A Crooked Waitress

Chapter 27

Incoherent voices were echoing in Junior's ears. He tried to look around, but a white glare blurred everything.

He closed his eyes, the voices faded away, and he sank back into the darkness.

When he woke up again, he was laying on a bed in a hospital room. Daylight filtered through the windows and his abdomen was bandaged.

I was shot? How? Who the hell shot me?

A bag of serum hung from a metal pole and a plastic tube linked it to his arm, dripping a colorless liquid into his vein. His head felt heavy and groggy, he yawned. Maybe there was morphine in the serum to prevent the pain from his wound...

Then, it flashed in front of his eyes:

Christina shot him, then turned and left the room. Someone was banging on the door. Kaufmann said she was going to call 911. And he was on the floor, in a pool of his blood.

His breathing raced. "She shot me. She broke into my house and shot me."

"Who is she?"

Junior looked around. A man in a suit sat on a chair by his bed.

"My name is Alex Morgan. I'm a detective with Boston P.D. Who shot you?" He said.

A pig! Great!

"Come on, Junior, you almost died. If it wasn't for your neighbor, you'd bled to death. "

"I don't know who it was.... Some burglar ...who thought I had money." Forming sentences was proving difficult. The serum slid in his vein and delivered the Morphine; drip, drip, drip.

I'm drugged. He's trying his chance when my guard is down. Be careful Junior. Shut your mouth.

"You also have a fresh gunshot wound in your arm that somebody stitched up for you. And it wasn't in a hospital or we'd heard of it. Rough days? You're in trouble, Junior. Sold the guns to the wrong customer this time?"

You have no idea.

"You've pissed off somebody really bad. Next time she's going to get you. I can help you. I can save your life." The detective said and his eyes looked concerned.

Junior turned his face.

Pig!

***

Christina stopped her Chevrolet in front of the Red Donkey pawnshop. The store's red lights were blinking in the daylight. For a few minutes, she remained in the vehicle and gazed at the place, banging her fingers on the steering wheel. She had fetched a large diamond from her locker at the train station to sell here. But did Paul just do his job? Or got other ideas in his head once he saw the stone? She wasn't sure.

She crossed the street and went into the shop. From the counter to the ceiling, stood a row of steel bars; carpeted with an iron mesh. And in the middle of the barrier, a small window with a sliding door was open.

Besides the old-fashioned fortification, she noticed two security cameras on either side of the counter. And behind her, another one was installed above the entrance.

A man in his late forties sat on the other side of the iron and shined a statue of a flying devil. A landline phone and a book were the only other objects on his desk.

She reached into her pocket and grabbed the diamond that sat next to her gun. "Hello."

"Hi." The man stopped polishing the devil.