Jack entered the pawn shop first, Mike close behind, holding a pendulum that swung back and forth, Jack was a huge man, all shoulders and chest, developed from his prior job as a stevedore on the docks of Westside, and amateur boxer. He now worked for Mike and Scott, the Teen Guardians, as a boxing trainer and all around hand-to-hand instructor. But for the moment, he was Mike’s bodyguard.
Since someone had gotten the drop on Mike before, he wasn’t taking any chances this time. That’s why Jack went first.
The pawn shop had bars protecting the man behind them from whoever came in. There were iron bars on the windows, chicken wire in the glass cases showing some old orange and green jewelry. Mike raised the pendulum to his waist and the crystal with a small drop of red in it swung hard to the front and left. Mike followed the direction and saw the gold ring with a tag tied to it in the glass case.
“Hey,” Mike yelled, because no one was immediately behind the counter. “Anyone in here?”
He heard the slow creak of a chair, some snorting, and a black man the size of a Yugo came from the depths of a back room. His face was round and he had at least five chins that Mike could count. His eyes were piggish, small and shiny, and his forehead vovered in a sheen of sweat. “Whachu want?”
“That ring.”
“What ring?”
“The gold one.” Mike pointed at the glass.
The man barely fit his huge fat hand between the glass and the ivory velvet counter that probably had been white at one time. The ring was tiny in his fingers as he plucked it from the velvet and peered at the tag. “It’s real gold.”
“I know. Who brought it in?”
The black man furrowed his brow. “You a dick?”
Mike hesitated. Jack said from behind Mike, “No, but we got hero ID’s.”
“You ain’t cops, I don’ have to give you nothin’.”
Mike sighed. “Why does it always have to come to this?” Mike made a motion with his hand and his fire imp appeared at his feet. Mike picked him up. “See this little guy? He sets fire to anything. You want your place to go up in ashes? You’ll never get out in time.”
The imp snorted, a small flame erupting from his nose. He grinned, spread his wings, and climbed up onto Mike’s shoulder. Mike ignored the creature’s claws digging into his shoulder.
“You threatenin’ me?” The man turned pulled at a leather thong around his neck, pulling out a gold cross.
“Oh, that would help against a demon,” said Mike. “But this guy isn’t a demon.”
The two men stared at each other. The imp impatiently looked around for something to set fire. Finally, the silence was broken by Jack asking, “Why don’t you give the man what he wants?”
The black man shrugged. “Not like you’ll find him anyway.” He huffed and went to the area where there was a small drawer, similar to an old bank teller’s drawer, that had a lever on the man’s side and slid out to Mike. The big man found a book, paging through it. He wrote down something on a small piece of paper and slipped it in the drawer. He pushed the lever down, and the drawer slid open to Mike.
“The ring, please,” said Mike, taking the paper. He could barely read it: Eddie Martin.
“It’s four hundred dollars.”
“Three fifty,” said Jack.
“I’m not paying for my own ring,” said Mike, and held out his hand. The ring disappeared from the man’s hand and appeared in Mike’s.
“That’s stealing!”
“You deal in stolen goods?”
“You can’t prove it’s yours.”
Mike slipped it on his finger. “I just did.” He held the pendulum over the paper. It moved in circles, then started swinging. It swung toward the door.
“Pleasure doing business with you.”
“I’m callin’ the cops.”
Mike opened the door and waved. “You do that. Then explain to them about the stolen property you’re getting.”
They stepped outside, and Jack said, “Mike, you can’t just do that. He will call the cops on us.”
“Then they can get there just after I kill this bastard.”
