The Pawnbroker
The Pawnbroker
Benjamin Trayne
Twenty-four hours earlier, Jason had been sleeping beside his wife Mary, resting in a warm bed, a good job waiting for him on the morrow and with good food in his stomach. He owned a nice car and had money in his pocket. He had been clean, comfortable and dry. And it hadn’t taken half of that twenty-fours for all of it to completely vanish. Now he didn’t even have his identification, worse, no one would even notice if he simply, disappeared.
Jason’s destruction seemed all but complete. How could anything like this possibly ever in a million years have gone down?
“Innocent.” He slouched in a doorway in the darkness and rain, dressed in filth and draining a half-pint of found whiskey, and tried to imagine what in the world he had done wrong.
There was that kid crying in a doorway he’d walked past, like everyone else that day was doing. Could that have been it?
Jason took another slug of whiskey and tried to recount the events that had brought him to, whatever the hell this was.
Little did he know, he’d just then put his finger on it.
*********************
Jason had headed back as soon as the rain started. No sense in running, the stuff would only hit him faster, not his idea of a relaxing lunch break. Turning up the collar of his trench coat and wishing he’d worn a hat, he wondered. Precipitation hadn’t even been forecast.
Surely there had to be someplace to duck inside for a few minutes, till the downpour slowed.
At that moment, the recessed doorway of a shop fuzzed into Jason’s obscured field of view. Squinting through the water droplets on his thick glasses, he quickly stepped into it and reached for the doorknob.
The rough texture of an ancient, rusted oval knob and the strange clacking sound of the latch gave him pause. He let go of the doorknob and took two steps back into the rain, just to see what sort of shop he was about to enter.
Tipping his head and lowering his glasses on his nose, painted in gold in a broad arc, he read “PAWNBROKER,” and beneath it in smaller text, “Curios.” The style of the cracked and faded letters suggested the paint been applied at least a century earlier. There was no light visible behind the dirty glass, but the latch had turned, so the shop was surely open. As he reached again for the knob, Jason wondered why he hadn’t noticed this place on the way down this side-street. No matter. Odd though, it had no protective steel bars or grate, yet the old window was still intact.
The battered oaken door, set far back within an ancient spalled brick facing, was thick and heavy. Its four rusty hinges groaned resistance. Getting out of the rain would be a relief, at least.
Glancing at his watch as he pushed inside, Jason realized his half-hour lunch break was already more than half-over. It would have to be a brief stop, this. Ordinarily he would take a sandwich with him and cover a couple of blocks over lunch just to get outside, but today he’d not only forgotten to grab the sandwich, but had wandered off in a different direction. Perhaps he shouldn’t be stopping at all. He turned and looked out at the street just as the rain became a genuine torrent. Well, okay. A minute or two shouldn’t make him late.
Turning back to peer into the dimness of the shop he’d just entered, Jason realized, something within it was curiously amiss. There was a strange smell, and it wasn’t just musty. It was a smoky smell, a burnt odor, with traces of tar. And, a bit of...sulfur.
The water dribbling from his coat had made craters in the dust on the floor. This surely wasn’t an active business, as there was a thick layer of dust on everything, including the sales counter. Apparently the place was unattended. The merchandise looked more like piled junk than items for sale, and everything everywhere appeared to be quite old, the few ancient display cases, completely empty. Just to confirm there was no one about, he called out.
“Anyone here?”
A rustling sound came from somewhere, followed by a muffled thud and then short, scraping footsteps.
Comin!”
The gravel in the rasping voice startled Jason even more than the reply. The footsteps continued, stopping and starting again. After almost a minute, from behind a stack of wooden crates appeared a man who looked every bit as old as the rest of the shop. Centuries old. And, he looked angry.
“Wha’ d’ya want?”
Jason hesitated, shocked. Neither the shopkeeper’s demeanor nor his appearance seemed to say “proprietor.” He was short and bald and thin with blackened rings beneath both eyes. His shoulders rolled forward from a slouch, and bushy gray eyebrows came to sharply-defined points. He looked totally unkempt and, well, downright evil. Not at all the sort to be welcoming customers.
Jason forced a smile and replied, “Just wanted to look around. Your shop is open, isn’t it?”
The old man studied Jason for a few moments, his narrowed eyes traveling over him from his soggy shoes to the top of his head.
“I’ll have that watch!”
“Um, I’m not selling anything, thank you. I’d just like to see what you have for sale.”
“Hmph! The old man was still staring at Jason’s watch. “Guess y’ can look. But don’t ye dare touch nothin’...You mind! It ain’t safe-ta!”
With that, the shopkeeper disappeared behind the stack of crates, although there were no more footsteps.
“Very weird,” thought Jason.
To justify his stay while there in the dry, Jason decided to try to find something, anything of interest in the few minutes he expected to be there. It would be like a game, ‘find the item.’ To the left of the counter and display cases, a path perhaps a meter wide appeared to extend further back into the huge stacks of stuff. There was some sort of soft light coming from back there. He stepped into the aisle, marveling at the wide variety of ancient things; old tools, books, a pram with spoked wheels, a box of bolts with a few rusty folding knives.
By the gradually brightening light, it was obvious that the shop was much larger than its tiny entrance had suggested. The objects contained herein numbered in several tens of thousands, at least. Did every one represent a purchase made from a single person? He walked for another full minute. With all of this stuff, there still wasn’t going to be a worthwhile something-or-other to find.
The aisle made a sharp right just ahead, and the pathway had narrowed. Jason had seen enough. It was time to go. He turned around.
The path by which he had entered these stacks was just, gone! A wave of dread laced with real panic flooded over him. This just wasn’t possible...was it? Jason felt his insides doing a little flip, and he suddenly felt queasy. Okay, okay. Get a grip.
Examining the stacked items that occupied the space where an aisle had been, it was apparent that nothing there had been moved for a very long time, so yes, something impossible had happened, or by some means he could not imagine, he’d lost his bearings or had walked further than he’d thought. Or something. That of course would not explain the complete and total disappearance of the pathway into this mess. Jason wanted to run, but to where? And to exhibit the panic he felt, he would not. He simply refused. The front window of the shop was no longer in view, and here, the junk was stacked a good eight feet high. That old man would’ve needed a ladder to put it there.
Panic and incredulity settled into a buzzing in Jason’s head. He realized he had no choice but to press forward, into the stacks where there was still a path. Or, had he just gotten turned around, and the way before him was actually the way back? Surely, that had to be it. But, the right angle turn ahead, he couldn’t remember making?
Jason wasn’t yet thirty years old, so a stroke didn’t seem likely. But surely it could happen...to someone. And the buzzing certainly didn’t make sense. He resumed walking, but now, hurrying, no longer interested in looking around. Surely the path would lead to, somewhere. Alarmingly that path was still narrowing, and his cognition, his sense of awareness, seemed to be narrowing with it. So maybe it was a stroke.
Had to get out of this place!
He felt sure he had been redirected, somehow. Anything else just wasn't possible. The path had become a labyrinth, with multiple outlets. Whatever was going on with his head, he wasn’t that far gone. He decided to call out to the shopkeeper for guidance to the door.
“Sir?...Sir??”
Nothing...
“Okay,” Jason spoke spoke softly to himself, “This just isn't happening. Sooner or later I'll find a door, and I'll just keep going until I do. Some of the furnishings here are too big for the front door. There has to be at least one other door, just for all of this stuff to have been put into this place. And all I need is one.” Jason kept moving, his feet still squishing inside his soaked shoes.
After another few minutes, he came upon a very strange sight. Before him as if it had just been placed there was an oval dining table with a yellow-flowered tablecloth, a small glass chandelier above, and a beautiful vase in the center of the table. There was no dust on any of it. There was also nowhere in the path that was wide enough for the table to have just been carried in. The table and the items on it were strangely brighter than objects nearby, although the source of the light was not apparent. The glass chandelier was dark. Jason stopped, reached out and touched the vase, as if to make sure it was real.
“May I help you?”
Jason had been standing firmly on both feet, but he nearly stumbled as he turned to look. A soft, breathy feminine voice had come from directly behind him. When he did turn, he nearly fainted; because what he saw actually could not have been real; what he beheld did not appear to be solid.
Before him and perhaps five feet away stood an apparition clearly seen, a vision of a young woman, a light-skinned brunette in a flowing blue gown.
But her face was kind and her expression, inviting. Jason tipped his head slightly to one side as his fear, oddly, diminished, and he observed one lock of her hair that appeared to be floating and moving, behind her shoulder.
Jason felt like he'd been drugged. He surmised, it was probably from the shock of seeing...whatever this was.
The gown was from another era, with puffs at the shoulders, low-cut in the front. The young woman was quite beautiful, and she gradually appeared to be of more substance than apparition. She extended an open hand, and he cautiously reached, to touch it.
Without intending it, Jason found himself embracing her.
There was little sensation involved, no warmth and he would recall no real sense of contact. He had no idea how it happened or for how long it had lasted, but Jason did feel something. It was very like...being enshrouded. On the inside.
Suddenly he stumbled backward as if he had been abruptly released. Jason was alone again.
The real question was, had he at any point not been alone?
The area in which he stood had again changed, somehow; there was no longer a table, no vase, no chandelier. The light was coming from behind him, and he turned to see, perhaps twenty feet beyond, the front window of the shop. Forgetting about the apparition and how the things he had seen or experienced could even have occurred, he rapidly worked his way through the piled maze, toward that window. If there had been no path, he would have climbed over the piles of objects between the window and himself. Jason was far, far more than ready to leave. He finally found an opening to the front door, near the end of a counter. The old shopkeeper, if that was what he was, stood there waiting.
“I told you, not to touch nothin'!” The shopkeeper's gravelly voice was sharp and angry. “I told you!” Jason was looking at his watch. He'd been in the shop for only eight minutes. It had seemed like an hour.
Jason looked at the old shopkeeper, wild-eyed and confused. “Wh-What was that...back there?” he stammered.
“Them’s ma wares,” rasped the old man, “The ones you wasn't supposed to touch!” The shopkeeper tipped his chin upward, accusingly. A slight, insolent smile had turned the corners of his mouth upward. “Wanna buy somethin'?”
“Uhh, no,” Jason answered, “Have to be getting back to work. Nice shop!” He turned to exit, but the old man spoke again.
“Stop!” There was new resonance in his voice, and Jason turned to look back at him. The old man straightened a bit, and raised an arm to point at Jason's nose. “There's protection, only for the innocent. Yew think ye're innocent! Ye're not!”
And then, “I’ll have me that watch!”
Well, fuck that. Without asking from what he needed protection or why an evil old man didn't approve of him, Jason lunged to get the hell out of that shop. He had to hurry to get back to his office, two blocks distant. As he passed through the old door, Jason heard the old man's rasping laugh rising behind him, increasing in volume until it seemed to ring and clatter from the walls. Slamming the door didn't diminish the sound.
It was raining harder now.
He ran.
**********************
As Jason neared the office building the rain finally stopped, his head began to clear and he started feeling much better. Now, something finally made sense. There had to have been some kind of fumes in that place, the burnt tar smell and sulfur, of all things, that had caused him to hallucinate. Come to think of it, he reasoned, there was a bit of a haze in the air. Nevertheless it was by far the strangest thing he’d ever experienced and that pawnshop had to be just about, the strangest place in the city. If not in the world...Jason slowed to a walk. The sidewalk and street here were both bone-dry. He stopped, just incredulous.
Best thing he could ever do would be to forget about the entire thing. Like nothing ever happened. That, he imagined, would take some doing.
Jason entered the building about five minutes after he should have. He was one of four account managers for the firm that employed him, and being a bit late really wasn't a big thing. He shed his trench coat and combed his wet hair in the restroom, then walked to his office. He noticed his co-workers watching him as he entered, and there were people waiting for him, seated in his office.
As he stepped inside he realized it was the human resources manager and his own direct supervisor, a stiff old man who wore the same tie every day. “Not a great day to be late,” his supervisor said, dryly. “Did you go home and take a shower?”
“I'm sorry, sir,” Jason blustered, “I got turned around in a shop, and...”
“You what? Got turned around?”
“I was only a few minutes late, sir...”
“Not really an issue. Jason, you're a good man. You're good at what you do, and you do your job. But then, all four of you fellows are good employees. You just got the short straw.”
The human resources manager interjected. “We're having to make some cuts, Jason. We really hate doing it. But the front office directed me to decrease payroll in these offices this week, and they issued guidelines as to the amounts we needed to recover. I've already had to let a supplies boy go, but at least the remaining one is needed. We judged that eliminating one account manager was the only way to reach the new figure. Administration has approved it.”
“You're firing me?” Jason was disbelieving.
The supervisor smiled slightly. “Jason, what are you, thirty? No kids? You're a healthy, competent, good-looking young man. I've been where you are. You'll recover just fine. But the sooner you get out and find a job, the better off you'll be. I'd suggest you start looking immediately. Right now. Today.”
“No two-weeks notice? I'm not even finishing the day?”
“Sorry.” The human resources manager stood and handed Jason an envelope. Then both men turned their backs to him and left.
This seemed nearly as unreal as his lunch break had, but Jason wasted no time. He took the few items that were personal things from his desk, placed those and his final check into a pasteboard box, then sat quickly and scanned for jobs online, finding nothing related to his qualifications. He got up, grabbed the box and headed for the parking lot. And of course, everyone watched him on his way out.
When he reached his car, Jason had decided on his first move. He needed to collect his thoughts. He stopped and picked up a copy of the local newspaper for more employment leads, and headed for a coffee shop. When he got there, he bought a cup of coffee and sat down to read the classifieds.
He was amazed to find a total of just three ads. This was a city newspaper! This just didn't happen! Worse, the ads were for part-time help at menial jobs. There had to be a section missing. But, no. The newspaper index indicated only one page, and this was the page.
A waitress approached. “Pickings are a little slim, aren't they?” She pointed to the page he had been intending to peruse. “Can I get you a doughnut or something?”
“No. No, thanks.” Jason got up to leave. He'd have to go home and break it to Mary, his beloved wife. She would understand, and maybe she could help him decide in what city he should look. Obviously, a move was likely a part of their future.
Mary and Jason had been married for just two years. At one point Jason had thought he'd never find the right person, but Mary had turned up unexpectedly, and it was love at first sight. They were married after just six months, and had been happy together ever since. Mary worked part-time as an LPN at the hospital, and she would be home today. They lived in the outskirts of the city in one half of a duplex. Jason parked his car out front and went inside.
As the door closed, Jason heard scurrying upstairs. He called up the steps, “Mary, I'm home.” There was a moment of silence, and then she called out, “You're early!”
“I've something to tell you, Mary.”
“Okay...Be right down.”
Jason didn't think at all about whether or not to do it, he just decided to go upstairs. Quietly. There was something about an anxious “You're early” that somehow, didn’t sound right.
When he reached the top of the steps, Jason's world was shattered. There was no need to go further. He never would have expected infidelity from his Mary. But, there it was. He headed back for the front door. Half-dressed and hurrying down the steps behind him, Mary pleaded, “I don't even know what happened! I don't even know him...please, please, don't...”
Jason closed the door behind him. His marriage was over, he was leaving and he wouldn't be back. He stood on the stoop, just for a moment. Then, with his head buzzing again, he walked to his car, got in and drove on down the street. There were no fumes to make him hallucinate now, but this day really stunk, anyway. When shit goes wrong...
He had nowhere at all to go.
He had driven just four blocks when a big SUV came out of the same place – nowhere. The vehicle ran a stop sign and slammed into the right front corner of Jason's smaller car. And before he could collect his wits, the SUV had backed up, wheeled out around him and had taken off in the same direction it had been headed. “Unbelievable!” cried Jason. He'd just lost his job, lost his home and his wife and now was the victim of a blatant hit-and-run. He got out of his little car and walked around in front of it to look at the damage. The fender was bent so badly that it had the wheel trapped. It couldn’t be driven.
Jason was one of the few people who didn't have a cell phone. In the interest of economy, he had reasoned that there was a phone wherever he planned to be. But now he had an accident to report as quickly as possible, and he needed a tow. One of the effects of the cell phone era has been that there are far fewer pay phones around. Jason jogged down the street, first covering one block, then another. Finally he came to a corner drugstore, and he went inside. “Can I use your phone?” he asked, breathlessly.
“Mr. Johnson? Mr. Johnson! This man wants to use the phone!” The checkout clerk, who had been stocking shelves when Jason answered, was calling out across the little store.
From behind the pharmacy counter came the reply, “What, he doesn't have a cell? Tell him okay, he can make one call, long as it's local! One call!” The raspy, gravelly voice sounded oddly familiar.
As the clerk led Jason to the phone, he considered that the SUV had to be long-gone by now, anyway. He hadn't gotten a plate number, and he didn't want to stand there and argue with a cop. He would borrow a cell phone from the tow truck driver to report it. He called for a tow. “Twenty minutes,” said the dispatcher. “He'll be there in twenty minutes.”
Checking his watch as he walked, Jason hurried back. It looked like he'd get there in about fifteen minutes. “At least one thing seems to be working out,” he thought to himself.
But it wasn't. Jason arrived at the intersection where his car had been hit. There sat the tow truck. He walked up to the truck and addressed the driver. “Where's my car? He asked.
“That's what I was gonna ask you,” the driver replied. I was sent to this corner, and there's nothin' here!”
“Somebody stole my car? It had just been hit!”
“Nah, nah, don't get yer britches in a twist. Probably somebody called the cops because they heard an accident. They gotta keep the intersections clear. If you didn't call it in, they might have your car and only have the plate to identify you.” The driver lit a cigarette. “But then,” he added, “the chop shops have trucks too, and they monitor police radio so they know where the cops are. You did say it was a late model Honda? They might have it too. Either way, you still owe me seventy bucks for the service call.”
Reaching for his wallet, Jason mused, this had to be the worst day of his life. And his wallet was gone! He must have lost it while jogging, looking for a pay phone. “I'm sorry, I was running, and I've lost my wallet...”
The tow truck driver sneered, immediately started the truck, and drove away.
What a day!! And now it was raining again. Jason realized then that he'd left his coat in the car. And his final paycheck.
Where to go? What to do? He started to walk, stiffly, back toward center city.
If he could get to the bank before it closed, he could get some cash. But how, without some identification? He could go to the police station. Surely they could help him get some temporary ID.
Jason had to wonder if all of this had something to do with that old pawnbroker. No such series of negative events should ever rain down upon one man in a single day. He probably wouldn't make both the police station and the bank before closing, anyway. He would walk by the pawnbroker's. He wasn't sure why.
As he approached the old building where he'd been during the lunch hour, Jason couldn't believe his eyes. He was standing across the street from the building, and could see all of it. He checked the street signs to make sure he was in the same place. He absolutely was. But instead of a pawn shop flanked by other doorways as he'd remembered it, the entire extent of the street level floor of the old building was of solid concrete block! Jason had been walking in the rain for half an hour, and now he was just standing there, soaked to the skin, looking at that wall in complete disbelief.
Half a block away, a short, stout woman was approaching, with a blue umbrella and a single bag of groceries. He walked to meet her, and asked, “Could you tell me what happened to the shops on the other side of the street?”
“I could. I might. But I'm not really inclined-ta.” The woman was older, perhaps sixty. Her brow had furrowed when she heard Jason's question. “Why d'ya ask?”
“I just wanted to know about the old pawn shop that was over there...”
“The pawn shop! The pawnbroker, curios place! That's the fuckin' place you want to know aboot?” The old woman was bristling as she answered.
“Why yes,” Jason affirmed, “That's the place. What do you know about it?”
The old woman replied so quickly she nearly interrupted him. “It was a damned devil's-hole, that's what it was! And because of that so-called 'pawnbroker', all of the shops are gone! Took my own father, he did! Almost fifty years ago it was! I was just a girl!” She transferred her umbrella to her left hand, holding it and her groceries in one, just so she could shake a finger at Jason. “But my father had friends! The sonuvabitch didn't figure on that! T'wasn't the first man he'd gotten, he'd got many, but my father was his last! They burned 'im out, buried what wouldn't burn, and walled the place up! All of it! Nobody uses that damned old building! The whole thing is empty! Don't know why it hasn't been demolished! Why, I won't even walk on that side of the street!” Finishing her rant, she was breathing hard and obviously angry.
“Fifty years ago?” Jason felt weak. “But, that's not possible! I was just in that shop, this noon! I was just in it!”
The old woman dropped the grocery bag, and nearly her umbrella. Her surprise turned to a look of abject fear in under a second, her mouth forming a near-perfect letter “O”. She bent and picked up her bag and scurried away, as fast as her fat little legs could carry her. As she went, Jason could hear her talking to herself. “Knew I shoulda moved. Knew it. Devil's hole!”
Then, she stopped, turned around and shouted back at Jason. “You got any sense in you at all, you'll run! Get the hell away from here, as far as you can get, right away! It may not be enough, but you gotta try! Run away!”
That settled it for Jason. He would make a turn away from that building. But he wasn't going any real distance without money, and he owned a car. And, he hadn't eaten lunch, and it was pushing five o'clock now. So the police station it was. He walked on. Within fifteen minutes more, he had reached it. He explained his situation regarding his car and ID to the officer at the desk.
“Well as far as I know, there haven't been any pickups of vehicles by the city today. But I'll check,” the officer said. “As far as getting a new driver's license, that'll take some time. You can get the transportation department to cut you a new one, but unless you have money to pay one of the agencies in town, you gotta wait about ten days for it to reach your home address, by mail.”
Home address! Ten days! Jason was in complete despair, or so he believed. He turned to walk away. “Look buddy,” the officer called after him, “If you don't have a place to stay the night, there's a shelter over on Fifth! You can get a meal and a bed, and things will look better in the mornin'. Here, take a duplicate license application with you.”
Jason waved it away, then left and kept walking. He didn't have the fifteen dollar fee, wouldn't be going to his home address, and so on. But he wasn't without some friends. Unfortunately, the best of them lived outside of the city, so he needed to try to catch his friend Tom before he left work...if that was even possible.
Jason hurried along for two blocks, realized he needed a quicker way, and took a shortcut through an alley. In the city, it's something you really don't do. You just don't. Some of them are blind alleys, some of them are dangerous for a variety of reasons, and in general, even the police don't go into them until after a crime has been committed. And, they don't have streetlights in them. Jason knew all of that. But, he reasoned, it wasn't even five-thirty yet. He'd be fine.
About halfway in, a voice caught his attention. “Hold it right there! I've got a gun! Don't turn around. Don't move!”
Jason stood still, but began to laugh. “This isn't your day either,” he said, “I've got no wallet, no money, nothing! You'll have to get the next guy!”
“Ha!” The mugger obviously saw things differently. “You got your life! And I see a watch! And, you're my size! Strip! Take off your clothes!”
Jason was still amused. “Ah, man, fucking shoot me! I've had enough...” Jason had begun to turn around, but he quickly saw that the gun was very real, and its owner, very determined.
“Strip!”
***********
Jason had no idea where he was. His head hurt terribly. The ground was cold. He remained still for a few moments, and remembered. He'd taken off his clothes. That was all. It was dark, the rain was almost unbearably cold. Jason felt his thigh. He was indeed naked. The bastard had even taken his shorts. He raised his head and looked around, despite the pain in his head. At least the clothes his assailant had removed were there, even a ratty pair of shoes. Jason thought that he'd been in despair before, now he knew better. He wasn't dead, and he wasn't beaten. He put on the clothes, despite the smell of them.
So this was what he'd come to. Twenty-four hours ago, he'd been sleeping beside Mary, resting in a warm bed, a good job waiting for him and with good food in his stomach. He had been clean, and dry. Now, his destruction seemed nearly complete. A line went through his head, Quem deus vult perdere, dementat prius. “Whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad.” “No,” Jason thought, “No god is involved here. Perhaps a would-be god.” He turned and walked toward the street.
As he walked, a glint caught his eye as a streetlight was reflected from something on the wall. Jason turned to look. There, in a space left by a removed brick, was a bottle. He extracted it carefully, using two fingers. It was a pint of cheap whiskey, and it was nearly full. Jason reached in again, and felt something more. It was a half-pack of cigarettes with a butane lighter stuck into the pack.
Jason hadn't smoked for years. And, he didn't drink. But he did know that smoking staved off hunger, and he knew a drink might help him a bit at that moment, too. The cold from lying in the rain was still knifing through his body. He unscrewed the cap, took a swig of the whiskey and looked for a dry place to stand. There was an old doorway about ten steps back. He walked back and stepped into it, extracted a cigarette and lit it. He drank some more of the whiskey.
Soon he was sitting in the doorway rather than standing. He had smoked three of the cigarettes and had finished the whiskey. As he drifted off to sleep, he thought, “Perhaps when I wake up, this will all have been just a bad dream. That's it, just a bad dream…”
*********************
The owner of the whiskey had just returned for it. Of course, he found the bottle and his smokes gone. Ten steps away, a pair of legs projected from the doorway. He walked over to look.
“So you got my clothes, and then you got my stash. Better not have found the money,” he said. He rummaged through Jason's pockets. Jason was out, asleep under the heavy influence of the whiskey. Of course, Jason hadn’t found any money. “Good,” the man said. “Don't feel too bad,” he remarked, “I've killed men for less. The fifteen bucks the old bastard gave me for your damn watch will just about cover the booze and the smokes.” He pulled a leather pouch from the hole in the wall, pocketed it, then rummaged through a nearby dumpster until he came up with a short two-by-four. “Have a nice sleep!” He clubbed Jason over the head repeatedly.
As he heaved Jason's lifeless body into the dumpster, hideous laughter began, the murderous old vagrant knew not from where. It rose in volume until it rang and clattered from the walls that lined the alley.
He had heard it before.
He ran.
*******************
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