Abomination (17 page)

He removed a lithographic copy of the famous painting of dogs playing poker from the far wall of his office, revealing a large safe with a key slot between a biometric thumb reader and
number pad with a small screen above it.  He pulled the key from his pocket, stuck it into the lock, then placed his right thumb over the fingerprint reader.  As soon as the safe emitted a beep, he thumbed in a five-digit number on the pad.  A moment later, he turned the key.  The hiss and clatter of sliding pistons filled the room and the door swung open, revealing a handful of rings, watches, necklaces and other expensive pieces of jewelry.  The safe, though big, was not vast enough to hold all of the jewelry he was in possession of, so he only kept the most expensive and rarest pieces here.  Everything else was kept in a larger, less sophisticated safe in the main storage room.

Gary went to place the tiny velvet bag containing the necklace on the top shelf of the safe.

Something stayed his hand.

Now why would I place something so beautiful in a safe?
he asked himself. 
Hard to sell something when no one can see it.

What an odd thought, Gary noted, his hand wavering inside the safe.  This was what he always did with something he needed appraised.  Couldn’t put it right out on the floor if he didn’t know what to sell it for.

Sure I can.  It’s flawed.  I’ve been doing this long enough to make an educated guess.  I don’t need Leo Mazaroski.  I just have to stay honest, can’t ask for too much.  Maybe five grand.  That sounds good.  Gary won’t get a cut, but he got a fair price.

Gary pulled the bracelet from the bag without really knowing why he was doing it.  There was protocol to be followed, and fawning over a piece of jewelry was definitely not protocol.  He looked at the diamond, allowed the gemstone to rotate smoothly on the chain, noted that the diamond was turning more than it should have, shooting out rays of brilliant light.  He stared into the depths of the crystal and somehow saw those bright red point inclusions he thought were garnets, watched them throb as if they were beating hearts.  He looked at those smoky inclusions, watched as they swirled like tiny maelstroms. 

He suddenly tore his eyes away.

And decided that maybe it was just as well to put the thing on display without getting it appraised.

Chapter 9

Michael pulled his rental car in front of Gary’s Pawn Shop just after six o’clock in the evening.  Once again, he was sweaty and uncomfortable in his business attire.  He didn’t relish getting on a plane feeling dirty, but this… this was more important than finding a place to get a quick shower.  He could always change clothes at the airport.  His flight wasn’t for another five hours.

Michael stepped out of the car, then stripped off his jacket and tossed it on the passenger seat.  He undid the knot of his tie, removed it, and unbuttoned the single button beneath.  Feeling ten times more comfortable, he set off for the front door of the shop, patting his right pants-pocket where he carried five thousand dollars in hundreds.  He didn’t know if he could use credit cards here, but even if he could, he had heard that at pawn shops, especially when buying jewelry, you could avoid paying tax if you paid in cash.  And if he could save a couple hundred bucks, why not?

A small bell chimed as he pushed the door open.  He looked around as he entered, curious as to what he would find.  His perceptions of pawn shops up to this point were based on a handful of cable television shows he watched, and they portrayed completely different experiences.  What he actually encountered was somewhere in between.  It wasn’t a large shop, maybe a thousand square feet, with large glass counters filled with all sorts of stuff lining the walls and larger objects on tables in the middle of the room and hanging from the walls.  The lighting was excellent, not the dim affair he had been half expecting.  A large black man with a mean face sat on a chair next to the door, ready to pounce the moment trouble brewed, and half a dozen highly-visible video cameras hanging from the ceiling recorded everything that happened.  Three men buzzed behind the counters, attending to the dozen or so people milling around.  There were no arguments, no yelling, no raised voices.  Everyone seemed to be acting quite courteously and professionally.  All in all, Michael was pleasantly surprised, and whatever concerns he had at purchasing something from Gary’s were quickly swept away.

Still, Michael moved into the store hesitantly, though not because of the atmosphere.
  He simply hated shopping for jewelry, regardless of the venue: pawn shop, mall chain store, or small private business, like where he had purchased Vanessa’s engagement ring all those years ago.  He was uncomfortable haggling and always felt like he was getting fleeced.   But it was a necessary evil for a man. 

He started at one end of the store and slowly walked around, gazing at the contents of the glass display counters.  He saw less jewelry than he had expected; most of the cases contained sports and music memorabilia, small electronics like cameras and music players, knives of various types, and display pieces.  But if Jenna had recommended Gary's for a gift, that meant that there must be a good amount of jewelry to choose from.
  Maybe Gary was wary about putting the expensive stuff out where it could easily be grabbed in a robbery.  Maybe he would need to ask if he didn’t see anything he liked.  But there was some stuff on display, and he decided he would examine what was out (the cheaper stuff, he assumed) before he bothered anyone to see the more expensive collections.  After all, he wasn't looking to break the bank.  Vanessa rarely went out anywhere where she would need to wear something fancy or expensive considering the severity of her MS, so anything too elegant would be a waste.  This was a “just remember that I love you and I’m always thinking about you, even when I am halfway across the country,” gift.  No need for it to be expensive.  And besides, wasn’t it the thought that counted and not the actual gift?

Michael finished examining the contents of the long case on the left-hand side of the store.
  He saw several things he would love to have for himself—a football signed by the entire Super Bowl-winning 2007 Giants and a Don Mattingly rookie card among them—but he passed over these, concentrating on the earrings and necklaces, of which there were precious few.  He noted that there were no prices on anything, allowing for a fair amount of haggling, he assumed. 

He stood upright at the end of the case and crossed to the right hand side of the store to continue his exploration, as the front case was still too congested.
  Again, more of the same.  Some old tin toys, more sports stuff, some coins, some stamps, some less impressive jewelry, cameras.

Maybe he
would
have to bother Gary, if Gary actually worked here, to see the secret stash.  He walked up to the front counter just as a couple in their mid-twenties peeled back, leaving a space for him to occupy. 

The first thing he saw when he looked in the glass case stole his breath.

It was simple yet elegant, and he knew Vanessa would love it.

It
 
was a simple teardrop-shaped diamond on a thin gold chain hanging from one of those mini-mannequin torsos.  It sat between a pearl necklace and a woman’s gold watch, but he ignored these baubles, focusing on the necklace.

There was nothing flashy about it, no gaudy setting, no cute design,
no supporting gems to steal attention from the main stone.  It was just a single diamond on a simple chain, and it captured Michael’s imagination.  He squatted next to the case so he could better see it, and it was even more spectacular when viewed from that angle, every facet exquisitely cut and throwing light back in a way that was almost hypnotizing.  He allowed his gaze to be pulled into the stone, and he almost thought he could hear something whispering 
take me.  
But of course that was just his own subconscious trying to convince himself that he needed it.  That he should buy it.

He stood up and hovered in front of the necklace protectively, as if trying to prevent any of the other customers from seeing it.
  He looked around, caught the eye of a kid—couldn’t have been more than eighteen—once his own prospective shoppers had walked away.

“How can I help you, boss?” he said as he walked over.
  He wore a blue and gold Gary's Pawn Shop shirt, like everyone else there.  He was clean shaven, had a wide smile and ear lobes that had been stretched so wide Michael swore he could have passed his pinkie through the plastic gauges in them. 

“Yeah... Jim,” he said, reading the nametag the kid wore.
  “I wanted to get some more information about this.”  He tapped his finger on the glass above the necklace.  In actuality, he didn’t care about the specifics, just the cost.  But it didn’t pay to seem too eager.  Like throwing raw meat to a shark.  Play it cool.

“Yeah, that just came in this morning.”
  He squatted down and disappeared behind the case.  The back door slid open and the kid pulled the little torso out.  He turned it parallel to the floor and looked at the base, where Michael guessed any specifics about the diamond and the chain, as well as the suggested price range, were listed.  A strange look passed over Jim’s face and he shrugged.  He placed the torso back, closed the cabinet and stood.  “I have no idea what the cost is.  Or anything else about it.  Gary must have forgotten to mark it.  I'll go get him.”

The kid knocked on a door behind the display in the left corner, then opened it and slid inside.
  Several moments later, a small man with a curly nest of brown hair and a dark complexion exited, followed by the kid.  He wore an inviting smile on his face as he approached.  He shook Michael's hand. 

“Gary Snyder of Gary's Pawn Shop.
  Pleased to meet you.”

“Don,” Michael said, not
know why he was using a fake name but feeling more comfortable for doing so.  Don wasn’t random though, as Brian had been.  Given only moment to think, he had chosen the first name of his favorite baseball player: Don Mattingly.

“Do I hear a hint of Brooklyn in your accent?” Gary asked.

Michael smiled.  "Guilty.  Grew up there but I've lived in Northern Jersey for the past twenty five years."

“Dodgers fan?”

“Yankees.”

“I'm a Mets guy myself,” Gary said.

“I'm sorry.  Maybe they'll win again.  Someday.  Maybe.”

“Hey, hey, hey, no need to rub salt in an open wound, I suffer every night I watch them.”

“Come to the dark side, Mr. Snyder.  You may feel bad at first, but you can't argue with winning.”

The two men shared a short laugh, then Gary said, “Well, Don, you got the look of a guy getting ready to get on a plane.
  Looking for a last minute gift for a lucky lady?”

“In fact, I am.
  Getting on a flight to Newark in an hour and I don’t want to go home empty handed.”

“Jimmy here tells me you're interested in this necklace,” he said, tapping on the glass.

“I am, I am.  What can you tell me about it?”

Gary removed the beige torso and rested it in front of Michael so he could examine the necklace.  Michael, almost reverently, slipped his hand under the diamond and lifted it away from the mannequin, exploring every facet of the gem with his naked eyes.  It dazzled, it shone, it whispered to him in a voice that was made of light.  At one point he swore something moved inside the diamond, something swirling, but even if it were a defect and not a trick of the light, it did little to deter from the beauty of the piece.

“Nothing much to say,” Gary said as Michael examined the diamond.  “It's a pear-cut diamond, about a carat and a half, excellent color, excellent clarity.  The chain is 18 karat gold.  It's a beautiful piece of jewelry.”

“How much?”
Michael asked, dropping the gem and standing straight up.

Gary licked his lips slightly.
  “Seven thousand,” he said.

Michael felt like he had been punched in the stomach.
  Seven thousand.  For that?  He knew it was beautiful, exquisite even, but not worth seven thousand dollars.  He didn’t know a lot about jewelry, but he knew that seven grand was excessive, even more so because this was a pawn shop.  He had a sudden urge to turn and leave, but as he looked from the necklace to Gary, realization dawned on him.  The man didn't want seven thousand.  Didn’t expect seven thousand.  It was just the beginning of negotiations, a place to start.  Michael straightened up, put on the best poker face he could muster. “Twenty-five hundred,” he said.

“Six thousand.”

“Three.”

“Five grand.
  And I can't go any lower.”

“Forty-five hundred,” Michael said, “and I can't go any higher.
  Cash.”

The two men stared at each other.
  Gary looked down at the diamond, as if searching the gem for advice.  He chewed his lip again and Michael swore he could see the gears in his head churning.

“Forty-five hundred,” Gary said slowly.
  “Cash.  You got yourself a deal.”

Michael released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, expelling a hot gust of air from his lungs.

It was his.  And soon, it would be Vanessa's. 

“Can I ask you how you heard about us?” Gary asked as he lifted the necklace from the mannequin and slid it into a little velvet bag.

Michael hesitated.  To admit how he had learned about this place would tell Gary something about himself that he would prefer not to share.  But… he didn’t know this man, would never see or talk to him again.  Where was the harm?  Hell, as a businessman himself, he always appreciated knowing how a potential client had learned about CoreGen.  Seminar?  Advertisement in a trade magazine?  A friend?  So instead of clamming up, he simply said, “An escort gave me your card” as he counted out forty-five crisp hundred dollar bills from the wad he had pulled from his pocket.  He watched Gary’s face for any form of judgment to pass over his features, but there was nothing.  He just swiped each bill with a special pen to validate its authenticity before collecting them into a neat pile. 

“It's been a pleasure doing business with you, sir,” Gary said, handing the velvet bag to Michael.

“That's it?  No receipt?”

“A receipt will cost you three hundred and fifteen dollars.
  You know, to cover the taxes I'll need to report.”

“No receipt it is,” Michael said, pocketing the little bag.
 

“I hope you’ll recommend us to your friends and stop by again next time you’re in Vegas,” Gary said.

“Will do.”  Michael left the small pawn shop for the airport, feeling grimy and sweaty but content nonetheless.