Kathy Reichs - Seizure

“Are we one hundred percent sure about exiting the vehicle?” Hi’s voice was a bit high. “It might not be here when we get back.”

“I’ll park right in front.” Ben also sounded tense.

“We’ll be fine,” I said. “In and out.”

“That’s what she said,” Hi mumbled, hauling himself from the car.

Bates Pawn-and-Trade was the last unit in a dilapidated strip mall composed of a Laundromat, a nail salon, a pool hall, and a Baptist church.

A red banner proclaimed the shop’s name in bold letters. Barred windows displayed an array of dusty offerings. Nine-millimeter cameras. A drum set. A sad little collection of gold watches.

And guns. Lots of guns.

Ben shouldered the solid steel door. Nothing.

“Hit the buzzer,” Shelton suggested.

We waited a few moments, idly staring at a security camera set inside a metal cage. A buzzer sounded, the locks clicked, and we pushed through.

Inside, naked bulbs hung from the ceiling, barely lighting the cloudy glass cases lining the concrete walls. Even by pawnshop standards, this store was dreary.

A thick wooden counter ran the length of the rear wall. Behind it sat an immense black man counting a wad of bills. I put his weight at over three hundred pounds. Short and balding, he wore faded black pants, a UPS work polo, and red and white throwback Jordans.

An unlit cigar jutted from a corner of the man’s mouth. The stool supporting his enormous derriere appeared on the verge of giving up.

“Ya’ll need something?” The man didn’t glance in our direction.

“Just looking, thanks!” Reveal our target and he’d jack up the price.

“Umm hmm.” His eyes never rose. “The bongs are in the corner, FYI.”

Great. He thought we were stoners.

“Spread out,” I whispered. “Scratch your head if you spot the collection.”

We all moved in separate directions, which caught the man’s eye.

“Don’t even think about pulling a stunt.” A thumb jabbed his chest. “This here is my shop. Lonnie Bates. I don’t tolerate foolishness.”

“No sir,” Shelton squeaked. “No stunts.”

“Damn right.” Again the thumb. “Don’t forget I’ve got to buzz ya’ll back out.”

Bates went back to counting.

Noticing movement, I glanced to my right. Hi was rubbing his dome with both hands. Not exactly subtle. We all closed in.

Hi pointed to a crate on a wall-bolted shelf. We scanned the jumbled contents. Dusty papers. A souvenir eye patch from the Pirate Aquarium. Costume jewelry. Two three-corner hats. Replica flintlock pistols. A torn Jolly Roger flag, made in China.

“Garbage,” Ben whispered. “Useless crap.”

“I see you’ve located some of my valuable antiques.” Bates slipped from his stool and waddled toward us. “Priceless heirlooms.”

Shelton snorted. “You could buy this junk at Party City. In better condition.”

“Not true.” Bates yanked the box from the shelf. “Some crap was added later, but this crate is full of historical documents. Blackbeard’s personal shit. Some Anne Bonny stuff, too.”

Beefy hands eased a stack of papers from underneath the kitsch.

My pulse cranked. Bates was right. The documents were either very old or very good fakes. If the former, they might actually be worth something.

“I’d need to have these appraised,” I said. “Verify they’re real.”

“Sorry, paying customers only.” Bates held the papers to his chest. “I can’t risk ya’ll damaging historical treasures.”

Crap! I needed to check for the symbol. To be sure. That meant haggling with this greasy con man.

A crazy idea crossed my mind. Dangerous. Irresponsible.

It worked before. Let’s put my nose to the test .

I’d promised not to do it, but desperate times call for desperate measures. We needed an edge. I spoke before I could chicken out.

“Do you have a bathroom?”

“What am I? A spa?” Bates cocked his head. “Use the Laundromat next door.”

“All by myself? Can’t I please use yours?”

“Unbelievable.” Eyes rolling, he pointed. “Through the beads.”

“Thank you!”

“Don’t touch nothing! I got cameras back there, too.”

My eyes widened.

“No, I don’t mean—not in the damn bathroom!” Bates rubbed his forehead. “Just keep your hands in your pockets, you hear?”

I hurried through the curtain, then listened to make sure Bates hadn’t followed. No way. He was busy pumping up the collection’s inestimable value. I locked myself in the bathroom.

Ready? Not really.

I shook out my limbs. Took several deep breaths. Closed my eyes. Reached.

SNAP.

The flare came easily, as if the wolf had been lurking just beneath the surface.

But not without pain.

My arms and legs quivered as the fire flowed through me. Lights strobed behind my eyeballs. I wanted to whimper, but clamped my jaw shut.

In silence I rode the wave of primal energy. Suffered the transformation.

My eyes snapped into hyperfocus. My body burned with visceral force. My ears hummed like a tuning fork.

Ready to rock .

Slipping on my sunglasses, I flushed the toilet and strode back through the beads. Nonchalant, but my heart was racing.

Bates was still working the boys. They seemed overwhelmed by the onslaught.

Seeing my shades, Shelton frowned. Then his eyes went saucer. He elbowed Hi, who elbowed Ben.

They knew.

“It’s way too bright in here,” I said.

Bates looked at me funny. His shop was lit like a cave.

Now! Before you lose control .

“Mr. Bates, I don’t think these are authentic,” I said. “Interesting, sure, but not worth much.”

“Child, please. These are rare, precious artifacts,” Bates insisted. “Extremely valuable. I bought ’em from a serious collector.”

“Really? Who? I think you got taken.”

“That’s my business, not yours.” He crossed arms the size of telephone poles. “Five hundred bones. Not a penny less.”

Bates’s poker face was impressive. I couldn’t get a read.

Luckily, I had other tools.

As discreetly as possible, I drew air through my nose. Sniffed. Sifted. When I found his scent, I nearly staggered backward.

Onions. Coffee. Garlic. Sweat trapped inside rolls of flesh. Cheap drugstore aftershave.

I coughed, violently, nearly losing my eyewear.

“You sick, girl?” Bates squinted.

Hi provided a distraction.

“Can you prove these papers are real?” he asked. “Show us some evidence? You keep documentation, right?”

“I don’t have to prove nothing, boy.” Impatient. “Buy ’em or not. If ya’ll don’t, somebody else will.”

Bracing myself, I inhaled again. The funk sickened me anew, but I kept control this time. My nose sorted, divided, categorized.

From beneath the stench, earthier scents emerged. One odor outweighed the others, salty and acrid, like a towel soaked in cat urine.

I named the smell, though I couldn’t say how.

Deception . Bates was lying.

“You believe this box is valuable?” I asked.

“Young lady, I know it.”

The acid reek increased.

Lie .

And now, another smell. Rank. Sickly. A little sweet.

Worry .

Bates was anxious we’d call his bluff.

Which is exactly what I did.

“No thanks, we’ll pass. You guys ready to go?”

“Wait now, hold on! I didn’t say we couldn’t work something out.” Bates ran a hand over his jaw. “Two-fifty.”

“Twenty bucks,” Hi hard-balled. “For everything.”

“Twenty dollars!?! That’s robbery!” Bates’s eyes narrowed to slits. “One-fifty.”