The Rings of Hesaurun Page 18

  The game had changed the moment Stone closed the door on the Ace Loan & Pawn. He smirked, pleased with himself, knowing Evers would have to find some other way to exchange his gold for cash. He intended to watch every move Evers made with a magnifying glass, and when the time was right, he’d have Evers’ magic ring for himself. He nodded his head, confident it was just a matter of time before it would be his. Then he could buy any watch he wanted and carry a thick roll of cash wherever he went.

  Stone imagined the look on Evers’s face when he found out the Ace Loan & Pawn had been hit and hit hard. He imagined the prim politician toting his little lunchbox from shop to shop, trying to pawn gold nuggets the size of grapefruits. I’d like to see that, he mused.

  Pawning gold was a ridiculous idea anyway. Why didn’t the dimwit simply melt it into a bar and take it to the assayer’s office? Then he could sell it above-board like every other gold miner in the country. Stone shook his head at the glaring lack of common sense. For all his pretensions, he guessed that Evers was actually pretty stupid.

  Four doughnuts, bacon, four eggs, toast, and a pot of coffee later, Stone was satisfied. He left the diner stepping into the soft morning light. The cloudless sky was crystal clear, the morning air stinging cold. He lit a cigarette before turning toward his hotel room. The sounds of the city, voices, and the rumble of delivery trucks unloading their goods echoed off the buildings. As he rounded the corner onto First Avenue, he melded into the sea of men moving purposefully about their Monday morning business.

  Stone tramped through the streets with a Lucky Strike smoldering in the corner of his mouth, imagining the watches he would buy. The notion quickly became a fixation, and he decided to shop for one as soon as the jewelry stores opened. His eyes weren’t what they used to be, so he’d make sure the clock face was easy enough to read.

  Thoughts of his declining health brought a scowl to Stone’s lips. Now in his mid-forties, streaks of gray in his long hair testified to his advancing age. The stiffness in his back and uneven stride became more distinct with each passing year. And as the weather turned colder, the pain and stiffness intensified, increasing his irritability.

  Thus far, his surly nature had been a factor that played in his favor; his employers kept him working while younger men sat idle. Knocking heads and breaking legs for bookies couldn’t last forever. No one had to tell him that no matter how big or mean he was, it was only a matter of time before he would be incapable of doing the job effectively.

  In truth, he was no longer fast enough to run down a deadbeat gambler. Stone stayed in the game through malice, guile, and brutality. It worked, and it would continue working for a while longer, but it was becoming more of a challenge as every day passed. His was a young man’s game. Before long, he would be forced to fold.

  The recent streak of good luck he’d stumbled onto was more than timely; it was an unexpected blessing that eased the anxiety Stone felt about his age and employment prospects. Then he remembered what he should be doing, shadowing Evers rather than daydreaming about glitter, rainbows, and unicorns. He scolded himself for that and refocused his thoughts on the business at hand: finding that ring and making it his. That ring was his future because his would be a very long and happy life once he scored it.

  Stone jumped in the Ford, fired it up, then set off toward Pioneer Square and the Otterman Building. It was still early, 7:36 AM, which left plenty of time to catch Evers before leaving for work. As difficult as it might be, he decided to put off his plan to buy a big watch that morning.

  Chad Evers didn’t own a car and didn’t drive; he usually walked the short distance to City Hall or hailed a cab. Before leaving his car, Stone took stock of the tools of his trade. The Ka-bar knife went in his sock, the Government .45, and a length of piano wire was stuffed in his overcoat pockets— just in case the opportunity arose to explain matters to his new friend.

  Watching the Otterman Building’s front door from a park bench behind his strategically-parked car provided the perfect cover. He didn’t have long to wait before his quarry appeared. To his surprise, Chad Evers had one arm wrapped around Sylvia Moretti’s waist. Stone stared as the conjugal couple headed south together on First Street.

  Following from a discreet distance, Stone watched as Chad and Sylvia strode side-by-side on First Avenue down the hill toward Pioneer Square until they ducked into a coffee shop. Stone stopped in a dark alleyway smoking, patiently watching and waiting for them to reappear.

  Stone pulled off his hat and scratched his head, mystified at the sight of two prominent professionals displaying affection for each other so publicly. Was he wrong about Moretti and Evers blackmailing the mayor? If they were, surely they weren’t so bold that they would allow themselves to be seen walking together so near to City Hall. He shook his head in wonder.

  While it didn’t make sense, he decided it didn’t matter anymore because, so far as he was concerned, his business with Evers was kaput. He didn’t care if Evers paid him for the job or not. He no longer needed the money, and he couldn’t give a toot about who, if anyone for that matter, was blackmailing the mayor.

  At that moment, he became determined to stop pussy-footing around and get it over with quickly. Since the only thing that really mattered to him was separating Evers from his magic ring, why not simply thump his melon, take it and disappear? What would he do about it? Cry to the police that some guy stole his magic ring? Stone didn’t think so. But the thought of the prissy politician crying to the cops that someone stole his magic ring brought a wicked smile to his lips.

  And why not go someplace where the weather was better? A place where the cold didn’t make his back ache so much. A place with palm trees would be nice, he mused. With the ring, he could buy a paradise island in the Caribbean! The thought made him smile as he stamped out a cigarette on the sidewalk. Stone was smiling a lot this cold November morning.

  Moments later, Evers and Moretti exited the coffee shop, spoke together for a moment, then went separate ways. To his surprise, Evers turned north back toward his apartment rather than proceeding down the street toward City Hall as expected.

  Sensing the opportunity to jump Evers from the dark alleyway had just presented itself, Stone began preparing himself for the hit. With only seconds to spare, he surveyed his surroundings. It looked good; no one was around and foot traffic had died down. In the dim light of the alleyway, he was nearly invisible in his black overcoat and hat. What did he have? The Ka-bar, the Government Colt, and the piano wire. He decided on the Colt, choosing to use it as a club. One good knock on the head with the heavy piece could do a man in. It was the right choice.

  As Chad Evers neared, he noticed Stone appear from the shadows. Recognizing him immediately, he was at once irritated. What was the idiot doing? he wondered. The last time they’d spoken, hadn’t he made it absolutely clear the thug shouldn’t contact him without an invitation? This insolence had to stop. Chad Evers intended to give the man a piece of his mind.

  Stone waved the naive politician into the alley without saying a word, doing his best to give him the impression he had important information to share. Evers took the bait hook, line, and sinker, unsuspectingly following Stone into the darkness of the alley.

  The big man whirled around on Evers in an instant. The butt of the .45 struck him hard across the bridge of his nose. Evers spun, then went down hard, landing face down on the pavement. The impact of his head slamming the ground made the sound of knocking on wood.

  Without wasting a moment, Stone made sure Evers couldn’t rat on him by pulling the Ka-Bar from his sock and thrusting it in the side of the man’s neck. Stone finished the job by twisting it hard to be sure he bled out quickly. A thick stream of steaming blood erupted from his neck as Stone yanked the knife out. The killer stood to see if anyone had witnessed what was happening in the dark alley. No one saw any part of it. The coast was clear.

  After wiping the bloody knife off on the back of Evers’ coat, the Ka-Bar was safely ret
urned to his sock. Following that, he flipped the body over. Horrorstricken eyes stared back at him accusingly, but that didn’t bother him in the least. This was business, he reasoned, and Evers should have known that.

  Stone found what he was looking for on the third finger of the right hand. He pulled, twisted, and tugged, but the ring wouldn’t budge. Frustrated, he pulled the knife back out of his sock then used it to saw the finger off. With the finger separated, the bloody ring slid off easily. Once the ring was safely in his coat pocket, the finger was tossed over his shoulder as if it was no concern. Mister Prissy won’t be needing it anyway, he chuckled.

  Aware that the police would investigate the murder, he did his best to make it look like a robbery by digging through all the pockets and turning them inside out. He took cash out of the wallet then dropped it on the ground with everything else.

  As he turned to leave, he stared back at Chad Evers’ body, which was lying face-up with arms and legs spread as if he was making a snow angel in the alley. The neck wound continued bleeding, but less furiously now. Stone grinned, thinking the chump was now light one nose, a finger, a gallon of blood, and one golden goose of a magic ring.

  “Bingo,” he whispered as he whirled away and began to make his way back up the hill toward his car. Then he began to sing: “B-I-N-G-O, B-I-N-G-O, B-I-NG-O, B-I-N-G-O, and Bingo was his name-oh!”

  Egan Seamus Stone, you have it made in the shade, he told himself. He was elated, eager to get back to his hotel room where he could try the ring out and make some gold for himself. He knew Evers had chosen to use rocks but wondered if he could turn bricks into gold or maybe something more substantial. Was there a limit to what could be turned into gold? What about other metals? Were there limitations to what he could change into gold? He didn’t know but intended to find out as soon as he got back to his room.

  Then he recalled his earlier plans to buy himself a fancy watch, so he began watching for jewelry stores as he drove. When he saw the big sign for Fineman’s Jewelry, he parked and went inside. A tiny bell tinkled as he entered.

  The time was just after 9 AM, so he was the shop’s first customer of the day. Fineman’s store was small but modern and nicely decorated. Wood plank floors creaked and groaned under his weight as he entered. The lone salesman stood behind a counter next to an ornate Seymour cash register. Stone eyed it mischievously. Behind the man, a blue curtain blocked patrons’ view to a back room.

  “Good morning, sir, my name is Fineman,” the salesman welcomed Stone warmly. “How can I help you?” Fineman looked polite, however Stone noticed he seemed worried the moment he laid eyes on the rough-looking character. Stone limited his response to his standard-issue characteristic grunt. The well-stocked store had glass showcases lining the walls and an island at its center. Soft violin music played on the radio.

  Fineman eyed Stone suspiciously as he moved from one display case to the next, searching their contents. Fineman was always wary of rough-looking men coming into his store, and this one fit that category perfectly. Having been robbed more times than he liked to admit, he pressed a hidden button under the countertop that switched on a red light in the backroom. The light alerted Felstein, his minor partner and part-time bookkeeper, that potential trouble had just entered the shop.

  The instant the light went on, Felstien’s heart thumped. He jumped up, grabbed the Remington Model 10 pump-action shotgun hanging on hooks over his desk, and moved silently to the doorway. Felstien, a veteran of the Great War from the Somme to Cantigny, peeked cautiously through the curtain gap. Knowing Felstein had his back, Fineman was reassured, aware that his partner was prepared to shoot first and ask questions later if things were to go south. The bookkeeper watched with the gun held close to his chest as the big man circled the room eyeing each display case’s contents.

  “Why don’t you have prices on these watches?” the big man growled, squinting as he struggled to focus on price tags.

  “We do, sir,” Fineman assured him, his throat tightening, “but the tags are small. Which one are you interested in?”

  “How much for that one?” the big man said, pointing to an extravagant gold wristwatch with a broad face and glow-in-the-dark numbers.

  “Ah, an Elgin. Top of the line, sir, excellent choice. That one is 24-carat gold. The price is $149.99.” Assuming he was speaking to a man of modest means, Fineman pointed to the shelf below. “We have much less expensive watches here, sir.”

  “I’ll take it,” the rough-looking man said eagerly. Fineman was taken back by the ease of the sale. But he still hadn’t seen the color of the man’s money, so he remained guarded. When the big man lumbered through the door looking like a shabbily-dressed bouncer, Fineman assumed his time would be wasted, or worse, a robbery. The selection of such an ornate watch in no way suited the customer, so he decided to ask a few discreet qualifying questions before unlocking the display case.

  ”Yes, sir. Will you want to have it gift wrapped?” “I’ll wear it,” the man growled.

  “And how will you be paying for it, sir?”

  “Cash,” he burst out, then dug deep into his coat

  pocket, pulling out a thick roll of greenbacks. Thumbing through them one at a time, he flipped past the hundred-dollar bills, found what he was looking for—seven twenties and one ten—then laid them out side-by-side on the countertop. For emphasis, he slammed his hand down on top of them with a bang.

  In the backroom, behind the blue curtain, Felstein sighed. Seeing the bankroll, he returned the Remington to its hooks and went back to work.

  Fineman’s eyes focused intently on the big man’s bankroll, startled at its size and by the large denominations there. He had seen many things in his time but never once had a customer come into his shop toting such a large roll of cash.

  “Will there be anything else, sir?” Fineman managed to croak as the big man shoved the bankroll back in his coat pocket.

  Stone held out his hand, eagerly waiting for the watch to land there. However, Fineman, ever the meticulous businessman, landed Stone’s change there instead. Stone stared dumbly at the penny for a long moment.

  “Your change, sir,” reminded Fineman, then handed over the watch.

  Stone unceremoniously grabbed it, put it on, then stomped toward the door without another word. With one hand on the doorknob, an idea struck him that stopped him in his tracks. He thought for a moment, then returned to the still-speechless Fineman.

  “I’m a miner. Do you buy gold?”

  “Certainly, sir,” Fineman stammered. “We pay top dollar, too. Do you have gold for sale?”

  “Yeah, lots of it,” Stone muttered. Then for good measure, he added, “It’s a big mine—up in Alaska.”

  “I see. Is your gold raw or refined?” Fineman asked. “We can refine here; we deal with other miners too,” he assured his new business prospect.

  Stone was stumped for an answer. In truth, he knew next to nothing about how gold was mined, sold, or refined, but it was apparent he needed to learn fast if he was going to be in the business of selling gold. He had no idea if Evers’ gold was raw or refined, so he decided to evade the question rather than tip his hand.

  “I’ll bring you a sample later today. We’ll talk business then,” he promised. With that, he turned and left the building, slamming the door behind him. The little bell tinkled then fell to the floor with a clatter.

  Fineman was even more puzzled as he watched the big man leave his store.

  “Hey Felstien,” he called to his partner in the back room. “You hear that?”

  “I did,” Felstien admitted. “Odd character that one! He had me worried at first.”

  “Me, too,” Fineman agreed. “It will be interesting to see what he brings in, though.”

  Stone drove the Ford with one eye on the road and the other on the big Elgin wristwatch. The golden timepiece captivated him in a way he couldn’t comprehend; he couldn’t pull his eyes away from it. He’d always dreamed of having such a watch as t
his one. He loved the way it felt on his arm, heavy but not uncomfortable, and with it an unexpected sense of power, prestige, and privilege. For the first time in his life, Stone felt complete. As Stone pulled his car into the Vista Hotel parking lot, he stared contemptuously at the old building. Built before the turn of the century, the three-story brick hotel had seen better days—much better. Its twenty-one rooms had been electrified twenty years earlier after the building had been sold to a younger, more progressive owner. The antiquated structure offered nothing in the way of amenities, no insulation, no elevator, and was without a laundry. But it did have electricity, steam heat, telephones, and bathrooms in each room, making life at the Vista basic but tolerable.

  However, with his new-found wealth, Stone was no longer content living in the old hotel. He could now afford to do better or buy a place of his own. Moving into a more modern hotel crossed his mind briefly, but he discarded the idea when he recognized what he really needed was privacy. He had more than enough money to buy a place in the suburbs, but the suburbs didn’t offer the kind of seclusion he had in mind. If he was going to be dealing in gold, security and privacy must be prioritized.

  As he strummed his fingers on the steering wheel, Stone mapped out his future. One thing he was certain of was that the Vista Hotel was no place for gold conjuring activities. Something much more secure than a hotel room was required. Staying local and buying acreage in the country, or moving to where the weather was better, seemed to be his most logical choices. He couldn’t decide, so he lit a cigarette and ruminated on it for a while.

  Remembering his prize, he dug into his coat pocket and pulled out the bloody ring, and tried it on the index finger of his right hand. Although it fit, it felt uncomfortable, as if it didn’t belong there. The same was true of his middle finger. Oddly enough, the ring fit snugly on each finger, but none felt right until he put it on his ring finger. He didn’t know why but a sense of calm came over him with it there. It just felt right, so he left it there.