“George, that was a joke. An obvious one. If you’re so far gone that you think I was being serious about the big wolf pit, then maybe we’re not in the best frame of mind to go on a werewolf hunt.”
“Okay, we need some silver,” George said, continuing as if he hadn’t heard Lou’s comment. “Maybe we can make a tip for a spear or something. Jab it through his nards.”
“That’s actually not a bad idea.”
“We need a jewelry store and a sporting goods store. No problem.”
“We drove by a bunch of antique stores when we first got here.”
“Perfect.” George smiled, but then he remembered the little boy who might be crouched next to his dead mother right now, and his smile disappeared. He hoped the kid and his brother wouldn’t be separated if they went into foster homes.
“You okay, George?” Lou asked.
“I’m fine. Delightful. Come on, let’s go save our lives.”
* * *
The first antique shop was an absolute dump of a place. Granted, any shop that sold old crap fit George’s definition of “dump,” since he had a whole head full of bad memories about his mom and grandmother dragging him around from shop to shop, squealing in delight when they found more rare garbage to display in their curiosity cabinets. He couldn’t prove it and didn’t want to, but he was pretty sure that the first female orgasm he’d ever witnessed was at the moment his grandmother found an old coffee table. It stayed in her living room for twenty years and wasn’t any better than one she could have bought at a furniture store for less money and without Grandpa having to spend six months fixing it up.
The decrepit guy behind the counter had asked if they’d been in a car accident, and George explained that, yes, they had, and that they appreciated his concern. George asked about silver, and the ancient guy had stared at him for a while, trying to think. “No,” he finally said, “but I’ve got some Silver Age comic books. A buck each.”
“No, thank you.”
“Seventy-five cents.”
“Sorry.”
They thanked him and left the store. The next one was only two shops down, so they jogged over there and went through the rickety door. A bell tinkled as they entered. An old lady sat on a rocking chair on the other side of the small shop, reading a paperback novel and smoking a cigarette. George didn’t like or care about antiques, but he was pretty sure you weren’t supposed to smoke around them.
“You’re not going to get blood on my stuff, are you?” the old lady asked.
“No, ma’am. We’ll be careful.”
“Were you in an accident?”
“Yes. None of us are going to die, though. In case you were worried.”
“Anything I can help you find?”
“We’re looking for silver. Pure silver, if you’ve got it.”
The old woman nodded and tapped some ashes off her cigarette onto the ashtray that rested on the rocking chair arm. “I’ve got plenty of silver. What do you want?”
“Anything you’ve got.”
“Sounds desperate.”
“No, we’re just late for a wedding, mostly because of the car accident.” He gestured at Lou. “This jackass forgot to pick up a gift.”
“Please don’t curse in my store.”
“Jackass?” George decided to let it go. “Anyway, we need a gift. The bride loves silver.”
“All right.” The old woman took another drag from her cigarette, then stood up and walked over to the counter, moving at an excruciatingly slow pace. George wanted to ask her to speed it up, since people might be horribly mutilated while she ambled over there, but figured that wasn’t such a good idea.
“Do you have a restroom?” Michele asked.
“No.”
George gave her a dirty look. She probably assumed that George and Lou wouldn’t prevent her from going to the bathroom when this old lady was around to hear their conversation. She really was going to end up in the cage if she wasn’t careful.
The old woman hobbled behind the counter, then ducked out of sight. A few moments later, she stood back up and set a wooden box on the counter. She raised the lid, revealing dozens of rings.
“Great, great,” said George. “Which ones are silver?”
“The ones colored silver.”
As a rule, George didn’t hit old ladies, though it was a rule for which he was momentarily inclined to try to find a loophole. He quickly went through the selection, plucking out ten or eleven of the rings.
“By the way, I don’t take credit cards,” the old lady said.
“You don’t?”
“Nope.”
“In the twenty-first century, in a store full of high-ticket items, you don’t take credit cards?”
“The credit card companies charge me service fees. Nobody ever got charged a service fee for cash.”
“Actually, ATM’s do usually charge a service fee for cash withdrawals. But that’s fine. I’m not going to tell you how to run your place.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“What else do you have in silver?”
The old woman looked around. “Over against that wall, there’s a silver mirror.”
“Good. Lou, go get that.” Lou nodded and went over to retrieve the mirror. “What else?”
“Well, let me see...are you Catholic?”
“We’re whatever religion worships silver.”
“I’ve got this,” said the woman, taking out a silver crucifix that was about six inches long.
George picked it up and examined it. “This Jesus kind of looks like Kenny Rogers.”
“Don’t blaspheme in my shop, please.”
“I apologize. I was just commenting on the fine production values here. How much?”
The lady thought for a moment. “Two hundred dollars.”
George looked at Michele. “Is that a good deal?”
“How should I know?”
“Don’t women know standard pricing on all precious metals?”
“Sorry, I don’t buy a lot of silver crucifixes.”
“Two hundred, deal,” said George, “under the condition that you never saw us. Plus we’ll take the mirror and all of the rings.”
“This mirror isn’t silver,” said Lou, scraping his fingernail along the edge. “It’s just painted.”
“Stop scraping my merchandise.”
“Forget the mirror,” said George. “But we’ll take all of the rings.”
“Must be one big wedding.”
“It is.”
“Is that thing real silver?” asked Lou, gesturing to a very small cross that dangled from a chain bracelet on her wrist. “I mean, more real than the mirror?”
“Yes, but it’s not for sale.”
George snorted. “It’s not for sale, or you’re going to charge us a lot for it?”
“Five hundred dollars.”
“We’ll stick with the rest of the stuff, thanks.”
“No,” said Lou. “We’ll take it.”
The old woman shrugged, removed the bracelet, and handed it to Lou. Lou put it around his own wrist. George rolled his eyes.
“All right. Anything else you’re looking for?”
“Do you sell nets?”
“You mean like fishnet stockings?”
“No. God no. Like a big net that you could use to catch a...bear.”
“Sorry. There’s not a huge market for antique netting.”
“Thanks. Pay her, Lou.”
Lou held the briefcase with the sixty-three thousand dollars they’d taken from Douglas that morning. They’d decided that leaving it unattended in a van with a broken-out windshield was not the wisest course of action. Stealing from it was probably not the best way to keep their own thumbs unbroken, but they could replace the missing money before they handed over the briefcase, and considering the extreme circumstances it seemed perfectly justified.
Lou popped open the top of the briefcase, keeping the contents hidden from the old woman’s view. He snatched out a few bills then closed the briefcase.
“Are you involved in organized crime?” the old woman asked.
George nodded. “Knock twenty bucks off the price of the crucifix, and nothing happens to your business.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
More Prey
“Why’d you do that?” George asked, starting up the van.