Services Rendered by Kevin J. Anderson

Author:Kevin J. Anderson [Anderson, Kevin J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781614759430
Goodreads: 42445271
Publisher: WordFire Press
Published: 2018-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

Over the years, I’ve had a few encounters with Vlad the Fence, mostly at cocktail parties and ice cream socials. Vlad was one of the most infamous “liquidators” of stolen artifacts in the Quarter, but then he claimed he was going straight. Don’t they all say that?

I found the ramshackle storefront with a patched, gray-striped awning and a crackling neon sign that said High Stakes Pawn Shop. The narrow, dingy street was silent except for water dripping from gutters above. The dark alley had very little foot traffic and even fewer customers, which was probably the reason for the prominent “GOING OUT OF BUSINESS” sign hanging in the window.

I shoved open the door, and a delicate jingling bell announced my arrival. The shop was small and cramped, cluttered with more empty shelves than esoteric objects. Most of the inventory had either been sold or packed up. It was disappointing to see how far Vlad had fallen, because he used to be somebody, a powerful legendary figure who called himself “The Impaler,” like a Mexican wrestling superstar. But unlife hadn’t treated him well.

“Hello?” I called into the dark shadows. “Vlad! I need some information from you.”

In the back of the poorly lit shop, a figure let out a startled gasp. In a panic, Vlad the Fence dropped a cardboard box that crashed to the floor, then slapped his palm to his chest, gasping. “Whoa, drive a stake right through my heart, why don’t you?”

I tried to calm him. “Just because a zombie barges through your front door, there’s no need to be afraid. I’m sure you’ve had worse customers.”

He let out a sigh of relief as he recognized me. “Dan Shamble! Trouble follows you wherever you go.”

“It’s usually a few steps ahead of me,” I said. “I don’t go looking for it.”

Vlad had long, scraggly black hair, a narrow, pale face, a sinister mustache, and now he had bags under his eyes. He groaned at the clutter that had spilled out of the cardboard box he’d been packing. He dropped to his knees, embarrassed, and started to pick up the paraphernalia, spiked manacles, petrified claws, antique Pez dispensers.

Numerous cardboard moving boxes were scattered throughout the shop, some open and half-packed, others taped up. I stepped closer to him, all business. “I just have a few questions about a case and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Vlad finished stuffing the odds and ends back into the box and folded the four corners together, trying to figure out which order the up corner went amongst the down corners. “Can’t help you. I’m out of the business. Packing up and changing professions.”

“Are you going to have a garage sale?” I asked. “Or just donate all this junk to a charity?”

“Some of it is just junk, but other pieces …” Vlad stroked his long mustache and cleared his throat. “They’re dangerous and have to be disposed of properly.” He gestured to a secure, heavy-duty showcase cabinet in the back corner. It had a thick crossbar and latch, wrapped with barbed wire.

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