The King of Nothing by Elizabeth Lowell as Ann Maxwell

Author:Elizabeth Lowell as Ann Maxwell [Maxwell, Elizabeth Lowell as Ann]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Action Adventure Mystery & Detective
ISBN: 9780679404583
Google: maGQAAAAIAAJ
Amazon: 0679404589
Barnesnoble: 0679404589
Goodreads: 3957604
Publisher: Villard
Published: 1992-08-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter THIRTEEN

The phone woke us an hour later. Fiora picked it up before I could. Her tone told me she was back on the leash again and hard at work. I got up and went out to the kitchen, looking for something substantial to eat. Whoever said oysters are all a man needs had never been to bed with a woman like Fiora.

Nakamichi's housekeeper must not have known about the new tenants. She let herself in the maid's door while I was building cheddar, salami, and cracker sandwiches on the butcher's block in the center of the kitchen. Her eyes got as big as overcoat buttons when she saw me. The butcher's block between us was high enough for modesty's sake but just barely. She shut her eyes, mumbled something in Japanese, and backed out in a hurry.

The door closed behind her with emphasis and locked automatically. I tried the front door key on the lock, saw that they were different, and shot the inside bolt to prevent embarrassing the little old lady again.

After I showered and dressed, I left Fiora to the thousand details already drawing frown lines on her face and walked out onto Western Avenue with the florist's box tucked under my arm. The sunshine was warm and silky, but a haze had begun to gather out over the water, like a smudge on your Ray-Bans.

I turned some square blocks looking for shadows. When I was certain I was alone, I went to the Central Gun Exchange.

The lanky, bearded black man behind the counter put down the Walther P-38 he had been cleaning and looked at me. There was no curiosity in his glance; guys walked into his store carrying long packages all the time. He wore a black Harley-Davidson T-shirt and black 501s. His biceps were the size of Virginia hams. His general air of physical competence suggested he had not taken the Special Forces buckle on his belt in pawn but had earned it.

I laid the battered florist's box on the glass counter and lifted the cover. The sword lay on top of the silk bag. The guy's eyebrows lifted a bit when he saw the sword.

"Nice piece," he said. "You selling?"

"Pawn. What'll you give?"

He wiped his hands thoroughly on an oil rag before he pulled the sword from its scabbard and inspected the steel.

"Looks old," he said.

"Some expert told me it was a copy. I don't know one way or the other."

"I'll go three," he said after a moment.

I looked past him to the heavy steel vault door. Inside were rows of long guns and wall pegs loaded with pistols. A lot of hunters pawn their guns in December and don't redeem them until hunting season, just to avoid the hassle of storing the weapons at home.

"Does pawned stuff go in the vault?" I asked.

He nodded.

"Good," I said. "I'd hate to have the sword on public display."

He gave me a look as hard as the steel of the blade. Pawnshops have to be as discreet as confessionals and more secure than museums.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.