He looked them over and didn’t like what he saw. He grunted, blew another thick cloud at the ceiling, and finally said, “I’ll see if he’s busy. Wait here.”
As if there was some other place to wait. He disappeared between the curtains. Low voices could be heard from the rear. Hugh became occupied with a display of Confederate dollar bills while Jimmie admired a rack of Greek coins. Minutes passed and they thought about leaving, but there was no place to go.
The curtains opened and the man grunted, “Back here.” They followed him through a cramped hallway lined with framed World War II pin-ups and Playboy foldouts. He opened a door and jerked his head to show them inside. He closed the door behind them and said, “Need to search you. Arms out.” Hugh raised his arms and the man patted him down. “No guns, right?”
“Nope.”
“Last cop who came in here got shot.”
Jimmie quipped, “Interesting, but we’re not cops.”
“Don’t be a smart-ass, boy. Arms out.”
He patted down Jimmie and said, “Both of you got wallets in your left rear pockets. Take them out slowly and put them on the desk.”
They did as they were told. He looked at the wallets and said, “Now, remove your driver’s licenses and hand them to me.”
He studied Hugh’s and grunted, “Mississippi, huh? Figures.”
Hugh could think of no response, not that one was expected. The man looked at Jimmie’s with the same disapproval, then said, “Okay, here’s the way we handle things. I’ll keep these until Percival is finished. All goes well, you get them back. Understood?”
They nodded because they were in no position to object. Their loot was worth little if they couldn’t fence it, and at the moment Percival was their only prospect. If things did indeed go well, they planned to return soon with another load.
“Wait here. Have a seat.” He jerked his head at two dilapidated chairs, both covered with old magazines. Minutes dragged by as walls of the damp room began to close in.
Finally, the door opened and he said, “This way.” They followed him deeper into the building and stopped at another door. He tapped it as he opened it and they stepped inside. He closed it behind them and stood guard five feet away.
Percival sat behind a spotless desk in a large chair upholstered in leopard print. He could have been forty or seventy. His hair was dyed a deep auburn color and stood straight on top of his otherwise shaved head. Mismatched rings dangled from his ears. The man loved jewelry. Thick gold bands hung like ropes around his neck and fell onto his hairy chest. Every finger was adorned with a gaudy ring. Baubles and trinkets rattled on his wrists.
“Sit down, boys,” he said in a high-pitched, slightly effeminate voice.
They complied and couldn’t help but gawk at the creature before them. He eyed them right back from behind a pair of round, red-framed glasses. His cigarette hung from the end of a long, gold holder, with the tip stuck between his yellow teeth.
“Biloxi, huh? Had a friend up there one time. Got caught and they sent him away. It’s a rough business, boys.”
Hugh felt the need to respond and almost said Yes sir, but “sir” just didn’t seem appropriate. When neither spoke, Percival waved at the desk and said, “Okay, let me see the goodies.”
They emptied the two bags of rings, pendants, pins, necklaces, bracelets, and watches. He made no effort to touch the jewelry, but kept his distance, gazing down his long nose, past his cigarette. He took a drag and said, “Well, well, somebody’s been shopping. Looks like mom-and-pop stuff. Don’t tell me where you found it because I don’t want to know.”
He finally reached down and picked up an engagement ring, half a carat, and that’s when they noticed his bright red fingernails. He clicked his teeth on the tip of his holder and shook his head as if wasting his time. Slowly, he took a sheet of paper from a drawer and uncapped a heavy gold pen. From behind them, their guard blew a cloud of blue cigar smoke.