Pawn Shop Pulp Fiction Novels & Stories

Outside, Thomas was leaning against the wall, watching a couple of kids race their bikes down the street. I tossed him the roll of cash. “All yours.” He eyed me, then smirked. “You look like hell. That guy almost whipped your ass in there.” “Almost doesn’t count,” I shot back. “Next one’s yours. Let’s see if you can keep your teeth.” That wiped the grin off his face. “Yeah… maybe we’ll stick to you for now.” “Thought so.” We headed straight back to Vega’s pawn shop. The man in the leather jacket was behind the counter this time.

As I drove by the underground casino in the South District, I saw a crew of enforcers outside, likely talking about the day's events. The car sped on, past the nightclub we used for washing money, past the high-end tailor where I had once taken Leo to get his first tuxedo. The tailor shop had long since changed hands, its storefront now fitted with bulletproof glass that glinted coldly under the dim yellow streetlights. I went to the loan shark's place, a shop on the west side with a sign that read "Antique Pawn." The backyard was piled high with things he had collected from people who had nowhere else to turn.

Leo “Hey, Frank,” I drop my bag down on the sofa in the back of the store before I sit down next to Frank at the counter. He has turned the back of the pawn shop into a makeshift kitchen and living room of sorts. He has a refrigerator and stove back there, they look like they are a hundred years old, but they still work. He has a couch and lazy-boy chair and a TV, and that's about it. His room is off to the side of the front counter. Even though he advertises that he's open twenty four hours a day, the shop is rarely open past eight o'clock. I often wonder if he even makes any money, or if he is just an eccentric millionaire that loves junk and does this just because he can. “You're here pre

I muttered, tugging at the hem of the impossibly short dress Mary had squeezed me into. The fabric shimmered under the streetlights, catching every neon reflection like an oil slick. Mary swatted my hand away. "You look hot, Em. Own it." We stood in line outside Club Enigma, the bass from inside thrumming through the sidewalk. The club's facade was sleek black marble, no windows, just a single steel door guarded by a mountain of a man holding a tablet. "I feel like I'm auditioning for a part in a bad spy movie," I grumbled, fidgeting with the ornate mask Mary had tied around my eyes. "What's with the masks, anyway?"

All alone, for as long as I could remember. Considering everything that had happened, I suppose what came next was inevitable. I grabbed my shirt and wiped my face. Glanced up and saw them, arranged in orderly piles on shelves under the sales counter. Hand guns. Pistols. Old revolvers and a few shotguns. I didn’t know what kind of pawn shop sells used guns. Didn’t know if it was legal, or if they had to do background checks or anything, or if they needed a license to sell them. But I was getting the idea by then, you understand, that no license existed for what Handy’s sold, and there they were. Hand guns, pistols, revolvers, shot guns and some rifles, all stacked neatly. And of course, sitt

My hand immediately strained towards the backseats of the car, where our bags were. Despite the struggle, I dug into my bag and pulled out a yellow notebook. I wasn't about to let five dollars slip through my fingers. My heart sang joyfully as I ticked Luna's name under the offenders slot. Luna screamed, horrified, the shrillness of her voice getting lost in the furiously wafting winds. "I thought I threw that f*cking book away!" Another tick. I was ten dollars richer. Today was really the best f*cking day of my life.

We were drowning in a sea of debt they didn't know I knew about. In my past life, I'd been a pawn in Jarrold and Cindy's twisted game, tangled in their mess until it got me killed. And for what? I hadn't gained a thing. Back then, I'd still believed in something as naive as pure love. How pathetically foolish. Now, I knew better. Now, my only true loyalty was to the cold, hard cash that could buy my freedom. Since I was stuck in their game, I might as well play to win.

Nobody in the underworld was innocent. Some of us were worse than the others. Nonetheless, that chip could put all of us behind bars and get us executed. It would expose our world, but not only the Thorns of Omertà’s world, but also all of the others. Kingpins. Billionaire Kings. Cosa Nostra. Cartels. Yakuza.

Or for anything else for that matter. By the time I drive into town, I’ve made up my mind. I head straight for a pawn shop I noticed once while in town. When I tell the attendant that I want to pawn my car, he gives it one look and suggests that I would get a better deal if I sold it as scrap. In the end, he agrees to loan me a hundred dollars. He insists it’s a good deal. I don’t have time to haggle further–I need to go.

I groaned and sat up, the dyed blue endings of my hair flashing in my eyes. Light blue? Fuck, I must have been heavily drunk when I went to get this at the saloon. I wondered what the senior lecturers at the Academy would say when they saw me strutting in with this. They would probably sneer and murmur as always. My piercings gave them nightmares and I was proud of that fact. It gave me a rush. Banging noises came from outside my walls and my brows quirked in confusion.