Chapter 3

"Alright, we're here."

"Great, now catch."

I turned off the ignition and smoothly snatched what Allie threw at me out of the air.

Feeling the smooth polish of the cold polymer frame in my hands, I realized what I was holding and almost dropped it like it was a lump of red hot coal instead.

"Allie!"

"What?"

"Dammit, you know I hate guns!"

"Too bad. Shit's about to get real, so if you're gonna have my back, you better be packing some heat."

"I don't even have a permit!"

"And whose fault is that, huh? All you had to do was sign the damn paper. Do you know hard it is for a civilian to get a concealed weapons permit in LA County?"

"There was no present and imminent danger to my life at that moment."

"Well, there sure as hell is now. So, whose fault is it again?" Allie said, eyeing the surroundings.

Like usual, I couldn’t refute her impeccable logic. Just at a glance, it was easy to spot a plethora of drug dealers, ganbgangers, whores,  pimps, and other unsavory characters littering the street.

"Look honey, I'm not asking you to go on a shooting spree. Just tuck the holster behind your belt. You know, in case something happens."

"I’ll have you know, studies show that people who carry guns are 4.5 times as likely to get shot and 4.2 times as likely to get killed compared to unarmed ci-"

"Stuff it, wise ass. Are you going to protect your girl or not?"

"Like you need any protection," I muttered to myself.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Whatever. Now, like I told you back at the house-”

“When I expressly refused to carry a gun, if I remember correctly,” I pointed out, but she completely ignored me.

“.. Try to remember your firearms training. That's a Glock17 with custom springs, extended slide stop lever, extended mag release, match grade barrel with standard rifling, and custom grip. I took it apart and cleaned it before we came, so you just have to point and squeeze the trigger. Easy, right?"

"Uh-huh," I replied, trying to sound casual though I couldn't help but notice the difference between the gun in my hands and the one she was tucking into her concealed carry holster behind her waist.

She must have caught the look on my face because a teasing grin alighted on her lips.

"Aw, suddenly wish you had your own gun collection now?"

"It's not that," I murmured, hefting the gun in my hands. "How come I get the girly gun, though?"

"Baby, that's a 9mm gun, ideal for non-enthusiasts. Surely, you didn't think you'd get my custom FNX 45 Tac?" She smirked at me with a wink. "You're the love of my life and all, but I'm not letting your clumsy paws anywhere near this baby. Besides, .45 ACP rounds have more recoil and smaller mag capacity. You have to make your shots count, so it won't do as a panic gun. And didn't you bring your own big, manly stick?"

Following the cocking motion of her head, I glanced back toward the rear seat, where I had laid my trusty black umbrella, just in case we stumbled into a dangerous situation.

At a passing glance, it would pass as a slightly bulkier version of your typical umbrella, but its voluminous folds concealed a simple basket hilt - never underestimate the importance of protecting your wielding hand. From there, a press of the release catch and a smooth pull would reveal a 32-inch blade, about two finger-widths thick. That’s what I would consider ideal for a close quarters combat engagement.  

A friend of mine had gifted it to me a long time ago as a sort of inside joke after I won my first modern HEMA world championship, which stands for Historical European Martial Arts. It’s what most would call the closest to modern day sword fighting, which had seen a huge upsurge in the past decade.

At first, I had been ready to toss it into the corner as an interesting souvenir, but closer inspection had revealed that the smith had spared no expense in its making. The balance was exquisite, the grip was comfortable, and most important of all, the edge was razor sharp.

I kept it mostly as a curiosity, having never trained with it. Still, inside a 10 feet radius, I could skewer any street thug's heart like fresh meat on a kebab before he could even lift his gun.

"So, we ready for this?" Allie checked with me, reaching into the back seat for her tactical backpack, or GTW pack as she called it.

“I can’t believe you brought that here. What are you expecting, a freaking war?”

That’s what the acronyms stood for - that deceptively slim little backpack was her Go-To-War package. I could clearly remember each of its contents because I had been horrified by each item as she had proudly paraded them in front of me before we set out. To the best of my knowledge, its contents were as follows: one Armalite X-10 TAC14 Tactical fully automatic assault rifle with a folding stock and a FAB dual-function vertical and bipodal grip; relevant accessories kit that included a suppressor, a 3-9x range telescopic sight, and a modular flashlight; six 30-round magazines of 5.56mm NATO ammunition; one 60-round drum magazine of 5.56mm NATO ammunition; four magazines of 15-round .45 ACP ammunition; two MK3A2 concussion grenades; one M67 fragmentation grenade; and two XM84 non-lethal flash stun grenades.

All in all, the whole moving arsenal must weigh at least 20 pounds, which for her 125-pound frame was a punishing one-fifth of her total weight. Still, you wouldn’t know it by how gleefully she strapped it to her back.

Catching my look, she shrugged. “Haven’t you been keeping up with the news? It’s a damn warzone out here every night, let alone here in the ghettos of Chesterfield Park. It’s got the highest crime rate in all of-”

I held up my hand, stopping her before she could continue. Why did I bother in the first place, I wondered. Total anarchy, government meltdowns, and end of the world scenarios were some of her favorite movies. Thanks to a precarious compromise, we alternated between those and my own favorite, romantic chick flicks.

Don’t judge me.

“So, are we doing this or what?”

I let out a breath I didn't know I had been holding, then nodded to Allie.

"Let's get to it," I replied.

Opening the car door, the first thing that struck me was the smell. It was like the whole street had been used as a public pissoir for at least the last couple of years. Sirens could be heard intermittently in the distance, and I assumed that's how they would always stay - far away from this pit of perdition.

West Slauson Avenue after dark was not a place you want to be unless you're looking for trouble.

"Or if you’re looking for a magical cure for cancer,” I couldn’t help but quip.

“2413 West Slauson Avenue. There, that pawnshop,” Allie said next to me, hefting the small backpack hanging from her thin shoulders and motioning with her head.

I noted the flickering neon sign with a few burnt out letters precariously hanging over a smudgy glass door reinforced with heavy metal bars.

I could feel plenty of heated gazes following Allie as we crossed the street on our way toward the front door, along with the corresponding hoots and catcalls. As a 5’7 platinum blonde with a killer figure any swimsuit model would envy and a gorgeous face most Hollywood divas would kill for, Alexia Fox was used to such attention everywhere she went.

Not being immune to her charms myself, I could understand the phenomenon to a certain point. Whenever she entered a room, she would instantly draw every eye and a collective sigh would be released. The atmosphere would swiftly turn into a dangerous cocktail of supercharged libido and rampant pheromones.

It didn’t even matter what she wore. She could be wearing the drabbest set of baggy jeans and a cotton hoodie three sizes too large, and she would still be the hottest woman you’d seen for the whole year. Hell, make that your entire lifetime.

Her attitude had grown increasingly aggressive and callous due to such unwanted attention, but even that didn’t prevent incidents like the attempted rape while she attended Harvard Law School. After that, her tolerance for bullshit had gone down to within a few millimeters. That, more than her job at the Attorney General’s office, was part of why she was always packing heat. Cross the line, and you were liable to get your overeager balls shot clean off by one of the most avid gun collectors and deadeye shooters I knew.

I hitched my umbrella just a bit higher where I gripped it, keeping the handle within easy reach of my dominant hand, though I didn’t know why I bothered. Better than almost anyone in my acquaintance, Allie could take care of herself.

A high pitched electronic chime rang out as we entered the pawn shop without any incidents.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Walking inside, I was momentarily taken aback by the wares displayed. I had expected old boxy TVs and boomboxes from the last decade but instead, nearly every wall was filled to the brim with row after row of weapons.

It wasn’t your typical assortment of guns and ammunition, either. Sure, there were plenty of those; even Allie let out an appreciative whistle at the extensive collection of guns and accessories. Surprisingly, however, most of the walls and display cases were filled with melee weapons.

I’m not talking about your standard collection of combat knives. Swords, spears, axes, maces, even shields were neatly arrayed in row upon row of classical era cold steel weaponry, though with a modern twist.

I could spy the ridged synthetic rubberized grips I used on many of my own weapons. The artistic flares were mostly absent from the blades, replaced by the more utilitarian fullers. Most common folk mistakenly called them blood grooves, thought their purpose had nothing to do with channeling blood from a wound. That ridiculous notion always made me laugh, as though anyone would stand there and wait while a couple of gallons of blood poured out of his wound and down the sword. Instead, I could see they had been expertly applied to these blades for their intended purpose, which was to lighten the blade by taking off excess steel without compromising its integrity.

That was some fine craftsmanship, indeed. Though oddly enough, I couldn’t recognize any of the makers.

Before I could help myself, I found my hand reaching toward a particularly exquisite saber lying in its own separate display case. Thankfully, a light nudge from Allie snapped me out of my reverie.

“Got an eye for fine steel, do ye?” came a gruff voice from behind the counter.

Turning around with a start, I realized for the first time that the shop wasn’t unmanned as I had first assumed. Behind the main counter sat one of the shortest men I’ve ever seen. Though I doubted he would reach five feet on his tiptoes, he more than made up for the lack of height with his bulk. In fact, his shoulders were set so wide and heavily corded with muscle that he looked almost cartoony in his proportions.

“You’ve got some beautiful stuff in here,” I acknowledged, nodding toward the saber. “That almost looks like wootz steel patterns, though I’ve never seen such complex ripples before. I can’t begin to imagine who’d take the time to fold so many layers when the formula itself is flawed.”

The man had been nodding along with a pleased look in his eyes, standing taller and taller with my every word until he heard that last part, whereupon he immediately erupted.

“Flawed? You’re calling my blade flawed?” he growled, huge veins popping all along his massive arms as he curled fists bigger than the size of my own skull.

“Whoa, relax fella. I’m just pointing out that the ancient art for forging true Damascus steel has been lost for hundreds of years and modern science has yet to successfully recreate such wonders.”

“Hmph, modern science my ass,” the man growled in a deep, rumbling tone. “Much good all them fancy lights and whistles will do you humans in the end.”

“Excuse me?” I said, frowning. “What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing you’d know about,” he spat in disgust. “You ain’t here hoping to buy anything, are ye?”

Allie stepped up beside me, holding up a photo. “Yes, we are. I’m buying information at a premium. What do you know about Johathan Bingham? We know he visited your shop at least twice in the last month.”

The shopkeeper didn’t even glance at the picture. “Information? I only sell instruments of death and mayhem, girlie, and only to a very select few at that - which doesn’t include you.”

“Why the hell not?” Allie said, her voice quickly heating up.

“One, because you’re too damn hot, and I don’t trust hot women - easiest way to end up with a knife stuck in your back. Two, I don’t deal with dresses and frills. Only cold steel and hellfire, which..”

The man trailed off as he glanced at Allie’s hands. After a moment, he grunted slightly as though surprised.

Allie proudly showed off the palms of her hands, displaying calluses in all the right places.

“I shoot 1,000 rounds every week, rain or hail. What do you have to say about that, little man?”

“Doesn’t change your face or your tits, girlie. Too pretty, rejected.”

I could barely hold back my chuckle as I saw my girlfriend spluttering in outrage. It was rare to see Allie at a disadvantage in any sort of argument, but there really wasn’t much room to argue here. She was one smoking hot lady.

After taking a long breath and firing a quick warning glare toward me, Allie whirled back to the shopkeeper.

“Notwithstanding the fact that you’re in violation of the fair business and anti-discrimination act,” Allie began, marshaling her wits about her for round two, “I won’t ask you to part with any of your precious trinkets. Just tell me what you know about this person, and we’ll leave you to your grossly overweight, horribly disfigured, currently non-existent clientele, who won’t be willing to pay a couple thousand dollars for a few breaths of air.”

“Not interested,” the man said, his expression impassive though his eyes were beginning to sparkle in amusement.

“Why, you stumpy little-” Allie began, and I knew she was winding up to deliver one of her wrath-of-god, scum-of-the-earth speeches, so I quickly interjected myself into the negotiation.

“Look, sir. We really need to track this man. Any help you can provide would be truly appreciated,” I said plaintively, looking him in the eye. “It’s a matter of life-or-death.”

The man matched gazes with me, and I could feel the weight of unspeakable burdens hidden behind those wizened eyes. I grit my teeth and refused to back down, however, and after a moment, the man finally let out a deep breath.

“You don’t even have any idea of what you’re looking for, do you? Look, it’s best you take my advice and leave before it’s too late.”

“The Orb Collective,” I blurted out. “We’re after-

The man’s eyes narrowed as the whole room was suddenly filled with a suffocating pressure that made my next words stick to the back of my throat.

“You fool, do you have any idea what you’re asking?” he said slowly, each word filled with an odd combination of menace and pity. “Do you really want to die so badly?”

“I have a year or two left tops,” I said, shrugging as though it were the most common thing in the world to die at the age of 27. “It’s not like I’d be missing out on much, right?”

“Spoken like the typical human. You people have been rotting in your complacency for so long, you don’t even know what you have and how good you have it until it’s gone, ripped out of your hands and devoured by the Abyss.”

The contempt in his voice was palpable, and for some reason it made me deeply ashamed.

“It’s not complacency that drives us,” Allie said slowly, word by word, “but desperation and earnest hope.”

That produced the first smile we’d seen in the man’s face, though it wasn’t a happy one. No, it was a parody of a grin, as though sprouting from a well of boundless despair.

“There is no hope in the place where you’re going, save for that which you rip from the still-warm corpses of others.”

“All that doom and gloom bullshit doesn’t float my boat, litt-” Allie began, but I caught the belligerence in her tone and placed my hand over her mouth.

“Please,” I said instead. “Will you help us?”

The man seemed to age a few years right in front of my eyes before he snatched a piece of paper and scribbled something on it. He shoved it at my chest and nodded toward the exit.

I took it with both hands, but as I was about to open my mouth, his words cut me off.

“Don’t thank me. Just remember, this was your own choice.” The old man shook his head.

I took the paper and glanced at it. There was only a single line there, a complex series of letters and numbers that seemed to be a website address.

After exchanging glances with Allie, I turned back to the old man. Not knowing why, I was certain he wouldn’t accept our money.

“Will you let me buy that sword,” I asked, glancing back toward the wootz steel blade in the display case with its dazzling patina. I knew it was fake, but at least it would make for a nice display item on my wall.

The shopkeeper looked me up and down and smirked. “Sonny, you couldn’t even afford one of the nails on its sheath, let alone my masterwork.”

“Oh, you forged it yourself?”

“Hammered every single fold with these very hands,” the old man nodded to me, with the solemn pride unique to the most driven artists or consummate conmen.

“I’ve got plenty of money. Why don’t you try me?” I said, though for reason I didn’t feel confident at all.

“Money,” the man said with an ugly sneer, as though the word tasted foul on his tongue.

“Alright then. What do you want for it? Name your price.”

The shopkeeper squinted at me with a single glittering eye and held my gaze for a long moment before arching one of his bushy eyebrows.

“Y’know, your naive ignorance amuses me, young’un,” the man said, cracking his neck to one side, then the other with a couple of loud pops. ““Alright, I’ll give you a chance. I’ll let you take one of my swords for one of those.”

He nodded toward my hand.

Frowning, I glanced down at the promise ring on my finger, the one from the matching pair I’d bought with Allie.

Clutching at it, I began to shake my head. “This ring means far too-”

The shopkeeper’s humorless laugh stopped me in my tracks.

“I have no need for silly trinkets,” the old man said, sneering at me with a rough shake of his head. “No, I want something much more precious and valuable than that mere beaten gold and hewn stone.”

Then he caught my gaze with eyes that were glittering with an ominous light that set my heart thumping loudly within my chest.

“You do have something of value, however,” he began in an almost languid tone, glancing toward my hand once again. “I can tell you’ve devoted your life to the way of the sword, in your own clumsy fashion. In this age of foolish mortals who rely on trifling trinkets and empty bravado, that’s truly rare.”

Blood began to drain from my face as I suddenly understood what he meant - what he was really asking for. Without knowing why, my whole body began to tremble uncontrollably beneath the weight of his terrible gaze.

“Kai?” Allie called, clutching at my nerveless hand. Her voice barely reached me from an impossibly far away place.

“Relax, I won’t ask for much,” the man said, his grin growing wider. “Just one.”

I couldn’t tear my eyes away as he lifted his pinkie finger and wriggled it in front of me.

“Give me the smallest finger from your right hand, and I’ll let you take one of my precious blades,” he said, waving toward the gleaming blades hanging in row upon row from the walls. “I seldom offer such a good bargain to anyone, so you better thank me and hurry before I change my mind.”

“You sick son of a bitch!” Allie shouted next to me, her hand sliding behind her waist in a smooth, practiced motion.

That finally snapped me out of the strange trance I’d been under, and I quickly rushed forward to place my hand over Allie’s mouth. She lifted her eyes to meet mine, where I could read the indignant fury in her heart as clear as day. The intensity I found there startled me. She could be hotheaded sometimes, but I knew she’d never go as far as drawing her gun on an unarmed man over some empty words.

“Had they been just that, empty words?” A worried voice whispered in my head.

Still looking into Allie’s eyes, I slowly shook my head, holding a steady grip upon her hand until I finally felt the muscles in her arm relax.

Letting out a deep breath, I turned around to meet the man’s expectant gaze.

“No deal,” I said simply. “But thank you.”

I don’t know why I said those last words. It had been a last minute impulse, but watching the man’s expression as he shrugged without an ounce of disappointment, I didn’t regret them.

“Suit yourself,” the man said, chuckling darkly. “Just don’t come crying when you regret it later.”

“You wish, you sick fuck,” Allie spit out from behind me.

“Uh, we’ll be on our way then,” I mumbled, bobbing my head. Then I quickly spun around and began herding Allie toward the exit before she did something we would both regret later. “And thanks again for the info.”

Just as I reached the exit, the man’s grave voice rang out at my back.

“You poor devil, just remember you choose your fate by your own decisions,” the gruff voice replied at my back. “You might be reaching into the abyss for answers, but the abyss also reaches into you.”

With those ominous words and his hollow laughter echoing from the cold walls, I finally stepped outside of Old Grim’s Pawn Shop and into a completely different world.

Of course, I didn’t know it at the time.

Neither could I have known that I would always regret not taking him up on that deal.

My finger for one of his swords?

Cheap.

Dirt fucking cheap.