Club Princess - Nicole James Page 0,13
vase.”
“And it’s worth twenty grand? Do you believe him?”
“It was carved Jade and probably old. Lockwood went on and on about it being a likeness of the concubine of some great Chinese emperor from the Tang Dynasty.”
“The Tang Dynasty?”
“Swear to God. And the only reason I remember that is because I remember as a kid it was what the astronauts that went to the moon, drank.”
“Stop talking about nonsense. This guy looked like seriously bad news, Trez. What the fuck are you going to do?”
“I’m gonna go to the fucking pawn shop and get it back.”
“Don’t you have to give them the five hundred dollars? I thought you were broke.”
He leans across me and pops open the glove box. My eyes fall to his 9mm pistol. He grins at me. “Like American Express, baby. Never leave home without it.”
My eyes slide shut. This is not going to end well. “Trez, listen to me, this is a stupid plan. Don’t pawn shops have security and shit?”
“Not this place.” He makes another turn, drives two blocks and pulls in a parking lot. It’s a tiny storefront next to a tattoo shop. “Wait here.”
Oh, there’s no way in hell I’m walking in with him. I sit, my heart pounding as he limps inside, the gun shoved in his jeans at the small of his back, his shirt pulled over it.
My cell vibrates and I glance down. It’s a call from Katie. I reject it and then fire off a quick text telling her I’m okay and will call her back soon.
My gaze darts furtively around watching for I don’t know what, a swarm of cop cars, a hoard of Royal Bastards on their Harleys, who knows.
I run my hand up and down my thigh, my palm sweaty, and contemplate calling my father. I bite my lip and try to formulate what kind of possible explanation I could give him when Trez limps out and gets in the car.
He doesn’t seem like he’s in a hurry so I guess he didn’t just rob the place or shoot someone, but he isn’t carrying a statue either.
I’m afraid to ask, so I stay quiet while he backs up and guns the gas pedal, tires squealing as we pull out.
Finally, I can’t stand it. “So?”
“Kid in there said they sold it this morning.”
“Shit.”
“Yep. I wanted to put a bullet in his head, but he was just a teenager and scared shitless when I pulled my gun.”
“Did you rob the place?”
He looks over at me, frowning. “Fuck no. I just wanted what was mine.”
“Well, it wasn’t yours, actually, so don’t get on your high horse.”
He nervously taps the steering wheel. “I think you may have something.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind. Just shut up and let me think.” He drives aimlessly and soon we’re headed across the Crescent City Bridge. The rhythmic sound under the tires as we cross lulls me, and I stare down at the Mississippi river. It’s a muddy brown, but the sun glints off it, hypnotizing me with its sparkle. How did my life get so fucked? I feel like both Trez and I have been in a free-fall since Mom’s death.
He drives through Gretna, Harvey, and Marrero. I watch the city limit signs go by as we ride on the elevated Westbank Expressway. He gets in the right lane and takes the Barataris Boulevard exit.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“No-where.”
He turns left at the light at the bottom of the ramp, passing under the overpass. There’s a Winn Dixie in a shopping center, and we roll up the side street. At the first stop sign, he takes a right, taking us along the back of the shopping center. At the next stop sign he sits. There are no cars, and I glance over, wondering why he’s just sitting here.
“Trez?” He doesn’t respond, and I follow his eyes. There’s a bank kitty-corner to us.
He lets off on the brake, and we roll slowly forward, then he turns in the lot. There are only two cars. He parks in a spot away from the door.
“What are we doing here?” I stare at him.
He pulls out a hundred dollar bill.
“What the fuck? I thought you were broke!”
“Go inside and get change.”
“What?” I look at him like he’s lost his mind, and maybe he has. “Trez, are you feeling okay?”
“Just do it.”
I look at him, wondering if he’s going to ditch me here. Fuck it. It might be for the best if he does just that, with all