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.”
The twin odors rolled in waves.
“Thanks for your time.” I jerked my head toward the door. “Let’s bail.”
“Fine. One hundo. Final offer.”
A new scent appeared. Metallic. Hard. Like iron shavings.
Resolve. Bates wouldn’t go lower.
“Deal,” I said. “Shelton, pay the man.”
Shelton counted five twenties, about half of our available funds. Bates scribbled a receipt and handed the crate to Ben.
“Good luck with those ‘artifacts,’” Bates chuckled. “That box ain’t nothing but garbage. I paid twenty for the whole lot!”
“Think again,” Shelton shot back. “We already know the papers are real. Pretty dumb to put the map symbol right in your ad.”
Ben cuffed Shelton, but the damage was done.
“Say what?”
“Nothing,” Shelton mumbled. “I was just joking.”
“Map symbol?” Bates’s left eyebrow rose. “What chu’ mean, map?”
Nice job, Shelton!
I searched for a credible answer. Blanked. My blood pressure spiked.
SNUP.
The power dissolved. I swayed, but managed to keep my feet. Hi caught my arm.
“Clear?” Hi whispered.
Shaky nod.
“Steady. Don’t pass out.”
“I just need a sec.” My head spun like the teacups ride.
Bates’s face pinched in confusion. “How’d ya’ll know about my ad?” Then, with realization, came anger.
“Ya’ll played me!” he fumed. “Acting the fool, like ya didn’t know what ya came for! Bull-crap! Ya’ll wanted that box the whole time!”
Bates stormed over to Ben. “Forget this! No sale.”
“Too late.” Ben put a hand on the crate. “Deal’s a deal. You took the money. We have a receipt. Done.”
“Is that a fact?”
Ben didn’t blink.
“Fine!” Bates’s eyes were bulging like golf balls. “Get out my shop! And watch yourselves, this neighborhood ain’t safe. I’d run back home, if I was you.”
I was down with that. We hustled to the door.
“Wait!” Bates pointed at me. “Sign the receipt. Otherwise, the deal ain’t official.”
I hurried to the counter, jotted as fast as possible.
“Who sold you this box, anyway?” I asked.
“Piss off.”
“Hey!” Ben shouted. “Watch your mouth.”
Ben stepped toward the counter. Hi grabbed his arm as Shelton placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. Though furious, Ben allowed himself to be halted.
I joined the boys. “Let it go. We got what we came for.”
The others followed me toward the door.
“Can we get some buzz-out music, please?” Hi’s smile looked forced. Shelton’s hands were shaking. Time to bolt.
Bates watched us for a very long moment. Finally, his hand moved below the counter.
Buzz!
“Ya’ll don’t come back here. Ever.”
Not a problem.
LONNIE BATES WAS furious.
Worse, his pride was stinging.
He’d run Bates Pawn-and-Trade since age seventeen, first for his uncle and now for himself.
Buy for a dollar, sell for two. That was his mantra. It worked. He was rarely taken for a fool.
Except today.
Those downtown brats had swindled him. He felt it in his bones. The punk kids had seen the ad and come for the pirate junk. They’d driven all the way from under their mommy’s skirts, walked into his shop, and swindled him good.
Bates couldn’t calm himself. Anger burned like an ember in his gut.
The black kid had blurted something about a map. He’d tried to cover his slip, but Lonnie Bates was no fool.
Why would rich kids come all the way to the projects for a box of pirate junk?
They wouldn’t. Unless they knew the stuff had value.
Bates thought back. Two years earlier he’d bought the crate from a strange old cracker. Weird dude, obsessed with pirates. Wouldn’t stop running his mouth about Anne Bonny.
Bates should’ve suspected something—dude wore a white tuxedo. In Myers! He’d written the guy off as a lunatic.
Twenty bucks for some fake pirate crap. No big deal.
The geezer had whined, but accepted the price. They always do. No one leaves without selling. Hard cash talks when you’ve got none.
A hundred bucks. Those kids knew something in the box was worth more, had come specifically for it. The papers? Had he been sitting on a gold mine and blown it? That possibility burned the worst.