in the back. Everything we have is right here.”
“That’s too bad. I usually find all my best stuff in this establishment. Simmonds knew my tastes. And he always bought for me, even if the seller wanted too much money. Because I’m willing to pay.” He smiled at Jen again and she felt helpless not to smile back. Full lips, white, straight teeth, masculine chin with a hint of a cleft.
“Oh.” The monosyllabic word felt like the stupidest thing she could say, but it was better than saying nothing. She didn’t know how to handle this guy. Did he want her to buy watches for him, even if the seller wanted too much money?
Coleton pulled a leather wallet out of his pocket and fished in it for a business card. He picked up a pen off the counter and wrote a number on it. He handed it to Jen. “Will you call me if any Breguet or Omega come in?”
His card was colorful but simple. It said only: Coleton Sa
voy and gave a number. He pointed to the one he had written. “That’s my personal cell phone number. Call me anytime.” He stretched out the word anytime, giving it subtext. Is he flirting with me? The idea filled her with a wild gladness and a nervous dismay. He was too good-looking. She couldn’t trust herself to be objective about him. This was the kind of man who would get her in trouble. The type of man that women jumped in head-first over, without bothering to check how deep the water was.
Jen nodded, then looked around desperately for Ivy. Ivy was the pretend manager. Shouldn’t she be handling this? She spotted Ivy, who was standing by Ryker in the middle of the store. Ivy gave her a thumbs up and mouthed something. Jen wasn’t sure but it looked like “he’s hot.” Jen groaned inwardly and looked back at the card in her hand. Ivy wasn’t going to be any help.
“I’ll come back by in a couple of days, Jen, to see what’s come in.”
“OK.”
He flashed her one last heart-breaking smile and left, leaving her feeling discordantly wrung-out and hyped-up.
Ivy ran over. “Wow, he really liked you. What did he want?”
“He wanted watches. And he didn’t like me.”
“Are you kidding? I could tell from over there that he liked you.”
Jen blinked at her, trying to tell if she was kidding or serious. She didn’t know Ivy well enough yet to know for sure. But Ivy couldn’t be serious. That guy was way out of her league. He was movie-star hot. Which probably makes him an arrogant jerk, she thought and grimaced. He didn’t seem stupid, so he had to be a jerk, right? A tiny divot of shame wormed its way into her chest at the thought. She was stereotyping him as either arrogant or stupid because he was good looking? That made her as bad as the men who did that to women.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the bat phone ringing. She ran to it, hoping to hear Sgt. Foley’s voice, but it was Sadler instead, his words sounding venomous. “What did pretty-boy give you?” Completely non-plussed for a moment, she didn’t say a word. But then she realized who and what he meant. “His business card.”