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EMILY
“What do you mean it’s only worth half a grand?” The towering figure in front of me erupted, his face turning a deep shade of crimson as he spewed flecks of spittle from his mouth. “I paid twenty-five hundred for this piece!”
I took a deep breath, deliberately stepping backward to preserve my personal space while keeping a firm gaze locked on him.
“Yes…” I responded. “But that was nearly five years ago. Jewels like this typically depreciate over time, usually by about twenty percent each year. And if I’m getting my calculations right…” which I was… “…it means it should be worth about half a grand today.” I concluded my explanation with a customer service smile. “So, would you like to proceed with the sale or not?”
“This is bullshit!” the man cried out, and I caught my coworker’s terrified glance from the corner of my eye. Chelsea was usually skittish and scared of even the slightest confrontation, but this time I understood her caution. The anger simmered in the man's eyes, and he possessed the potential to inflict significant harm if he unleashed his emotions.
While Chelsea hated confrontations, I didn’t mind them. Dealing with bullies was something I knew well. You never let them see your fear because that would only encourage them to be even more despicable.
“You’re going to give me what I paid for,” he demanded, his eye gleaming.
I shook my head. “That’s not going to be possible. Not here or any other pawnshop in the city.”
“I don’t think you understand me,” he said, taking another step closer and invading my personal space once again. “You’re going to give me what I’m owed.”
One hand grabbed the front of my collar, pulling me closer. I saw Chelsea gasp and quickly rush to the back room, likely seeking safety while she called for help.
Knowing the owner's aversion to involving the police in his business, it was unlikely that she would dial their number. Most likely, she would probably contact the private security personnel, who were typically stationed nearby for precisely these types of situations.
“I can’t do that, sir,” I replied firmly. “Unfortunately, I don’t make the rules around here, and even if I did, it doesn’t change the fact that the necklace is worth only five hundred.”
“Oh yeah? Well, then tell your boss I want to see him,” he retorted.
“He’s not in,” I responded. “And even if he was, I guarantee you won’t want to meet him.”
As big and scary as this guy was, Christopher Jordansen was about a million times more intimidating.
Well, maybe not in terms of size. Chris stood at about six-two, but his commanding presence made him seem larger than life. While he had a muscular frame, it was lean and sculpted, unlike the bulky physique of this man. He exuded the sleek grace of a jaguar rather than the raw power of a big bear.
But I had witnessed Chris in action, and I knew firsthand the calculated and deadly nature of his attacks. He moved lithely and fluidly like a cat, targeting vital points with precision. In the blink of an eye, you would find yourself on the ground with a sharp pocket knife pressed against your throat.
This incident occurred a week ago when another client became enraged that we had sold some of the inventory we were supposed to “hold” for him until he was ready to retrieve them. I explained our policy, which allowed us to hold pieces for a maximum of two weeks, but he refused to listen. That was when Chris intervened.
The man was foolish enough to try and strong-arm Chris or perhaps intimidate him by claiming affiliation with an important gang.
Chris had simply smiled.
I couldn’t help but laugh because it was clear that the guy had no knowledge of organized crime in Philadelphia or who Chris really was.
The man standing in front of me probably didn’t know either, or else he wouldn’t be here demanding to meet Chris.
And here I was, trying to save his life, yet he only grew angrier, shaking me like a bobblehead doll.
I definitely don’t make enough money for this bullshit.
“Look, how about we do this.” I proposed, gently placing my hand on his wrist as I spoke in a calming and non-confrontational tone. “Let me go talk to my boss. I’ll call him up right now to see if we can sweeten the deal with an extra hundred bucks. And if that doesn't suit you, I can direct you to another pawnshop nearby."
It wouldn’t matter. All the pawnshops were directly or indirectly controlled by Christopher.
Most of the things in this fucking city were, it seemed.
“An extra hundred?” the man snarled. “What, are you trying to piss me off? I told you I bought this for two and a half grand. What the fuck are you trying to pull?”
He shook me again, and my temper flared.
