The Pawnbroker Read online

  Charlie reached the end of the aisle. The guy was somewhere close. Then he remembered the mirrors and looked up on the wall. He saw the guy just as he lunged. The blow knocked him to the floor, flat on his back as the guy moved a big screwdriver toward his throat with a gloved hand.

  Chapter Three

  Charlie clocked the guy on the side of his head with the Beretta, using his other hand to grab the arm that held the tool.

  The attacker grunted, struggling for Charlie's gun hand while trying to break the grip on his wrist. Charlie slammed him in the head again with the pistol, using the momentum to roll up and over, pinning the guy to the floor. Astride him now, he stuck the barrel of his Beretta into the man's ear.

  A shoe came down, Gordon's, pinning the attacker's makeshift weapon to the floor. His fingers pinched, and maybe broken now despite the gloves, the slender attacker yelled, "I give! Don't shoot!"

  Charlie kept the barrel pressed into his ear, looking him over carefully. The guy was wearing tight-fitting black leather gloves and had on expensive athletic shoes, jeans, and a dark green knit shirt. He was maybe thirty and had no obvious regional accent, as far as they could tell so far. He had pale blue eyes and styled yellow hair just a little too long to be current military, with a broad, Slavic-looking face and good teeth. If Charlie had ever seen the guy before, he didn't remember.

  "You've got five seconds to tell me your name and what the hell you're doing in here," Charlie said, cocking the hammer for effect, but taking his finger off the trigger. The towheaded guy was bleeding above the ear and would be showing a bruise, but nobody else had to die today. Not yet, anyway.

  "Yeah, okay. I'm Eddie, Eddie Henderson. I think my fingers are broken. Could you move your foot?" he added, looking up at Gordon. His voice was surprisingly calm, despite his predicament.

  Gordon kicked away the screwdriver, picked it up, then put his foot back down on the man's forearm. The guy groaned, but remained still.

  "That better?" Gordon said.

  "I won't shoot you; it'll make too much noise," Charlie said, "but unless you want to be carved up with box cutters and carried out of here in an old trunk, I need to know everything, Eddie."

  "Okay," Eddie said hurriedly, clearly a little more anxious than before. "I've been watching the shop ... for a few days now. When you both left this morning and didn't come back, I decided to wait until dark and then come inside. The guy who used to own this place, Baza, loaned me some cash for a couple of things I pawned. The stuff belonged to my grandfather and I planned to retrieve them within a few months. But then the place shut down and the bank put it up for sale. Who knew what was going to happen to my grandfather's stuff? Since I don't have enough money at the moment and I can't find the pawn tickets, I decided to . . . steal them back," he added, his voice fading away.

  "Okay, so far so good. I'm going to move the pistol away for a moment. When I do, I want you to roll over, facedown, and keep your hands away from your body. Do it slowly, because if you move too fast, I'm going to shoot you in the back of your knee," Charlie said, glancing up at Gordon, who grinned. He'd made the same threat several times in the past, in more than one language, and only had to act on it once.

  Slowly, Eddie, if that was really his name, rolled over, yelping as his injured hand touched the floor. He was shaking now, barely keeping it under control.

  Charlie rose to his knees, lowered the hammer on his 9 mm then thumbed on the safety and handed it to Gordon, who'd already holstered his own weapon.

  Eddie was now covered as Charlie reached into the man's back pocket and hauled out an expensive brown leather wallet.

  Charlie first noted that the guy had at least three hundred dollars in fresh fifties and twenties, then found a New Mexico driver's license. It looked genuine for Edward J. Henderson, age twenty-eight, six feet tall, and weighing one sixty-two. The address was local, on Albuquerque's west side, and the photo a reasonable match. There were no credit or insurance cards, however.

  "How'd you get in the building, Edward?"

  There was a long sigh, then he spoke, almost casually now. "Through the roof. I pried open a skylight with the screwdriver and snaked through, coming down through the air duct. Over there by the restroom."

  Charlie motioned for the screwdriver, and Gordon handed it to him, handle first. "I'm having my friend check it out. If he's not back in one minute, I'm returning your screwdriver—through your neck."

  Gordon brought out his own Beretta, walked away, looked around the back, then checked the rear entrance. His next stop was the storeroom, with all the pawn—merchandise—still serving as collateral. He was back in thirty seconds.

  "Nobody else here except for us owners and the burglar. The storeroom is still locked, so it looks like skinny Eddie's telling at least some of the truth. The ceiling tile is askew, the duct is bent up, and the skylight is loose. I also noticed pry marks and some threads up there, yanked from his shirt where he got caught on a screw," he announced, pointing to a tear on Eddie's left sleeve.

  Charlie stood, then handed the screwdriver back to Gordon.

  Gordon fingered the blade of the big screwdriver. "Want me to mess him up?"

  Charlie knew his pal wasn't bluffing. Gordon Sweeney had grown up in one of Denver's poorest neighborhoods, an Irish white boy among mostly black and Chicano kids. The guy had learned survival the hard way—one fight at a time.

  They'd met early in their first deployment, trained together, and hunted their enemies for years, and now trusted each other more than any two brothers. Gordo had told him once that if he hadn't been a soldier, he'd be dead or in prison right now. They were an odd team: a tall, reservation Navajo from a small town and a rough, streetwise city punk who'd already seen it all. They weren't at all alike, but after all these years they were close.

  Their silence had the desired effect on Eddie, who was either frightened to death now or the best actor Charlie had ever seen.

  "No cops. No cops. I'll tell you everything. I didn't steal anything, and I'll pay to have the skylight fixed," Eddie pleaded, his eyes wide, his voice rising in pitch.

  "Now that we've got your attention, Eddie, tell me why you broke in, what you took, and where you put it," Charlie said.

  "I'm looking for a watch that my grandfather had for years, a Rolex. And there are two rings— one's a man's gold band, the other is diamond and gold. They were my grandfather's. I pawned them for a thousand dollars. The watch is still with the other watches, I guess, and the ring is wherever you keep the rings. You guys showed up before I had a chance to get them. I started by looking around in the office for the receipts, because I needed to make sure I got the right watch. I'd recognize the ring—at least the diamond one."

  "You were also going to destroy the receipts, right? Because once we found the watch and ring were gone, we'd find your name and address and hunt you down," Gordon said.

  "But I haven't found them yet," Eddie replied. "Where are they, anyway? The papers in that back office are a mess."

  Charlie ignored the question. "Why are the ring and watch worth risking jail time—or getting shot breaking in?"

  Eddie managed to look pathetic. "My grandmother doesn't know I took them, and I'm trying to get them back before she finds out. You gotta help me."

  "So you've been stealing from Nana for how long?" Charlie asked. Not getting an answer, he turned to Gordon. "Keep an eye on the evil grandchild while I make a call to a friend of a friend."

  Gordon nodded, bringing out his pistol again.

  Charlie stepped into the back office, noting the open file cabinets and desk drawers where Eddie had apparently been nosing around. Most were empty, including a folder on top labeled "Employee Records" that they already discarded. The business records for the past few years had been dumped out of their folders and into cardboard boxes haphazardly, with no order whatsoever. Baza had apparently been responsible for creating this chaos. He'd also erased the computer accounting files and much of the software, w
hich was why they'd wanted to get at what was inside that safe.

  They were still playing catch-up on the physical inventory, but also paying a computer guy, Rick, to try and restore the lost computer files, one by one. So far, they'd been totally dependent on claim slips, quickly alphabetized by last names, to satisfy clients paying the fees to extend their loans or trying to retrieve their property. Clearly, Eddie had been looking for something. Wondering if anything was missing or had been compromised, he found Nancy's number and touched the call icon on his phone.

  Five minutes later, Charlie walked back into the front room, where Gordon was watching the burglar. "Just a few more questions, Eddie. If I end up happy, you might earn your freedom and be allowed to leave. Otherwise, I'm going to turn your ass over to APD for breaking and entering, possession of a burglary tool, and assault. I might even frame you by stuffing some watches and jewelry in your pockets."

  "Give me a break, man, I've never even been arrested. I'm not a criminal," Eddie sputtered frantically.

  "Or maybe you've just never been caught. Either way, that all changed today, Eddie. Quit with the excuses, I need your cooperation. Your future's in the balance now."

  "Fine. Ask your damn questions."

  "Where are you parked? Describe your car."

  "I have an '03 gold Mustang, and it's parked in the laundry parking lot one block south of here."

  "You have a job—other than stealing?"

  "I operate a forklift at GA Foods—the warehouse on Buckner Avenue, graveyard shift. That's from midnight to eight."

  "We know graveyards," Gordon said. "Who's your supervisor?"

  He thought about it a few seconds before answering. "Tim Gallegos."

  "We'll be checking this out, you know," Charlie said, nodding to Gordon. "Next question. What do you know about Diego Baza?"

  "When I was trying to get in contact with him, I asked around at the laundry and the gas station up on the corner. Baza supposedly owned this shop for several years, then all of a sudden he got foreclosed and was locked out. He had a couple of employees, and they lost their jobs. Nobody around here has seen him or those employees since."

  "What did you hear about the employees?"

  "There was a woman, part-time bookkeeper. She worked here for a couple of years. Attractive, kinda high-class, according to the men I spoke to. She left, laid off maybe, sometime before the shop shut down."

  "Catch her name?" Gordon asked.

  "Ruth something," Eddie said. "Maybe she's come around looking for work since you bought the place?"

  Charlie shook his head.

  "Can I turn over now?"

  "Not yet," Charlie said. "What about the other employee?"

  "Some retired guy named Salazar. After Three Balls closed down he moved to live near his kids. Colorado, I think, maybe Denver. He keeps in touch with the lady who runs the laundry."

  "Sounds like you've been doing your homework on this place," Gordon said. "Lived in the city long?"

  "Northeast Heights, then moved to Pennsylvania my junior year of high school. I moved back to New Mexico two years ago but couldn't find a cheap place, so I lived with my grandmother for a while. I just want to get my grandpa's stuff back. I've been planning today for almost a month," Eddie said. "Now can I move?" He turned his head and looked up at Charlie. The bloody spot on his head had caked up already.

  "One more thing. Actually two. You're gonna leave me two hundred dollars to have the vent fixed. And, secondly, I want you to ask around again and find out everything you can for me about Baza. You've got until Saturday. Then call us here at the shop and spill what you get."

  "But what if I don't get anything you don't already know?"

  "If you don't get something, you'd better leave Albuquerque before I find you, Eddie. We're letting you go, but now you work for us."

  "Shit. That's not right."

  "911 okay with you?" Gordon said, bringing out his cell phone.

  "Okay, okay, I'll get what I can," Eddie said.

  "Then we have a deal. Stand up, then empty out your pockets onto the counter," Charlie ordered, wanting to make sure the rings hadn't been removed already.

  Eddie brought out a neatly folded handkerchief, a car key ring for a Mustang, and another key ring with two door keys.

  "That it?" Gordon asked.

  "Hang on," Eddie said, grumbling. He pulled out a cheap pair of needle-nose pliers and an unopened pack of spearmint gum. "That's it."

  "Turn your pockets inside out, bro," Charlie ordered.

  "Yeah, okay." Eddie complied. "What's next, a strip search?" he added sarcastically.

  "And have to look at your skinny ass? Hell no," Gordon said. "Where's your cell phone?"

  "Left it in my car. I didn't want it to fall out of my pocket while I was climbing through the roof."

  "Makes sense. Okay," Charlie announced. "You can keep everything except for the pliers. But if we see your face around here again, you'd better have enough money to reclaim that ring and watch—that is, if Baza didn't take them when he left. Otherwise, after Saturday, we're done," Charlie said.

  "How about my wallet?" Eddie asked.

  Charlie tossed it over. "I already took out two hundred for the damage."

  "Damn," Eddie said, checking inside the billfold before gingerly sticking it in his pocket. He walked stiffly to the front entrance, then paused while Charlie unlocked it. Five seconds later, he was out on the sidewalk, walking away almost at a jog.

  Charlie watched Eddie go down the block, then stepped back inside. "Think we should have turned him in?"

  "Probably. He's dangerous. You know he might have stabbed you with that screwdriver," Gordon asked.

  "Yeah, I'm out of practice—or slowing down."

  "It's always more dangerous taking them prisoner. You have to get up close and personal."

  "But we're not in a war zone. Here, you've got to prove they're the enemy first," Charlie said. "Even then, you'll likely end up in court."

  "I'd rather err on the side of, say, staying alive."

  Charlie looked around the big room. "Speaking of staying alive, where did we put those sopapillas?"

  Chapter Four

  Ten minutes later they sat in the business office of the pawnshop, polishing off the last of their fast food with day-old coffee, reheated in the microwave.

  Charlie's cell phone began to vibrate. He picked it up and looked at the display. It was Nancy. He put the phone on speaker so Gordon could hear.

  "I've got the background you wanted on Edward J. Henderson," she said. "Tell me again why you wanted this?"

  Charlie was looking for discrepancies in Eddie's story but didn't want the cops to intervene until they'd learned all they could from him.

  "We talked to him in the store recently, and then his name came up here at the pawnshop regarding some possible missing items. I wanted to see if he had a record," Charlie said, leaving out the details.

  "I couldn't find a thing in the files except what's on his valid New Mexico driver's license, which lists an address corresponding to the Premier Apartments, west of the river. There's no NM vehicle registered to him, no military or criminal record, and no busts or warrants. I couldn't find him in other state databases, so he can't have lived in the state for very long, unless he's been ducking his taxes. He's never been fingerprinted either, if we're talking about the same Eddie Henderson," Nancy said.

  She continued. "His social matches up with a Pennsylvania Edward Jerome Henderson of the right age, and he still has an unexpired driver's license from that state. What set you off about this guy, anyway? You think he might have had a beef with Baza?"

  "Maybe, which is why we wanted anything you had. We have an address and a work location, so we're gonna keep an eye on him."

  He looked over at Gordon, who nodded.

  "If you learn anything else that might link Henderson with Baza in a way that suggests they had a problem, let me know and I'll pass it along to DuPree," she said. "Meanwhile
, I'll see if I can get anything on Henderson from some of the other databases I can access."

  "Sounds like a plan. Do you have an update on how Gina's doing?"

  "Her vitals are coming around and both lungs are functioning. She's in recovery now."

  "Call me if you can when she wakes up."

  "Of course."

  "Anything from the crime scene team you can share?"

  "Not yet, but the bullet that struck Gina was removed and has been turned over to our lab. I heard it was a thirty-eight hollow point, but they should be able to confirm that in a few hours," she said. "Anything on Baza?"

  "Nothing new. The Office of the Medical Investigator isn't in such a hurry with the dead," she said. "Gotta go. If you learn anything new, call."

  "Sure. Bye."

  "At least it sounds like good news on Gina," Gordon said, sipping the last of his coffee from his Lobo mug. "A thirty-eight revolver—a good choice for an amateur hit. Cheap and easy to obtain in this country, simple to use, and deadly enough without overpenetration. If you can't do the job on one target with six rounds up close, hire it out."

  "Sounds about right. Witnesses described a revolver." Charlie stood. "Now let's see if we can find what Eddie was looking for. I don't remember any Rolex, though."

  "Neither do I. Everything he said might have been on-the-spot bullshit. There's no way he would have gotten a thousand bucks on a pawn, even with a high-end watch and a couple of rings. I may be new at this, but even I know that a realistic loan wouldn't top more than two hundred maybe, even with the rings. Now if he'd have sold them outright. . . ," Gordon said.

  "Then he would have had to buy his collateral back for a lot more, especially if he let the loan date expire or missed a payment. Pawn interest is a killer. Either way, there should be a record of the transaction around here somewhere." Charlie stepped around the counter and used a key to open one of the drawers where they kept the ring displays after-hours.