Chapter 7 - The Eviction Clock Ticks
The bell above the heavy glass door of *River City Gold & Pawn* chimed as Victoria, Marcus, and I stepped into the air-conditioned shop.
The store smelled of stale cigar smoke, gun oil, and metal polish. Behind the reinforced bulletproof glass counter stood Sal Mancuso, a stocky man with thick gold chains around his neck and reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose.
And leaning over the counter, wearing a faded athletic jersey and clutching a crumpled yellow paper slip, was Tyler Calloway.
"Come on, Sal, you know the piece is worth at least three grand!" Tyler was whining, his voice loud and obnoxious. "The watch is a vintage Omega! The gold coins are pure South African bullion! Just give me fifteen hundred cash for the redemption slip and you keep the spread!"
"I told you twenty minutes ago, kid," Sal rasped, not looking up from a tray of diamond rings. "The redemption slip has your brother's name on it. Without his ID and a signed transfer of title, I ain't giving you a nickel. Now stop leaning on my glass."
"Tyler," I said.
Tyler spun around so fast his sneakers squeaked against the linoleum. When he saw me standing flanked by Victoria and Marcus—who had his hand casually inside his jacket pocket where his private investigator's badge was clipped—the color vanished from Tyler’s face.
"Audrey?" Tyler stammered, stepping back until his hips hit the display case. "What... what are you doing here?"
"I’m here to collect my father’s life," I said.
Marcus stepped forward, closed the distance between himself and Tyler in three silent strides, and plucked the yellow pawn slip right out of Tyler’s limp fingers. Tyler didn't even attempt to fight back; he looked like a terrified child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
"Hey!" Sal yelled from behind the glass. "What’s going on out there? Don't start no trouble in my shop!"
Victoria stepped up to the counter, pulled a laminated business card and a certified court document from her purse, and pressed it against the bulletproof glass.
"Mr. Mancuso, my name is Victoria Vance. I am the attorney representing Audrey Fenwick. The items described on that pawn ticket—specifically an Omega Seamaster wristwatch serial number ending in 4108, and five one-ounce Krugerrand coins—were stolen from Ms. Fenwick’s residence by Reid Calloway and Tyler Calloway."
Sal’s eyes narrowed. He looked at the paperwork, then looked at Tyler.
"Is that true, Tyler?" Sal barked. "You told me them coins belonged to your granddaddy!"
"They were in the family safe!" Tyler cried defensively, backing toward the corner of the shop. "Reid said it was cool! Reid said Audrey was out of the country and wouldn't care!"
"Marcus," I said quietly. "Call the Henrico property crimes division."
"Wait! No!" Tyler fell to his knees right there on the dusty floorboards, his hands clasped together in desperate supplication. "Audrey, please! Don't call the cops! I can't go to jail! I’m on probation for a DUI in Chesterfield! If they violate me, I’m doing eighteen months straight!"
"Then you should have thought about that before you stole food from a crippled sixty-nine-year-old woman," I said, looking down at him with utter disgust.
"It wasn't me! It was Mom!" Tyler blubbered, the tears streaming down his face, completely turning on his family in an instant. "Mom was the one who told Reid to stop paying the nurse! She said the nurse was costing too much and that Helen was just faking her knee pain to get attention! Mom wanted that money for Brooke’s wedding registry down payment!"
I felt Victoria’s hand rest gently on my elbow. "Audrey, let Marcus handle this. Let’s get your father’s property."
Sal Mancuso let out a heavy sigh, shook his head, and reached under the counter. "Look, lady. I paid fifteen hundred dollars out on that ticket. I run a legitimate business here."
Victoria slid an official certified cashier's check across the counter for exactly $1,500. "Here is your principal, Mr. Mancuso. We are waiving interest based on your immediate cooperation in avoiding a receiving-stolen-property charge."
Sal took the check, checked the watermark, and disappeared into the back vault. Two minutes later, he returned with a heavy black velvet tray.
There it was.
My father’s watch. The brushed stainless-steel bracelet, the scratched crystal over the navy-blue face, the inscription on the back: *To Thomas Fenwick - Fair Winds and Following Seas - 1968*.
Beside it lay the five heavy gold coins, glowing softly under the fluorescent lights.
I picked up the watch. The metal was cold against my fingers, but as I clasped it around my wrist, a profound sense of warmth surged through my chest. It felt like my father was standing right beside me, his broad hand resting on my shoulder, telling me the storm had passed.
"Get up, Tyler," I said, not even looking down at the sniveling man on the floor.
Tyler scrambled to his feet, wiping his snot on the sleeve of his hoodie. "Are... are you gonna press charges?"
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"If I ever see your face within five hundred yards of my house, my mother, or my workplace," I said, turning toward the exit, "I will hand the Henrico prosecutor enough evidence to put you in a state penitentiary until you’re forty. Now run home to your mother."
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