Pawnbroker: A Thriller by Jerry Hatchett Page A

drops of rain pelted me on the way to my car and thunder rumbled through the charcoal underbelly of the clouds.
    Doc stood looking at me from the doorway. I waved good-bye and headed back toward town.
    Penny, LungFao, and I spent the rest of the day looking through the pawn room in search of something, anything unusual. We didn’t find it.
    By the time I got home that evening, Abby had apparently finished the crying phase of her grief over Knight, and was ready to start talking with me to repair the damage. I wasn’t. All I wanted was for her to stay away from me and let me spend the evening with my kids. I took her into the kitchen and told her that in easily understood fashion, then went back to the family room and the girls. That touched off a new crying jag. I didn’t give a happy damn.

 
    Chapter 38
     
     
     
    TWO DAYS LATER
     
    V inny, I’m telling you this is not right!” I slapped my palm on his desk—hard—to accentuate each of the last three words. The bank got quiet, too quiet, as employees and other customers looked our way.
    “Look, Mr. Bolton, you—”
    “Mr. Bolton? Mr. Bolton? What the hell is wrong with you? I’ve been with this bank my whole life. Banked with you personally for ten years. Now I’m ‘Mr. Bolton’ instead of ‘Gray,’ is that right?”
    Vincent Barnes, vice president of the downtown branch of Montello Guaranty Bank, stared at the paperclip in his hands, fidgeted with it, bent it into shapes. And said nothing. He looked up for a moment, saw me glaring at him, then looked back down. I reached behind me and closed the door to his office. The walls were glass, so the rubberneckers outside could still stare, but at least they couldn’t hear.
    I took a few deep breaths, lowered my voice. “Sorry, Vinny. Now please, please tell me what’s going on here.”
    He looked up, did a quick scan to see who around the bank was still looking in on us, then finally spoke quietly. “I’d help you if I could, Gray. I swear I would. But I can’t push a hundred-thousand-dollar loan through, not with the condition your finances are in. To be honest, based on this”—he pointed to a computer printout on his desk—“I couldn’t loan you a hundred bucks and keep my job.”
    “May I see that?” I said. A cold knot had formed in the core of my gut, and it was tightening.
    “Not supposed to, but...” He slid it across the desk.
    I pulled my chair closer, spun the printout around. “Oh, dear God,” I said. “Those sons of bitches.”
    Vinny sat quietly while I scanned line after line of my credit report. In reality, my house was paid for, although it was of course tied up for the bond. It was worth twice that, easy. And other than some mild credit card balances, I didn’t have a nickel of debt. I busted my ass, and I paid my bills.
    The printout in front of me told a different story. According to it, every one of my credit cards was maxed out and delinquent. My car had been repossessed. My house was in foreclosure, and a list of creditors had judgments against me.
    “This is bullshit, Vinny. All of it. Every stinking line.” I slid it back across his desk.
    “I believe you,” he said, almost in a whisper, “but there’s nothing I can do. I have to go with what the computer says. Especially since—” He cut himself off mid-sentence, his eyes on something outside the office. I looked over my shoulder and saw the bank president, Wayne Collins, walk by. With the sheriff. Ballard looked right at me, smiled, and winked. Not a friendly smile. Not a friendly wink. More a “gotcha” wink.
    I turned back to my slightly more immediate problem. “Since what, Vinny?”
    “I’m sorry, Gray. I really am. But I can’t help you.” He looked back down at his paperclip.
     
    *          *          *
     
    I walked into the shop and found LungFao and Penny running the place. Penny handed me a stack of pink phone message slips. I glanced through them and saw that most of