Pawnbroker: A Thriller

by Jerry Hatchett

  I went right and then back out through that bay, which dumped me onto the delivery lane on the other side of the police cars that had been in front of us. We shot out from behind the store and hit a side street while the police were still trying to back out. We finally had a good lead.

  Once we made it into a residential neighborhood, I slowed down and made frequent turns, always watching. By using the vehicle’s compass, I kept tending west and finally got dumped out on a road heading into the country. The rain had stopped and the clouds were breaking up. The road and the farmland on either side glowed dimly when the moon broke free of the clouds. I backed down to 30 MPH, killed the lights, and drove until we came to a small stand of woods with a dirt road cutting into them.

  “How’s the four-wheel drive on this thing?” I said.

  “Never used it.”

  I pushed the button on the dash, felt a slight shudder as it engaged, and turned into the woods.

  Chapter 69

  Hidden in the woods and exhausted, we napped for about an hour. “What now?” Penny said, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

  “We have to get back to Montello.”

  That woke her up. “Are you nuts?”

  “Probably, but we still have to go to Montello. That’s where the answers are.”

  “Looks to me like this thing is scattered all over the place. At least the bad guys are.”

  “Yeah, but the core issue, the thing that got it all started, was Homestead showing up in my pawn shop. It’s obviously drugs, the same thing my wife was on, and Homestead, and gosh knows who else.”

  “We’ve already searched your shop, though.”

  “We were looking for something unusual. The drugs are probably hidden in some ordinary household item.”

  Penny chewed on that. “It’s still too dangerous to go back. Every cop in the state is looking for this vehicle by now.”

  “So we get another one.”

  “I have twenty-three bucks. What, we show up and fill out a credit app? Put it on a credit card? “

  “I know a guy.”

  Chapter 70

  “Guido? We’re hiding behind a mobile home—”

  “It’s his office,” I said.

  “—smack dab in the middle of town, waiting for a guy named Guido?” Penny said. “Guido?”

  “Remember what they say about beggars, Miss Lane.”

  She shook her head. “And which one of these six beauties have you picked out?”

  “Kind of got my eye on that one.” I pointed.

  “Surely you jest.”

  I laughed for the first time in days, and it felt good. Call it fatigue-induced delirium or whatever, but I couldn’t stop laughing. The vehicle was a rusty AMC Gremlin that someone had made into a convertible by way of a cutting torch.

  Penny started laughing, and pretty soon we were sitting on the ground, leaning against the Gremlin, tears running down our faces. We finally got it out of our system, wiped our eyes, sat there.

  * * *

  “Hey, my man Gray, wake up!”

  I fought my eyelids open against what felt like glue, but was really a lot of dried and crusty sleep-crud. I raised a hand and Guido pulled me up.

  Guido was of unknown ethnicity, and was one bizarre-looking fellow, black-skinned, slant-eyed, six-and-a-half feet tall and weighed maybe a buck-fifty. Penny had roused and was staring at him, which didn’t bother Guido. He knew he looked like a space alien.

  “I need a ride for a few days, Guido.”

  “Oh, I’ll make you a sweet deal, my man.”

  “Yeah, it needs to be really sweet, because I have no money today.”

  “No sweat, bro. How about this little cherry of a Gremlin?”

  “Well...”

  Penny kicked me.

  “That old Dodge Ram would be better.”

  “I don’t know, my man, that’s like my most choice ride.”

  “Guido, I’m in a bind. Can we skip the bullshit, just this once?”

  “Okay, okay.” Guido shook his head in defeat and walked into the trailer. He stepped back out and threw me a key.

  I tossed him the keys to Penny’s Lexus. “Got a place you can store that till we get back?”

  “No problemo.”

  “I owe you one,” I said.

  He waved me off. “Been listening to the scanner, my man. You stay low.”

  Chapter 71

  So much for a quiet entrance into Montello. The Ram’s muffler fell off about twenty miles outside of town, and we arrived sounding like the featured attraction at a redneck convention. Penny drove while I stayed slumped down in the seat with a cap pulled low.

  “Everybody staring?” I said as we eased down Main Street.

  “Not bad, just stay down and we’ll be okay.”

  “Where are we?”

  “One block from your store.”

  We roared slowly along for another thirty seconds or so. “Where should I park?” she said.

  “Take the alley on the far side. Go to the back and pull in behind the store.”

  The silence was dramatic and wonderful when she killed the engine. I dialed the store from the prepaid cell phone, and LungFao answered on the second ring.

  “Fao,” I said, “any customers in the shop right now?”

  “Nope.”

  “Who’s working with you today, Michael?”

  “Right.”

  “Send him out to get lunch.”

  “We’re not hungry yet.”

  I drew a deep breath and counted to a million. “Fao, get hungry. Send—him—out. And do not mention that you’re talking to me, got it?”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “As soon as he’s gone, unlock the back door.”

  “Got it.”

  I punched off the call, waited until I heard a car leave the employee parking area on the side of the building. “Let’s go.”

  We stepped in through the back door, into the pawn room. “Hey, Fao.”

  “The police were here again this morning.”

  “Not surprised. If they come back, you haven’t seen me, you haven’t heard from me.”

  He didn’t say anything at first, just rubbed his hands together in this goofy way he does when he’s nervous. “You want me to lie to them?”

  Close eyes. Breathe. Count to a billion. “Yes, I want you to lie to them because they may be some of the ones who want to kill me. You have a problem with that?”

  “Kill you? Why?” Rub rub rub.

  “Don’t know. Do you have a problem with lying to them?”

  “No.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Great. Come on, Penny, let’s grab some supplies from the front while nobody’s here.”

  I pulled a Kimber .45 from the showcase, along with five boxes of ammo. If a hundred rounds wasn’t enough, I’d probably die anyway. LungFao’s eyes were the size of moons.

  “Larry, you sure you’re going to be okay if they come back?”

  “Why are you mad at me?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You never call me Larry unless you’re mad.”

  I thought about praying for patience, but decided God probably didn’t want to hear from me, Grayson Bolton, killer. Grayson Bolton, almost adulterer. No, I’d best take care of my own patience.

  “I’m not mad, I’m just a little edgy, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Penny was prowling the shelves, looking for other things that might come in handy. I grabbed a bottle of gun oil and was lubing the Kimber when the door chimed. I flinched and squirted oil all down the front of my pants. It looked like I’d peed myself. I turned my back to the counter and crouched down to finish oiling the pistol.

  “Hello, Moalgie,” Fao said.

  Of all the times in the history of the universe for Moalgie Collins to show up, this had to be the worst.

  Chapter 72

  Moalgie, Mo-al-jee, was about two hundred years old
and swore he was the one who taught Elvis to play the guitar up in Tupelo. He had a shock of white hair that stuck straight out and made him look like a mummified Don King.

  “Hey there, boss man!” he said, and cackled in the high-pitched Moalgie way. Moalgie cackled a lot for no discernible reason. LungFao was doing his best to intercept him and take care of him, but Moalgie ignored him and headed straight for me, like always.

  “Hello, Moalgie,” I said.

  “Hee hee hee! What you doing, you gonna shoot somebody, boss man?”

  Penny showed up with a Kabar knife, a night-vision goggle, a Mag-Lite flashlight the size of a baseball bat, and an armload of batteries. “I’ll put this stuff in the truck and then take another look around the pawn room.”

  “Okay, I’ll be back there in just a second.” I glanced toward the street to make sure someone else didn’t slip in on me.

  “Got you a girlfriend there, boss man? Hoo hoo hoo!”

  “I’m married, Moalgie.”

  “Hee hee hee! Ain’t never let that stop me. Course, I always did like the women.”

  “Got to go, Moalgie. Good to see you.”

  “I even had white women back when I was over to Tupelo teaching Elvis Presley.” Ev-lis. “He built hisself a city on what I teached him, you know.”

  I waved good-bye to Moalgie and turned to walk into the pawn room. As I passed the phone, I grabbed the stack of pink phone-message slips and tucked them into a pocket.

  “See anything?” I said to Penny.

  “Did he really teach Elvis?”

  “Who knows. Or cares. Found a stash yet?”

  “No, but there are lots of things back here it could be hidden in. I’ve looked in everything on this shelf that it could be in.”

  I laid the Kimber and ammo by the back door. “I’ll take this aisle, but we can’t stay long. Michael will be back soon. I don’t mind asking LungFao to lie, but Mike’s just a kid. I can’t involve him.”

  “Understood,” Penny said.

  We dug through bags of videotapes and DVDs, looked inside microwaves and toaster ovens, shook VCRs. Nothing. I heard the door chime, then Michael’s voice. “Time for us to go,” I said, already walking toward the back door. The aisles were made of gray metal shelving, deep enough that items could be stacked both front and back. The lowest shelf was about three feet above the floor, which gave us room to store TVs and other bulky items on the floor underneath the shelving.

  Just as I turned the corner at the end of an aisle, I noticed a black nylon strap near the floor. I looked closer and saw that the strap was attached to a small black zippered bag of the sort used to carry digital cameras or other small electronic devices. The bag had fallen between two 25” TVs that were on the floor, back to back. Except for the strap sticking out, the bag would have been totally hidden.

  I knelt and worked the bag up and out, then unzipped the top and looked inside. I drew a deep breath and my heart pounded. This was it.

  Chapter 73

  INTENSIVE CARE UNIT

  NORTHEAST MISSISSIPPI HEALTH CENTER

  TUPELO, MISSISSIPPI

  “I’ll just wait around in case she wakes up. I have some very important questions to ask her,” Wainwright said, now dressed in khakis and a black blazer, FBI creds extended for Dr. Belenchia to examine.

  “Understand me clearly, Mister...what did you say your name was?”

  “Collier. Special Agent Dan Collier, on loan to the Bureau from Scotland Yard.”

  “Fine, Agent Collier. No one will go near this patient again as long as she’s under my care. Not you. Not the local police. Not the governor. Not Sherlock Holmes. She came to town with comparatively mild problems. Police showed up, started going in and out of her room, and all at once she’s in critical condition. No more.”

  Good. No one had seen him earlier, dressed in scrubs.

  “First, this is my first visit, but surely you don’t think the police had anything to do with her medical condition? That’s preposterous.”

  “Time will tell.”

  “Be careful where you...oh, what’s the saying...ah yes, take care where you stick your nose, doctor.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “Of course not, just pointing out that some things are larger than you, larger than this hospital.”

  “Get out.”

  He backed toward the elevator, a sneering smile slopped across his pallid face. “I’ll be back, old chap.” He winked and stepped into the elevator.

  Chapter 74

  “How many times, Ray Earl, just how many times have I told you not to associate with that Rocky Shackleford?”

  Ray Earl hung his head. “A lot, Mama.”

  A tidy little silver-haired woman in her late sixties, Beatrice Higgins had checked in on her son every day since he moved out of her house and into the little efficiency apartment eight years ago. Ray Earl wasn’t retarded; to be clear, in some ways he was extremely intelligent. In others, however, he certainly came across as a few eggs shy of a dozen, a fact she had dealt with when he was a small child. Her husband Grady had not been so accepting. He left when the boy was seven, the day Ray Earl and his second-grade classmate, one Richard “Rocky” Shackleford, had been sent home from school for beating some poor child with a lunchbox.

  Beatrice sighed. “All right, we’ll talk about that later. Tell me what has you so upset.”

  Chapter 75

  I reached into the bag and pulled out the Discman. “We pawn portable CD players every day, but not like this.”

  “What do you mean?” Penny said.

  “This is only the second one like this I’ve ever seen.”

  “Where was the first?”

  “At my house. Busted into pieces from being thrown against a brick wall, I assume by Abby.” I pictured the exercise room at my house, the broken things scattered across the floor, and suddenly realized what was different about the mess the second time I saw it. The busted Discman was gone. Somebody had been inside my house.

  “Awfully high-tech looking.”

  “Here, feel it.” I handed it to her.

  “Heavy.”

  “Weighs twice as much as a normal Discman.”

  “Maybe...”

  “...it has something else inside,” I finished. “Let’s take it with us and get out of here before Michael hears us.” I gently opened the door, then closed it without going out.

  “What?” Penny said.

  “We need to know who pawned this.”

  She nodded. “How’re we going to do it without Michael knowing?”

  I thought about that for a moment, then tiptoed over to my office. I got a pen and paper and wrote a note to LungFao, instructing him to look up the pawn number and print the transaction.

  I motioned for Penny to follow and we made a quiet exit. Outside, I gave her the note. “Go down this alley. Right past that dollar store, cut back up to the street, then walk the sidewalk back up here. Go in, be sure Michael isn’t nearby, and give LungFao the note.”

  She headed down the alley. I started toward the old Dodge, then walked past my back door and stopped at the next one. I knocked quietly, three quick raps followed by two slower ones, the knock we’d used since the days of childhood forts and secret clubhouses. Teddy’s office was at the back of the building and no one else would hear the knock. The door opened and Teddy’s freckled face lit up in surprise. He looked both ways, then motioned for me to come inside.

  “Catch me up,” he said, “what’s going on?”

  “Gotta go soon,” I said, staying outside. “Just wanted to check in with you.”

  “The police have been over there twice!” he said in an excited whisper-hiss.

  “I know. Listen, Teddy, I hate to ask you this, especially after what you’ve already done, but...”

  “What? Just say it.”

  “You got any cash on you? I’m afraid to use credit cards and I’m tapped out.”

  He placed his hands on my shoulders, looke
d me straight in the eye. “You’re my best friend. What’s mine is yours. Got it?”

  I nodded.

  “Hang tight, I’ll be right back.”

  He disappeared inside, and returned about two minutes later and shoved a wad of bills into my hand.

  “I’ll pay you back,” I said.

  “You need anything else, just call, okay?”

  I nodded and walked away. Teddy stepped back inside and closed the door. I walked back to the Dodge and climbed in. Penny showed up almost immediately, carrying a piece of paper. She got in and handed it to me.

  “Sheesh, that’s a lot of help,” I said. “John Smith. And a bullshit address.”

  “How do you know?”

  “There is no nine-fifty-three Willow Street.”

  “Maybe it’s a new street?”

  I shook my head. “All street numbers in Montello begin in the twenty-one hundreds. Part of the Montello Millennium Project, a goofy idea city hall came up with that pissed off ninety percent of the town.” I wadded up the sheet and put it in the glove compartment. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 76

  We were at Doc’s place, where we should be safe. If they hadn’t figured out that Homestead’s body was in Doc’s freezer—and they obviously had not—there was no reason to think they’d link him to us.

  He was kind enough to let us take a shower, after which I educated him on our predicament. We were in his living room, a dimly lit affair filled with books. They were on the tables, the couch, the floor, the television; every flat surface was covered with stacks. His wife, a petite and attractive lady named Angela, insisted on fixing us a plate of sandwiches, which we scarfed down like starving animals.