Color Blind by Colby Marshall Page A

with teal stripes in her dark hair.
    A dilapidated storefront toward the left end of the shopping center bore a sign in the shape of an Acme rocket bearing the words SPARK YOUR INTEREST . This was the place.
    The sun shone on his face as he crossed the parking lot, envelope clutched tight in his hand. If only he hadn’t told her he thought the stripes were silly. It might’ve been different then, right?
    The sign on the door said, BACK IN THIRTY MINUTES . Thadius cupped his hands to the glass and could see the man inside, sitting at the checkout counter eating a sandwich. He rapped on the glass with his knuckles.
    Guy must not have many people ignore the little plastic clock on the door, because he stood almost immediately. He dug a key out of his pocket, twisted it in the bolt. “Can I help you, sir?”
    Thadius glanced behind him. No one in the bare lot, the bus gone. He shoved the man backward into his store. The man hit a tower of Roman candles behind him, sending the cardboard display crumbling to the floor, the contents scattering.
    Thadius closed the glass, rekeyed the lock. “Help me? I doubt it.”
    “What’s wrong with you?”
    I didn’t tell my daughter her hair was gorgeous. Thadius pulled out the gun and leveled it with the man’s head. “You better hope you’re Woody, or this interview will be very short.”
    The man blinked and straightened his glasses where they were skewed on his face, his mouth slack. “Mister, the cash is in the drawer! Take whatever you want!”
    Thadius took a step toward him. “I don’t want your money. I’ll ask again. Are. You. Woody?”
    The man nodded like a bobble head. “Yes. Yes, I am. How can I . . . be of assistance?”
    “Perfect,” Thadius replied, and he gestured with the SIG toward the back. “Let’s talk in there.”
    The man, reluctant to turn around, backed toward the rear, nearly tripping several times over fallen Roman candles. They reached the small back room. No windows, only white walls and a desk. Thadius indicated the chair. “Sit.”
    Woody did as he was told, and Thadius dumped the same video surveillance photos he’d shown the pawn shop owner onto the desk next to the computer, the coffee mug full of pens and pencils. “What do you remember about the guy in the picture?”
    The shop owner blinked rapidly as his brain clearly tried to process what was happening. He touched the very edge of the grainy surveillance photo, leaned over it.
    “Where was this taken?”
    “Marley Ostin’s pawn shop. Ostin said he sent him here. This was a few years ago. I need to know everything you know about him. Go!” Thadius barked.
    “Sir, I can’t possibly remember something that long ago. This picture’s dated five years ago.”
    Thadius closed his eyes. Five years and two days ago, he’d told Emily no respectable businesswoman had hair that looked like it came out of a gumball machine. Five years and two days ago, he’d canceled their date to go eat Indian food and told her they’d reschedule when she washed the mess out.
    “I’m aware,” Thadius whispered.
    Woody blinked more, tweaked his glasses again. He touched his face a lot, the picture. The desk. His face.
    “Talk,” Thadius growled.
    “I think he might’ve been in,” Woody said, but he sounded more like he was trying to appease than anything.
    Thadius thrust the SIG into Woody’s neck. “Gonna need more than that, buddy.”
    Now Woody blinked double time, shook his head. “I can’t think with that thing in my neck! It’s all I can focus on. Please! I’ll do anything I can, just give me some room.”
    Thadius took one step back, eased the gun away from Woody’s skin. The man released his held breath, which transformed into a fast pant. His eyes homed in on the zoomed photo. “Okay, okay. I think he came in. Yes. He definitely came in. I remember him because he had a backpack he put the fireworks in. Maybe was a student. Looked young in the face.”
    The camera angle