Visions (Hell Portals, Book One)

Chapter Eleven: Organized Crime Doesn't Pay

AT ABOUT 3PM JACK, NATE AND TABBY ROLLED INTO THE HAWK JEWELRY & PAWN PARKING LOT. They backed their bikes into front-row spots, hung their helmets on their throttles, dismounted and got ready to deal. All three were fighting their nerves and knew they needed to keep their cool to get through this.

The lot was empty except for one smallish, maroon-colored Toyota Corolla beater. Jack guessed the staff cars were parked behind the building. If these guys were involved with organized crime, their cars would most likely be higher-end, gloss-black jobs.

The front windows had heavy bars mounted behind them, and the front doors had sliding metal scissor-gates that were now pushed open to the left and right. It was a typical pawn shop entrance that would be locked down tightly each night. A dirty, grungy fortress of sorts, filled with the loot taken from people who were down on their luck and unable to make their rent or auto payments.

They walked in. The place was large for a pawn shop, with rows upon rows of glass display cases filled with all sort of odds and ends. The cases closest to the front door were devoted to jewelry. Looking farther back, Jack could see electronics, handbags and other leather goods, and toward the very back and to the right he spotted a hanging sign that read "Guns". The outer walls of the shop had shelves stacked with less expensive items that didn't require the protection of a locked case.

A rough-looking guy who Jack recognized from the staff photo was standing behind the front counter with his hands on the glass. He was looking at the three of them, sizing them up.

"Welcome. Are you looking for anything in particular?" he asked in a middle-eastern accent.

They walked up to the counter, no smiles. "Yes, we are," Jack said, looking the man straight in the eye. "I'm Jack. We're needing some handguns, and we're looking to get them today. We've brought a good deal of cash and we're willing to pay what's necessary."

The man just looked at Jack with a poker face. "Of course there's paperwork and waiting periods, I'm sure you—"

Jack interrupted. "Here's something just for your time." He slid ten Benjamin Franklins across the counter to the man.

The man looked at the bills and then back at the three of them. Nate and Tabby just kept their own poker faces. The man glanced across the room toward the other sole customer who was browsing and paying no attention to them, a mousy-looking guy in jeans, grungy plaid shirt and flip flops. While looking at the other customer, the salesman reached up and slid the bills off the counter, folding them in half and putting them in his pocket. The move was quick and inconspicuous.

"I see. Yes, we have what you need. Follow me."

They followed the man back to the gun section.

"What do you need?" he asked.

"Three smaller handguns with ammo. Walthers perhaps. Just show us what you have," Jack replied.

The man unlocked a case and retrieved a blued, .380 ACP Walther PPK, placing it on the counter. "We have one Walther right now." He then hunted around and placed two more concealable handguns on the counter. A blued and stainless .9mm Sig Sauer P239 SAS Gen 2 and a .45 Glock Model 30.

"These will do fine," Jack said. "Will four thousand additional cover everything?"

"Yes."

Jack placed a roll of hundreds on the counter. The man took it briskly, placing the roll in his right jacket pocket. He then bagged the guns quickly and added two boxes of ammo for each. "Thank you for doing business with us. Please come again," he said without a smile, pushing the bag toward Jack.