Pawn Shop Pulp Fiction Novels & Stories

“I need you to tell me everything about the car you made. I need you to tell me everything. About him.” He stood up slowly and met my eyes. He nodded silently, then turned towards the back of his shop and gestured for me to follow. Pausing by an old vending machine, he whispered hoarsely. “You want a pop?” “Uh, sure, thanks,” I said. He tapped the button twice and retrieved the cans when they clattered out. “Picked that up at auction,” he mumbled, handing me a can. “It’s just got Pepsi now, but I can put whatever I want in there. A-an-Dubya, Coors . . . ”

He grumbled something under his breath that I didn’t catch, but I think it was something along the lines of ‘pussy-whipped’. Why, thank you! I’ll take that as a compliment! “Let me make a call, see what I can do for you,” he said, his forest green eyes meeting mine again. “Thank you!” I said, more relieved than I cared to admit. He walked away, and the wait for him to return felt like an eternity. I tried to distract myself by taking a look around. It was your typical small-town metal shop. A big metal house was placed right in front of a big metal gate, and behind it were stacks and rows of old cars and scrap metal as far as the eye could see. The smell of melted metal, oil, and steel hung

I pulled the quilt over my lower body and slipped my hand underneath. Not long after, I exhaled. My body felt much better, but it was still far from enough; I desperately wanted to do it with a rugged, powerful man. Before long, Ernest shot to his feet and fumed, "What the fuck? How the hell did I lose again? I lost ten grand just like that!" My heart lurched. Ernest and his friends had taken it way too far; they were already up to swings of ten thousand dollars. Ernest's three childhood friends rose from their seats. "Don't forget what you promised us, Ernest. If Bianca serves us well tonight, we'll write off the ten grand you owe us."

Cars of all shapes, sizes, and colors fill the expansive parking lot, and the limo drops them off near the front doors of the building. Morrigan faintly registers a sound, and it quickly becomes much louder, beginning to hurt her sensitive werewolf ears. She looks up into the sky and watches as a large form becomes bigger. She would swear that it was almost as big as the building. As she’s able to get a closer look at it, she sees what appears to be windows along the side, and wings like a bird has, except whatever this is is made of metal. There’s colorful stripes down the side and words that she didn’t care to read, and she rushes over to a chain link fence to watch as the strange contrapt

he says, his tone completely flat. "No, you're not! Look... I know what I like. I love pussy. I fucked three girls in one night once. I was so obsessed, I practically did things I'm not legal to do before I turned legal. "Sounds like the typical existential crisis of an over-privileged, under-supervised American teenager." "My point is..." He just continues to puff smoke, waiting. "Your point is..." he repeats and my hand fist my hair. He casually stubs his cigarette out in the overflowing ash tray.

That day, like always, Helena sat at my bedside, peeling an apple. I asked her, "Helena, are you running this casino aboveboard?" Ever since I found out the entire underground casino belonged to her, a quiet dread had been sitting in my chest. I didn't want her involved in anything illegal. She put the apple down and explained in a serious tone, "Zachary, don't worry. Everything is run legally. I had no idea they were detaining people off the books. That's on me. I have too many businesses, and I can't keep my eyes on everything at once.

Satisfied that the most recent smell of werewolf was at least a few days old, I went back to the front to see what other stores were here. Besides the small sketchy grocery, these was a pawnbroker and a small spa. I decided that the pawnbroker was as good as any place to find a weapon or two, hoping that they at least had some silver jewelry or some such. The door made a pleasant beep as I entered, the neon lights and junk strewn about just shouted desperate situations and last resorts. “Ello! How can I help ya?” An older man with bushy grey eyebrows and a kind smile called from the back display case. “Buying’ or sellin’?”

So, I turned, ready to find an alternative that didn't appear to exist. "Take it to Fatima Poppy's. I can show you." He started towards the passenger's side. "She owns the largest pawnshop in this area and her place is safe too." "A pawnshop." "Yeah. She…" He stopped, then threw me a gut-churning smile. "I know what you're thinking, and no, she won't sell your car. Trust me." How easy could the word' trust' leave a person's mouth? "You make a little payment for leaving your car there, then you get a tag. When you come back, you take your car. Facile." [Easy]

My head throbbed, but my mind was sharp. The memories hit me. My best friend's text. A picture of Leo with another woman. Me, storming into the casino to confront him. Then, chaos. Gunfire. I threw myself in front of Leo. The bullet grazed my temple. I saved his worthless hide. "My head hurts," I said, my voice weak. I watched his anxious face. Then, an idea hit me. A little game. This bastard didn't appreciate me. It was time to teach him a lesson.

The same one he bought for Valentina. Taking a deep breath, I walked into a small shop. The sign flashed “Pawn Shop”. But everyone knew what it really was. It was a place where stolen things found new owners. The man behind the counter had a scar on his cheek. He looked at my expensive clothes and smirked, “Lost your way, princess?” I said nothing as I took out the ring box and slammed it on the counter. “I want to sell.” I said. “Cash only. No receipts. No paper trail.”