Doranna Durgin - Survival Instinct

Ready to go. She checked the hall and she slipped out the door and into the stairwell; half a flight of stairs down got her to the main exit door. She hesitated there long enough to insert her door key into a planter of early annuals. Tonight would be the riskiest part of this whole operation, and if she happened to get searched by the people she hoped to find, she didn’t want to give up anything but the watch. No ID, no key card, no credit cards. Just some cash, a watch and a lot of attitude.

On the other hand, with the Ruger in her pocket, she hoped to avoid anything that up close and personal.

She walked a few blocks away from the hotel and picked up a battered taxi, waving it down in the dark. When she told the driver she wanted to check out the southeast pawnshops, he turned to look at her askance, assessing her expression. Then he turned back to the road with a shrug, and accelerated into traffic.

She paid him to wait at the first place, where she idly played with the watch and asked questions about special-interest printers. The man behind the counter turned impatient fast and bitched at her for wasting his time.

The second store visit netted her the grudging suggestion that she try Freddie’s. The cabbie rolled his eyes when he heard their new destination, and this time he opened his mouth. Karin cut him off. “I know,” she said. “But it’s where I need to go. And I’m a big tipper.”

Another eye roll, but he took them there. A tight little storefront with a darkened shoe-repair place on one side and a dimly lit sex-toy shop on the other. Bars across all the windows, of course. Looked just about right.

Karin leaned forward to catch the cabbie’s attention. “Wait for me.”

He gave her a dour look behind an overgrown mustache. She slid out of the car, striding confidently for the pawnshop door, one hand on the Ruger in her pocket and the other already holding the watch. She pushed inside to the inevitable jingle of bells and quickly spotted the security cameras. Three of them. This guy wasn’t taking any chances. A few more steps of the crowded store revealed that the cash register was behind security glass.

Yup. This looked like the place.

“We’re closing!” a man called from the back, bored with her already.

Karin held the watch up in clear view of at least two of the security cameras, dangling it enticingly from her fingers.

Yup. Here he came. She heard footsteps with a limp. When the man came into sight from the back room-grizzled, beefy and clearly a candidate for hip replacement-she lowered the watch but kept it in sight. “It’s yours, if you can give me the right information.”

He grunted. “And just how hot is it?”

She didn’t pretend otherwise. “You’ve got a day or two.”

“Whatta you want?”

“I’m looking for a printer.”

He grunted again. “Try the phone book.”

She sighed loudly, and stuffed the watch into her coat pocket. “Oh, please.”

A shrug. He eyed the pocket where the watch now resided.

“Look. I give you the watch, you’ve got something over me if you want it. Meanwhile, I’ve got a special print job to run. It’s a one-time job, then I’ll be out of here. I’m not moving in on anyone’s turf.” She cocked her head. “Though I could, if I wanted to. Just in case you think I might blunder around leaving tracks to this place. Not gonna happen.”

“I should think that?” The very picture of innocence. Deeply sarcastic innocence at that.

“A name,” she said. “The go-to guy. Where I can find him. That’s all.” She withdrew the watch but kept it close to her body this time.

“Tiffany’s?” he asked, not quite believing it.

“Just something I bumped into.” She smiled at him, knowing he’d catch her meaning just fine.

Someone else came into the store; she stepped aside so she could keep them both in view at the same time. This fellow was scruffy-way beyond fashionably scruffy-and he had a mean, leering look. At least ten years older than Karin, he’d gone far past youthful indiscretions and straight to loser.

He said, “Hey, Freddie, you got nice company.” He turned to Karin. “Don’t suppose that’s your cab what just took off?”

Karin glared at him. “What’d you say to him?”

He grinned. “Just my natural charm.”

She looked him up and down with distaste. “I can imagine.” And then, when he took a few steps toward her, she shook her head sharply. “I can imagine quite well from here, thanks.”

He stopped, but she didn’t like the looks of him. Too confident, too anticipatory. He was playing with her, and didn’t think she’d know it. He said, “Nice watch,” and couldn’t quite hide the greed in his voice.

“Yes,” she said shortly. “That’s why I took it.” She angled her head back at Freddie, but kept a close eye on the unwelcome newcomer. “Just write it down, Freddie. We’ll make the swap. I’ll handle my business and be out of this area for good.”

Freddie exchanged glances with the man-he’d inched a little closer to Karin and clearly thought himself sly for it-and shrugged, a gesture limited by Freddie’s own beefy nature.

Karin almost tsked out loud at the obvious nature of his underlying decision. Write the stuff down, then have the scruffy guy pounce on her for the watch without ever giving anything away. But she wanted the information, so she kept her tsking to herself until Freddie was done, holding the paper up for her inspection from a distance.

She was supposed to reach for it, to be distracted and off balance, not noticing the other man. And she did reach for it, snatching it out of Freddie’s thick-fingered grip even as she drew the Ruger and jammed it into the belly of the other man, stopping his sly move short.

“Whoa,” he said, and his hands shot up, surrender and denial both. He backed away in slow motion, casting meaningful glances at Freddie. Appeal. He expected the man to do something, and no doubt there was a sawed-off behind the counter somewhere.

But Freddie didn’t look like a fast man, and he looked like he knew his limits. “You got what you came for. Now what about that watch?”

She could have snorted and left, but she didn’t. He’d been right to be concerned about her credentials and the effect of her activity on his turf. And she had indeed gotten what she’d come for. Don’t cross the local players unless you want them popping up to jam up the con.

Karin watched them both as she pulled out the watch and tossed it underhand at Freddie. “All yours,” she said. “Of course, if you’ve scribbled up some nonsense here, the cops will know where to look for that watch.”

He waved her off with such disinterest that she knew he’d stopped toying with her. She’d earned her way to the local printing expert-a woman she would visit the next day-and with any luck she’d never see Freddie or his friend again.

Said friend was easing toward the door. Karin stopped him merely by aiming the gun not at him, but at the spot just ahead of him. To continue, he’d have to walk right into her sights. “Hey,” he said. “I’m not part of this.”

“Keys,” she told him.

“Whatta you-”

“Keys.”

In the background, Freddie grunted. “You scared off her ride, dope. Next time maybe you’ll check things out before you try weaseling in.”

But the man sulked. “It’s a motorcycle.”

She only smiled at him. “It’s a beautiful night for a ride.” It wasn’t; it was chilly and she wasn’t dressed for the wind of a motorcycle ride. But she wasn’t going to wait for another cab. She held out her hand, twitching her fingers in a little come-hither gesture meant for the keys. “Toss ’em.”

He fished on his belt for the release to the big jangle of keys by his side, a sullen eye on the Ruger. When he freed the key, he tossed it just to the side-an invitation to reach out and become off balance, or to miss the key altogether.