I needed a contact in the city for this shit, but I didn't really have one up my sleeve for anything like this. Leastways not anyone who would know what to do besides refer me to somebody else. Might have been a good idea in any other business, but the criminal world doesn't really smile on people who leave to hot a trail. This was the main reason why I was driving along the freeway to a town a few miles over.
The other reason had to do with the tiger that may or may not still be after my ass using its spooky ghost powers to track me by ectoplasm or some shit. I obviously have no idea what I'm dealing with here, so cut me some slack on the terminology, oh judgmental inner me. The highway gave me some time to think though. There are a few places that are my best bet for offloading something like this, and a few more to get me laid low enough to hopefully avoid getting my guts torn out, at least for the right price. If I'm lucky, I'll be able to make a little cash from the piece of jewelry stuck to my hand. It glows, seems like magic, and somebody out there is probably collecting shit like this. Then I can live easy, go on the run, and maybe make a nice home somewhere in another city a few states from here.
Luck isn't really running my way though. More likely the thing is cursed something fierce, I have to pay exorbitant amounts of money to get it removed, or even just chop my hand off, and then the tiger comes and eats me anyway after I've gotten rid of the thing. Only upside to all of this is that there's really nobody to disappoint after I'm gone. Part of the criminal lifestyle tends to give you loads of connections and no real connections if you dig my meaning. People who you see in bars and on the street for business, but nobody you'd wave to or smile at in a chance meeting. Not like you'd ignore them or anything, gotta know where people are and who they're talking to, mark their presence, but not be friendly. That's my creed that I live.
Some guys don't stick by it, they get chummy, and the lucky ones might even make it years before it blows up on them. Them and everyone around them even. They make loose cannons, people who are disturbingly hard to work with despite the fact that they have such good people skills. You can at least trust a duplicitous bastard to stab somebody in the back for you for the right price.
Anyway, I don't have any close contacts in this next city, nobody I'd seen in the past two years, but you hear stories thrown about by some of the more traveled people in the business. There are three possible places I've heard of that would deal in weird shit. I've got the general mafia bazaar that sets up in warehouses on the sides of town. I'd have to sulk around and get the scoop of the where and when and the who exactly for that deal, but they would almost certainly have somebody who deals in strange heists. That gets to be plan C. I've done that deal before, so it's possible, but it's not my best option for a rush job, and it's not the most comfortable experience. Plus they scalp you.
Option B is the magic hands man. They say he can move all the illegal things he wants from place to place none the wiser by any authority because he struck a deal with the devil. Anything in his "hands" so to speak is one of the safest places in could be. I used to crack it up to running a tight ship, but who knows. If he doesn't know anything, I'm likely not going to get a better buyer. Trouble is, I may have ripped off a guy under his wing a while back. He wouldn't hold a grudge, I'm sure, but it was a sloppy job on my part. There's trust of a person to do you good will, and trust that a person won't screw things up for everybody. He's a cautious block so that personal reputation plus the nature of my problem might push it over the unworkable stage for him. That and once it gets out that I came to him and even he didn't want to move it, well, things get a bit hairy with the less organized bits of the city in respect to my prospects. That's why that is plan B.
My plan A is not a great plan, especially since it's based on rumors and hearsay, that and it's not a totally criminal line of business in the first place. It's a pawn shop. Take anything you have type pawn shop. A very specific pawn shop. Some blokes back two months ago were talking about getting rid of a hot package that dropped in their lap and how they stumbled on this weird old shop in this city that they managed to get a pretty good deal to fence the stuff. They said it didn't give a good price, and it seemed a bit sketchy, but it helped them move the stuff. Really strange stuff too. Real bone necklaces, human, and antique are pretty hard to get rid of. Museums can hunt that stuff down fast. Blokes didn't read the placards when they were burglarizing the place, so they ended up with a lot of loot that they couldn't keep and couldn't get rid of easy. Said this pawn shop had taken it. Since they didn't end up in jail for that bit of crime, I am inclined to believe that it's not total hogwash that the operation is legitimate and secret.
So that's where I stop first, a little pawn shop down a back alley halfway down the main street of the city. A few hours more of driving, tiger free, and I'll be in the home stretch, hopefully. Then I can be rid of this thing on my hand, which hopefully won't give me cancer, and go back to more petty crime, less spooky mystery novel.
Showing posts with label Minor Trouble in the modern era.. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Minor Trouble in the modern era.. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
Tea as in Tiger
Groggily, hazily, old man Li woke up. He thought of himself as Mr. Li, but the world just happened to fit him for an authentic Chinese shop owner who deserved the title of old man. He had no ancestral roots in China, his family having come over from India one or two generations before he was born. He hadn't kept in touch much.
People who actually lived in Chinatown knew immediately that he was some sort of impostor, but they didn't want to let out how much of a scam the rest of the area was by outing him, so he kept his shop peacefully, raking in the tourist money and a few commissions for "authentic" "Chinese" "calligraphy" which he ran out of a room on the second floor next to his bedroom.
He was also a heavy sleeper. The digital clock next to his futon read nine am, an hour after he should have been up, but his alarm clock had not decided to wake him up this morning. Not exactly a great start to a day, but worse had come for old man Li in the past. He followed his normal routine, not rushing as he kept his own hours. A hot shower, hygiene, a slow walk down the stairs to set the tea pot on the stove, a slow walk back up the stairs, dressing up to fit his role as an authentic Chinatown businessman, a slow walk back down the stairs, then relax and drink a cup of tea before opening the shop up.
This routine was going a bit faster than normal, and he got to setting the tea pot on the stove before he realized that his alarm clock was not bugging him at all as usual, which was far enough outside the norm to rouse his curiosity. He checked the kitchen with little luck. Nothing turned up in the upstairs. When he got to the storefront, he found his alarm clock curled up, pouting in front of the door. Old man Li's alarm clock happened to be a large, astral tiger.
When he had left the family home halfway through highschool, the family tiger, a prideful mark of their noble line yadda yadda had decided following the sane one would lead to a much nicer existence. He assumed that was it at least. Astral tiger or not, it still couldn't talk and tended to be as inscrutable as regular housecats. It ate more than a regular housecat though, which is why old man Li still ran this shop instead of being retired in the country.
Old man Li didn't take long to figure out that something was amiss besides a finicky tiger though, as there was a black dufflebag with two of the display swords sticking out of it sitting in the middle of the floor. The swords were utter crap, overpriced and prone to snapping in transit. He had four boxes of them back in storage since they sold like hotcakes.
The fact that there had been an attempted burglary and evidence was left at the scene of the crime was not a problem. It tended to happen every year or two. His alarm clock was very good about waking up and finding a free meal out of it. The strange part was the fact that the cat was sulking instead of the usual deal of holding a severed hand over him in the morning looking proud of itself. Also, there wasn't any blood on the floor.
And then the tea kettle started whistling and old man Li figured he'd need a cup of tea before he figured any of this out. It was only sensible. It was on his return to the shop with a cup of tea that he followed the tiger's gaze up behind the counter to the display only shelf when he realized an old necklace heirloom was missing as well. It was the one the family had pushed on him back when he was six to "test his chakra alignment." Supposedly it did something if you had aligned chakras or that type of bullshit. The only magical thing about him was his tiger. He didn't really even know why he had kept the necklace, really. It was a remnant of his past that he held onto to let him know how far he had come.
Still, it might be worth investigating how something managed to outrun his alarm clock. He sipped his tea, then absentmindedly walked over and scratched the cat behind its ears. Maybe he'd ask Mr. Kim about it after lunch.
People who actually lived in Chinatown knew immediately that he was some sort of impostor, but they didn't want to let out how much of a scam the rest of the area was by outing him, so he kept his shop peacefully, raking in the tourist money and a few commissions for "authentic" "Chinese" "calligraphy" which he ran out of a room on the second floor next to his bedroom.
He was also a heavy sleeper. The digital clock next to his futon read nine am, an hour after he should have been up, but his alarm clock had not decided to wake him up this morning. Not exactly a great start to a day, but worse had come for old man Li in the past. He followed his normal routine, not rushing as he kept his own hours. A hot shower, hygiene, a slow walk down the stairs to set the tea pot on the stove, a slow walk back up the stairs, dressing up to fit his role as an authentic Chinatown businessman, a slow walk back down the stairs, then relax and drink a cup of tea before opening the shop up.
This routine was going a bit faster than normal, and he got to setting the tea pot on the stove before he realized that his alarm clock was not bugging him at all as usual, which was far enough outside the norm to rouse his curiosity. He checked the kitchen with little luck. Nothing turned up in the upstairs. When he got to the storefront, he found his alarm clock curled up, pouting in front of the door. Old man Li's alarm clock happened to be a large, astral tiger.
When he had left the family home halfway through highschool, the family tiger, a prideful mark of their noble line yadda yadda had decided following the sane one would lead to a much nicer existence. He assumed that was it at least. Astral tiger or not, it still couldn't talk and tended to be as inscrutable as regular housecats. It ate more than a regular housecat though, which is why old man Li still ran this shop instead of being retired in the country.
Old man Li didn't take long to figure out that something was amiss besides a finicky tiger though, as there was a black dufflebag with two of the display swords sticking out of it sitting in the middle of the floor. The swords were utter crap, overpriced and prone to snapping in transit. He had four boxes of them back in storage since they sold like hotcakes.
The fact that there had been an attempted burglary and evidence was left at the scene of the crime was not a problem. It tended to happen every year or two. His alarm clock was very good about waking up and finding a free meal out of it. The strange part was the fact that the cat was sulking instead of the usual deal of holding a severed hand over him in the morning looking proud of itself. Also, there wasn't any blood on the floor.
And then the tea kettle started whistling and old man Li figured he'd need a cup of tea before he figured any of this out. It was only sensible. It was on his return to the shop with a cup of tea that he followed the tiger's gaze up behind the counter to the display only shelf when he realized an old necklace heirloom was missing as well. It was the one the family had pushed on him back when he was six to "test his chakra alignment." Supposedly it did something if you had aligned chakras or that type of bullshit. The only magical thing about him was his tiger. He didn't really even know why he had kept the necklace, really. It was a remnant of his past that he held onto to let him know how far he had come.
Still, it might be worth investigating how something managed to outrun his alarm clock. He sipped his tea, then absentmindedly walked over and scratched the cat behind its ears. Maybe he'd ask Mr. Kim about it after lunch.
Friday, May 31, 2013
Time Flies when you're having Fun.
Spinning, the coin scattered light around the room before falling back down behind the counter. A soft smack of metal on skin. It was a golden coin, well polished with the face of some long-forgotten empress on one side and a laurel wreath decorating the other. "Heads again, huh?"
The man sitting behind the counter shifted the coin back and forth, playing with it in his hand before flicking it up towards the ceiling again. Free of the shadows, once again the coin lit up in the light of the old fashioned chandelier that hung in the center of the room. Then at gravity's behest, the coin fell swiftly down again into the man's waiting palm.
He was middle aged, though he had a bearing and a smile that made him seem young at a glance. He sat leaning back, feet up on the desk while the top of the chair braced against the door right behind him. slightly disheveled, his white button up shirt stood out against the dark brown wood grain of the room, though the sleeves and shoulders were covered by a serviceable, black jacket. His slacks were almost a matching shade, complimenting the look with a kind of a fashionable wink. All of it had slight wrinkles, the type that was smoothed over after the clothing had been put on in the rush to get out the door, though the man behind the counter didn't seem the type to rush anywhere. On his feet were plain, brown boots, but the light sort that you could get around in as opposed to anything heavy.
The rest of the room was empty besides a door on the far wall and a single chair facing the desk, a sister chair of the one the man sat in. The room was large enough to pace in, but not quite large enough that it felt overly empty. The sound of traffic seeped through the wooden door opposite the man, though it was muted and distant.
Over and over the man just flipped the coin up, waited, and caught it. It had come up heads the past two hundred tosses, which rather annoyed him. It was a boring way to pass the time after all, and here his coin was acting up again. It was bad enough that heads was an affirmative of if he should stay in the room and keep flipping the coin. Every fifty or so flips he would switch it up and change the question slightly. "Is there a reason that I should be in here so late?" Heads. "An important reason?" Heads. "Can I leave now?" Tails. "Is this just some sort of mind game?" Tails. Heads. Tails, Tails, Tails. And on and on. Currently he had stuck to "Am I still supposed to just wait?" as his go to time waster. And it was approaching two hundred and fifty consecutive tosses.
Just as he sent the coin up again, a man in a black hoodie threw the door open and stumbled in. He looked exhausted, just a little bit entirely frightened, and had his right hand suspiciously jammed into his pocket.
"Can I help you?" asked the man behind the counter, distracted enough to let the coin drop to the floor. Under the desk, out of sight of either of the two men, the coin bounced, twirled, and then came to a rest perfectly balanced on its side.
The man sitting behind the counter shifted the coin back and forth, playing with it in his hand before flicking it up towards the ceiling again. Free of the shadows, once again the coin lit up in the light of the old fashioned chandelier that hung in the center of the room. Then at gravity's behest, the coin fell swiftly down again into the man's waiting palm.
He was middle aged, though he had a bearing and a smile that made him seem young at a glance. He sat leaning back, feet up on the desk while the top of the chair braced against the door right behind him. slightly disheveled, his white button up shirt stood out against the dark brown wood grain of the room, though the sleeves and shoulders were covered by a serviceable, black jacket. His slacks were almost a matching shade, complimenting the look with a kind of a fashionable wink. All of it had slight wrinkles, the type that was smoothed over after the clothing had been put on in the rush to get out the door, though the man behind the counter didn't seem the type to rush anywhere. On his feet were plain, brown boots, but the light sort that you could get around in as opposed to anything heavy.
The rest of the room was empty besides a door on the far wall and a single chair facing the desk, a sister chair of the one the man sat in. The room was large enough to pace in, but not quite large enough that it felt overly empty. The sound of traffic seeped through the wooden door opposite the man, though it was muted and distant.
Over and over the man just flipped the coin up, waited, and caught it. It had come up heads the past two hundred tosses, which rather annoyed him. It was a boring way to pass the time after all, and here his coin was acting up again. It was bad enough that heads was an affirmative of if he should stay in the room and keep flipping the coin. Every fifty or so flips he would switch it up and change the question slightly. "Is there a reason that I should be in here so late?" Heads. "An important reason?" Heads. "Can I leave now?" Tails. "Is this just some sort of mind game?" Tails. Heads. Tails, Tails, Tails. And on and on. Currently he had stuck to "Am I still supposed to just wait?" as his go to time waster. And it was approaching two hundred and fifty consecutive tosses.
Just as he sent the coin up again, a man in a black hoodie threw the door open and stumbled in. He looked exhausted, just a little bit entirely frightened, and had his right hand suspiciously jammed into his pocket.
"Can I help you?" asked the man behind the counter, distracted enough to let the coin drop to the floor. Under the desk, out of sight of either of the two men, the coin bounced, twirled, and then came to a rest perfectly balanced on its side.
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
In the Concrete Jungle of the Night
Of all the things that I thought would go wrong tonight, the tiger is by far the strangest. Sure, a store might have alarms, cameras, locking windows, that type of stuff, but a tiger? That was new. Worse than that, it not only embodies my fear of large predative felines, it happens to be some sort of ghost tiger too.
I got in the window easily enough, it was a cheap window on the shop, and I'd seen no security cameras last week when I'd cased it. Just in case I was wearing a hood and a mask. An Abe Lincoln mask, which I thought was a nice touch, what with my intent to "free" some property tonight. It was an old, worn down shop in chinatown, the kind where you're not sure what half of the things even are, but I'd had my eye on some of the more expensive looking jewelry, and maybe a sword or two if my dufflebag would fit them, which it had.
The swords had not been the problem, they came off the shelves from behind the counter and slid easily into the bag. The problem came when I picked up the necklace. It looked old, Buddhist, but it was still polished and fancy looking. Thing was, I head a low, deep growl when it left the shelf. Maybe the "not for sale" sign next to it should have tipped me off. Anyway, I knew enough to say that that was a very bad sign, so I bolted to the door.
I really shouldn't have looked back. Slinking out from behind the counter, the tiger growled again. The door wasn't locked, that was the first thing I'd done once I was in through the window, just in case I needed to get away quick. Fear always seemed to make me think faster, thankfully, so the door was open, locked, then shut again and I bolted. Farther down the street, I looked back again. One of those reflex things that's half curiosity, half wishful thinking.
My eyes met the tiger's as it walked through the door. It wasn't breaking through the wood or smashing the door open, it was simply walking through it. Now I'm trying to outrun a tiger that can walk through walls through the streets of chinatown in the middle of the night with just a sliver of moonlight to guide me. If I thought it would help, I'd probably be screaming right now.
Corners don't stop it, it just cuts them, though they do give me cover from its eyes. Rather sure that it would pick me up by scent if it ever lost me for more than a second. Pure adrenaline is the only thing that's helping me on the straightaway. Still, it's catching up. My best bet is to get back home and get my car and then get to the highway. That's two more miles though. Uphill.
I can hear it growling back there, so it hasn't lost me yet. I'm drenched under my mask, under my shirt, in my shoes. Each step I take, each short breath could be my last. Tigers are fast. I know the area though, the zigzags. I practiced in case of police. I figured I'd only use one or two, depending on where I was, but every single one on the way is a few more seconds of life.
My heart is going to collapse in another minute of this, my steps only slightly behind its pace. Probably breaking some Olympic records here. More growls. Closer. There is no way that I'm outpacing this thing on my own. It's gotta be toying with me. It wants the necklace, but I think it knows that it can catch me.
Maybe If I let go of the thing? Yeah, I'll just. What? Ok, it's stuck. Stuck to my hand. And glowing. This is getting worse and worse by the minute. I can hear the footfalls behind me now. Closer to the house though. Car's just up there, sitting in the street. Do I have enough room to get it started? Wind sprint at the end or nothing.
Key.
Door.
Ignition.
Growl.
First Gear.
Second.
Ripping rubber.
Flat tire, courtesy of the tiger.
Third Gear.
Barely driving straight.
Receding in the rear-view mirror.
And now it's just standing still. Safety. Freedom. Oh crap, I forgot my dufflebag.
I got in the window easily enough, it was a cheap window on the shop, and I'd seen no security cameras last week when I'd cased it. Just in case I was wearing a hood and a mask. An Abe Lincoln mask, which I thought was a nice touch, what with my intent to "free" some property tonight. It was an old, worn down shop in chinatown, the kind where you're not sure what half of the things even are, but I'd had my eye on some of the more expensive looking jewelry, and maybe a sword or two if my dufflebag would fit them, which it had.
The swords had not been the problem, they came off the shelves from behind the counter and slid easily into the bag. The problem came when I picked up the necklace. It looked old, Buddhist, but it was still polished and fancy looking. Thing was, I head a low, deep growl when it left the shelf. Maybe the "not for sale" sign next to it should have tipped me off. Anyway, I knew enough to say that that was a very bad sign, so I bolted to the door.
I really shouldn't have looked back. Slinking out from behind the counter, the tiger growled again. The door wasn't locked, that was the first thing I'd done once I was in through the window, just in case I needed to get away quick. Fear always seemed to make me think faster, thankfully, so the door was open, locked, then shut again and I bolted. Farther down the street, I looked back again. One of those reflex things that's half curiosity, half wishful thinking.
My eyes met the tiger's as it walked through the door. It wasn't breaking through the wood or smashing the door open, it was simply walking through it. Now I'm trying to outrun a tiger that can walk through walls through the streets of chinatown in the middle of the night with just a sliver of moonlight to guide me. If I thought it would help, I'd probably be screaming right now.
Corners don't stop it, it just cuts them, though they do give me cover from its eyes. Rather sure that it would pick me up by scent if it ever lost me for more than a second. Pure adrenaline is the only thing that's helping me on the straightaway. Still, it's catching up. My best bet is to get back home and get my car and then get to the highway. That's two more miles though. Uphill.
I can hear it growling back there, so it hasn't lost me yet. I'm drenched under my mask, under my shirt, in my shoes. Each step I take, each short breath could be my last. Tigers are fast. I know the area though, the zigzags. I practiced in case of police. I figured I'd only use one or two, depending on where I was, but every single one on the way is a few more seconds of life.
My heart is going to collapse in another minute of this, my steps only slightly behind its pace. Probably breaking some Olympic records here. More growls. Closer. There is no way that I'm outpacing this thing on my own. It's gotta be toying with me. It wants the necklace, but I think it knows that it can catch me.
Maybe If I let go of the thing? Yeah, I'll just. What? Ok, it's stuck. Stuck to my hand. And glowing. This is getting worse and worse by the minute. I can hear the footfalls behind me now. Closer to the house though. Car's just up there, sitting in the street. Do I have enough room to get it started? Wind sprint at the end or nothing.
Key.
Door.
Ignition.
Growl.
First Gear.
Second.
Ripping rubber.
Flat tire, courtesy of the tiger.
Third Gear.
Barely driving straight.
Receding in the rear-view mirror.
And now it's just standing still. Safety. Freedom. Oh crap, I forgot my dufflebag.
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